mm* 
 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 BY 
 
 The 
 Seattle Writers Club 
 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BY 
 
 ORIGINAL DRAWINGS 
 
 AND 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 SEATTLE 
 
 LOWMAN & HANFORD 
 IQ07 
 
Copyrighted 1907 by 
 
 FLORA HUNTLEY, 
 
 President Seattle Writers Club. 
 
.Ui 
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Laying the Ghost Elizabeth C. Daugherty 9 
 
 A Gordian Knot Sarah Pratt Carr 23 
 
 Gulls Emma Parsons Josenhans 37 
 
 Northbound by Night Gordon Houghton 55 
 
 Under the Flatiron Flora Huntley 67 
 
 The Chief s Counterplot Edith Allen Jordan 81 
 
 A Matrimonial Epidemic at Skookum 
 
 F. Roney Weir 91 
 
 The Duchess of Rattlesnake Prairie 
 
 Florence Martin Eastland 107 
 
 A Letter to Cecilia Mabel Vollintine McGill 119 
 
 Five Dollars Francette Maring 131 
 
 The Taming of the Barons.. -.Cora Chase Charlton 139 
 
 Under the Tricolor Frances K. Byers 177 
 
 A Maker of Violins Kathryne Wilson 191 
 
 An Extenuating Circumstance.... E. Adelia Low 207 
 
 Ye Tithe Mint and Rue.... Emma B. Edwards 219 
 
 On the Edge of Death Valley A. M. Walden 237 
 
 The Recoil of Circumstance 
 
 Florence Maude Farrer 251 
 
 A Doubtful Nationality Ellie Mills Lee 267 
 
 Old Bill s Awkward Squad 
 
 Alice Harriman-Browne 283 
 
 The Burglar s Dilemma....William Douglas Johns 299 
 
Laying the Ghost 
 
 BY 
 ELIZABETH C. DAUGHERTY 
 

 
 "The tide coming in. 
 
Laying the Ghost 
 
 1 1 K fame of Priest Hart as an exorcist 
 reached over more than ten parishes. 
 There were more than a hundred witnesses 
 of that "driving out" but not all were equally 
 able to give evidence; for it is unreasonable to 
 assert that those who were lying down could see 
 as much as those who were standing on them. 
 
 Yet every one insisted on giving a full ac 
 count with many details of various incidents that 
 did not occur. Priest Hart never would set them 
 right but always got mad as fire whenever the 
 subject was mentioned. 
 
 That is the reason I take it upon me to duly 
 set forth what really did take place; also to re 
 late the circumstance because I think it ought 
 to be told how he, for it was a male ghost, came 
 to be disembodied. 
 
 In life Tim was a grazier; and that rich! 
 He had horses and cattle, fields and meadows, 
 beside wealth of potatoes and garden truck ga 
 lore. He lived in a palace by the sea that is, it 
 was a palace before it was burned by the mur 
 dering French. 
 
 Its name was Palmerstown. The old towers, 
 covered by ivy, still stood up grandly, and could 
 be seen as far out to sea as the Three Stags of 
 
 9 
 
Titticum Tales 
 
 Broadhaven. They were the landmark to the 
 herring fleet when they came in from the deep 
 sea fishing, Tim s boats in the lead. 
 
 The great kitchen, the servants quarters, and 
 the stables were uninjured by the fire, and af 
 forded ample room for Tim and his helpers. The 
 Palmers had built a new Palmerstown farther 
 inland, and Tim had a lease on the old place. 
 
 He had neither chick nor child, being a bach 
 elor, but his brother Donald, and his niece Kathy 
 lived with him. Donald wasn t of much use, un 
 less it were to drink up any whiskey that might 
 be left over. But Kathy! Every one loved to 
 have her near; she was so gay, so bright, so kind, 
 and so good looking. A true type of that beauty 
 which makes the west coast of Ireland famous. 
 
 Tim always said she was to have all he had to 
 leave, even to the keeping of her old father, Don 
 ald. It was usually said that she had a fairy 
 godmother; but her finest gifts could not equal 
 the fact that Kathy was beautiful, young, rich, 
 and lived in Ireland. It goes without saying 
 that such a girl was engaged to be married and 
 the course of true love was running very smooth 
 between her and Jamie More, when one woeful 
 day, Tim poor old Tim went down in the base 
 ment and hung himself to one of the great beams 
 that supported the floor above. 
 
 Such an act was incomprehensible ! An Irish 
 man! A good Catholic to boot! Breaking into 
 his own house of life and laying violent hands 
 upon himself! Had he gone somewhere else to 
 do it but right under the kitchen, the main liv- 
 
 10 
 
(, //o.v/ 
 
 ing room, and right over the big potato bin, noth 
 ing less; and no one able to get a bite to eat or 
 mix a drop of drink without going down there 
 after it! It was not like his good heart. 
 
 There were the vaults under the haunted 
 towers where the wicked old Palmers used to 
 serve out their enemies. Why couldn t he have 
 gone there? He might have walked his fill, and 
 added his pipe to the screeching that always 
 arose when the winds were high. He must have 
 known he would not be allowed to rest, going off 
 as he did without making a will, and all uncon- 
 fessed and unabsolved. 
 
 Never since a French man-of-war entered 
 Sligo Bay and shelled Palmerstown, had there 
 been such a commotion. The schoolmaster, the 
 clerk, the sexton, as well as every neighbor who 
 wished to show respect for Tim, came early and 
 stayed late. They waked him until they were all 
 "dacently" laid under the table. They went 
 three together down the stairs to get provisions, 
 and the first going down and the last coming 
 back were always in a dreadful twither, for there 
 was no knowing what might be reaching for the 
 calves of their legs. 
 
 There was a question connected with Tim s 
 walking, that stirred the minds of Donald and 
 his master of ceremonies. How was he to find 
 his clothes? Cold shivers came and went at 
 the thought of hands feeling around the walls, 
 and maybe catching at their own habiliments. 
 At last a bright thought suggested that he would 
 begin where he left off. So they hung the chain, 
 
 11 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 the rope, and the good fustian suit, together with 
 his cap and wig, on the hook from which he was 
 lifted that sorrowful day. 
 
 Donald was now master. He set his bonnet 
 in a different way from anything Tim had done. 
 He put on more airs than the Palmer himself, 
 and when Jamie More, flying on the wings of 
 love, came to comfort Kathy he forbade him the 
 house and told him he was no match for Katha 
 rine. He set everybody grinning by gravely an 
 nouncing that he intended to take a second wife 
 and expected to raise a large family. The or 
 derly, decent household kept by Tim didn t know 
 itself under Donald. He aggravated Priest Hart 
 by cutting off the dole Tim had weekly given to 
 the poor, and in a few days accomplished more 
 of meanness and extravagance than Tim had 
 done in a lifetime. He would have liked to cur 
 tail the masses for Tim but a wholesome fear of 
 Priest Hart and a dread of ghosts restrained 
 him. 
 
 This was the state of affairs when our cousin 
 Mary came over from Dromore. She came in 
 her father s new cart, bringing a sack of pota 
 toes, and a pat of butter of her own churning, 
 forby a jug of buttermilk. Our mother was a 
 widow and the bit and sup were hard to come 
 by. 
 
 Mary was a large, strong, active girl with a 
 fine red head and eyes as blue as a glede s. She 
 was like a breath from the sea on a summer day. 
 The first thing she asked was: 
 
 12 
 
Laying the Ghost 
 
 "Has Tim walked yet? They re talking of 
 nothing else at Dromore, and they re saying what 
 a poor creature young More is to allow himself 
 to be choused out of his sweetheart like that." 
 
 "Young More and Katliy will dree their 
 weird, an tak the bitter along with the sweet, 
 like ither folk," said mother. 
 
 "No, no, don t talk like that, Aunt Biddy, I ll 
 never believe true love can be turned from its 
 course so easily not, at least, while I m to the 
 fore." 
 
 "Ye ll not be playing ony pi 5 skies, Mary?" 
 
 "Sure not, Aunt Biddy; I ll be as steady as 
 old time." 
 
 In the evening Mary proposed that we all go 
 to the towers. Our mother shrank into herself 
 and utterly refused, and it was against her will 
 that little Biddy and I went. 
 
 I soon saw that Mary had some plan in her 
 mind for she loitered on the sands under the plea 
 of seeing the sun set and then stood with her back 
 to it, looking inland. I knew she was waiting 
 for Jamie More, who belonged to the constabu 
 lary, lie looked very handsome in his uniform 
 and came to us as soon as he was off duty. Mary 
 sent me and my little sister away to play with 
 the other children who were running up and 
 down the sands and shooting pebbles into the 
 ea 
 
 AVhen she cried to us to come on, she and 
 Jamie were going up the long slope to the towers. 
 Before we finally came up with them they \ven- 
 standing by the locked and barred outside door 
 
 13 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 of the basement that was under the kitchen; be 
 yond were the cellars under the servants quar 
 ter and farther on were the vaults under the 
 ruined towers. 
 
 We all went together to the kitchen entrance, 
 where we parted, Jamie not being allowed to 
 come in. We found a number of people sitting 
 by the peat fire. The schoolmaster was telling 
 a story of Brian Borue. Kathy was sitting 
 apart from the rest in the shadows for the can 
 dles were not yet lighted. Mary went over to 
 her and they whispered together. Biddy and I 
 went to the fire where we found a stool and both 
 sat down. 
 
 I don t know how long we had listened to the 
 master, who had got through the story and was 
 disputing with the clerk about the site of Tara s 
 Hall, when a slight jar made the glasses on the 
 table rattle. Every one started up and looked 
 at each other. 
 
 "It s the sea breaking in at Downpatriek !" 
 said the schoolmaster, going to the window and 
 looking out, "The tide is coming in like a troop 
 of white horses." 
 
 Again there was a jar that made the kitchen 
 quiver in all its timbers, and there was also the 
 distinct rattle of a chain. A woman pouring out- 
 tea, kept on pouring, until the cup running over, 
 began to fill her shoes. Donald took the whis 
 key bottle and going into the pantry turned it 
 up and drank it out to the last drop, then he 
 came to me and said : 
 
 14 
 
tJlC (I/Hist 
 
 "Run away, my little man, and bring Priest 
 Hart." 
 
 I had not been gone mam- minutes, but when 
 I returned with the priest there was scarcely 
 standing room in the kitchen. The fishing vil 
 lage and the coast-guard station were emptied 
 into it The noise in the basement was some 
 thing to terrify. 
 
 A man was trying to light a candle by pok 
 ing it into the glowing embers of the peat, but 
 he only succeeded in melting the tallow. As he 
 rose up, quaking, an elbow knocked it out of his 
 hand, and a foot promptly made a greasy smudge 
 of it on the hearth. The priest took a piece of 
 paper from his pocket, made a spill and lighted 
 another candle. 
 
 "Why are ye stamping round here like Bulks 
 of Bashan while thieves carry everything away 
 from the basement?" 
 
 "The outside door is locked and barred; any 
 one going into the basement would have to pass 
 through tli is room, Your Reverence," said Don 
 ald. 
 
 "I m not so sure of that, Ragan," turning 
 to a man of great strength and courage, "go to 
 the outside door and see if it is really fast." 
 
 "Fayther, I think I have inimies out there." 
 
 "Jesus Christ had enemies, and he met them." 
 
 "And phwat did they do to him, fayther?" 
 asked Ragan. 
 
 The priest gave a snort and turning, walked, 
 candle in hand, to the head of the stairs. My 
 hand was on the tail of his coat and Biddy was 
 
 15 
 
TilUcum Tales 
 
 holding onto my little roundabout, He must 
 have felt a pull, for looking back he saw his fol 
 lowing. Some of the grimness went out of his 
 face when he saw us. 
 
 At the head of the stairs there was a niche 
 and a pedestal where a saint and a candle had 
 stood, shedding light and protection in the old 
 Palmer days. Saint and candle were gone, 
 though sorely needed now, but the pedestal re 
 mained. The priest reached his hand and onto 
 this I scrambled; then I reached down and the 
 priest reached up and Biddy was soon beside me 
 out of the way of the crowd in the kitchen, that- 
 heaved and surged like an angry sea. 
 
 The tumult below had ceased for awhile and 
 every one was listening intently. The priest in 
 a commanding voice, ordered the person, or per 
 sons, in the basement to come up; assuring them 
 at the same time that they should not be pun 
 ished for the disturbance they had made, while 
 if they persisted . He was interrupted by wild 
 screeching, rattling, and pounding. 
 
 "Thry the Latin, fayther, dear," suggested 
 Donald. 
 
 The priest moved a step as though he would 
 have gone down the stairs, but the cries of the 
 women prevented him. 
 
 Prom below came an uproar that sounded like 
 giants might be pulling out the foundation stones 
 and playing at pitch and toss with them, mingled 
 with the rattling of chains, groanings, and wild 
 cries. 
 
 16 
 
I MI/ i nt/ the GJwst 
 
 Then Priest Hart began to lay on the Latin. 
 With round, full voice, that rose above the din 
 below, he poured out the sounding vowels. When 
 he came to "Exorcise te," something like a whirl 
 wind appeared at the bottom of the stairs. With 
 bounds and leaps it devoured the distance and in 
 a mad rush reached the landing. 
 
 There was no mistaking Tim; there was the 
 long black hair tangled over the face, the fustian 
 cap securely tied on, the clouted shoes I could 
 have sworn to every patch and above all the old 
 shooting jacket with the wide pockets, made to 
 carry game, and just as in the old time when he 
 used to go round among the poor, one pocket 
 was full of fish, the other of potatoes. 
 
 He did not stop for me to note these things, 
 but came and went, like the lightning s flash. 
 The priest drew back, at the same time the crowd 
 pushi il IJagan forward; they met and both went 
 down, big Ragan on top. Tim seemed to be 
 making straight for Donald. That good man 
 and true, trying to get out of the direct line, 
 slipped and sat down on a bit scythe that he 
 had fastened on a black thorn stick, and carried 
 as a carnal weapon. 
 
 Speeding on, the apparition came to the door. 
 A boy, driving a cart by, and hearing the com 
 motion had stopped directly in front, blocking 
 the entrance. He said Tim walked through the 
 cart like it was thin air, and then made for the 
 sea with very great speed ; going in with a splash 
 that caused the waves to cover the sands, and 
 sent up a column of steam higher than the Kra- 
 
 17 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 ken ever reared his head I shall always regret 
 missing that. 
 
 When Tim had fully gone, and the crowd had 
 got its breath, it kindly stepped off Priest Hart. 
 He rose and shook the dust from his raiment, 
 and then made for the door as straight and al 
 most as swiftly as Tim had done. 
 
 The women began to make fresh tea, and the 
 men took up Donald and laid him face down 
 ward on his bed. A select committee undertak 
 ing to care for his wound. 
 
 Biddy and I slid down from our perch and 
 ran home. Mary was there before us, boiling 
 potatoes and broiling herring. Our mother was 
 pressing something into the fire with a poker, 
 that gave out a strong odor of burning hair and 
 fustian. 
 
 I went up to Mary and leaned against her. 
 Her vivid coloring and bright, kindly ways made 
 her very attractive to children. 
 
 "What could Tim want with fish and potatoes 
 where he s gone?" I asked. "I saw the pockets 
 of his old shooting jacket were full." 
 
 "Just to think of that, now," she said, strok 
 ing my hair. 
 
 After a little Priest Hart came in. Mother 
 dropped the poker and putting her apron over 
 her face, began to whimper. 
 
 "Bridget," said the priest sternly, "take down 
 your apron and stop snivelling. An ye can t 
 control your family let them go to the devil in 
 
 peace." 
 
 18 
 
the GJiost 
 
 Turning to Mary, he looked in her eyes. "An 
 I were yor confessor its the heavy penance I d 
 lay on ye. Ye ought to have a husband and a 
 houseful of children." 
 
 "An is thot the penance ye d lay on me, fay- 
 ther dear? Now sit ye down and have some sup 
 per for it s tired and hungry ye must be." 
 
 f( I am that," said the priest, sitting down. 
 
 Mary deftly mixed a stiff tumbler and he be 
 gan to relax; a twinkle came into his eye and his 
 tongue lost the caustic flavor that had seasoned 
 it all the evening. 
 
 ".Mary," said he, "when I was lying back 
 there with my head down and my heels up, the 
 whole heft of Ragan on my stomach, Tim had 
 the impudence to throw the laugh at me as he 
 sped by; and as I m a sinful man, there was a 
 blue glint in his eye, and a lock of red hair 
 gleamed through his old wig." 
 
 "Fayther," said Mary starting up, a look of 
 concern on her face, "did I make your glass too 
 strong, or has some one else been mixing for ye? 
 I scare knew r how much I was pouring, I was so 
 worrited about Kathy." 
 
 "You shall not cast any imputations on my 
 sobriety, my most ingenuous Mary, the glass was 
 not over strong, and I was fasting from every 
 thing but sin, when I innocently accepted your 
 hospitality. Set your tender heart at rest about 
 Kathy. I found her and young More wandering 
 on the sands like two babes in the wood, and I 
 e en took them into the church and married 
 them, though it was after hours." 
 
 19 
 
A Gordian Knot 
 
 BY 
 
 SARAH PRATT CARR, 
 
 Author of "The Iron Way 1 
 
A Gordian Knot 
 
 A-WA-NEE gazed helplessly over the 
 sea of summer millinery. Her 
 quick ear caught ill-suppressed giggles 
 from a knot of shop girls down the 
 aisle, caught the sneer, the sibilant "squaw." 
 
 She frowned, and an ugly light gleamed from 
 under her lowered lashes. Squaw! Were they 
 not all squaws women? Her fleeting, sidewise 
 look intercepted wily glances fixed upon her hus 
 band. He had walked a little farther down, and 
 was standing before a heaped table, perplexity 
 in brow and finger as he turned carefully the 
 wire support of this and that "Paris model." 
 
 "Which one do you want, Wa-wa-nee? he 
 called to her softly. 
 
 As she wobbled toward him on her high heels 
 a great square of sky and Sound flashed, lumi 
 nous, through the open window. "Me no care, 
 Jim," she answered indifferently, her heart 
 drawn with her eyes through the window. A 
 sudden move loosened her comb, and it fell 
 rattling on the bare floor. She reached for it, 
 took off her hat, and, regardless of curious eyes, 
 twisted her tight black coil tighter, pulled out 
 her frizzed bang, and reset the comb. The bronze- 
 
 23 
 
TilUoum Tales 
 
 brown felt with its two stiff quills went on at a 
 ludicrous angle, and she jabbed in the silver pins 
 awkwardly. Suddenly her eyes dilated, focused 
 on a dim object rounding into the northern view. 
 Log or boat, men or posts, city eyes could not 
 have told, but Wa-wa-nee s whole tense body dis 
 closed a keener vision. 
 
 Jim called to her again a little sharply. 
 "Which one do you want?" He was still seek 
 ing something that looked as if it might "belong" 
 to his alien wife. 
 
 The Indian girl laughed mirthlessly, and 
 pointed a slim finger to a white cloud of tulle 
 and blush roses. "I like that that glory-hat." 
 
 "Oh, that isn t for you," he said, and added 
 more softly, "Don t laugh, Wa-wa-nee; and put 
 on your gloves." 
 
 She tugged at them stolidly, and laughed 
 again, the same meaningless cackle. Why had 
 Jim told her not to laugh? In the cabin far 
 away he had always liked her to laugh. She 
 never felt like it in this big, strange village of 
 much noise, yet before these white squaws she 
 wished to please Jim. 
 
 He saw her disappointment, and again peered 
 into the forest of hats for something he did not 
 find. The young woman who had been pulling 
 out drawers and boxes came forward to serve 
 him. He gave her a grateful look. She had 
 helped him before, and she alone of all the town s 
 saleswomen had treated Wa-wa-nee as if she were 
 human. 
 
 24 
 
A Gordinn K 
 
 "I don t see " he began; "the winter 
 things suited her better. Yet if you hadn t 
 helped me I wouldn t have found anything." 
 
 This will do, I think." She held up a shin 
 ing, coppery straw with a bit of orange in the 
 trimming. 
 
 "Let me see how it looks on you, please." 
 
 It suited her, and Jim s honest face dis 
 closed his admiration. From far down the store 
 came a renewed buzzing. Jim s face clouded, 
 puzzled, as he saw a slow flush stain the sales 
 woman s cheek. 
 
 But Wa-wa-nee understood. Fire leaped in 
 her eye, she was ready to fight for the white 
 squaw who looked at her kindly. 
 
 "It doesn t look the same on her," Jim ven 
 tured when the clerk had adjusted the hat to AVa- 
 wa-nee s black crown. 
 
 "Xo; how can it? It isn t made for her. 
 None of them are. In her own dress she s beau 
 tiful, in our white woman s toggery she s she s 
 out of place." 
 
 Wa-wa-nee s face was noncommittal. She 
 shot a longing glance at the spreading tulle "cre 
 ation" and turned away. She did not see Jim 
 pay for both hats, but followed him, glaring at 
 the giggling girls as she passed down the store 
 to the street. 
 
 They fared silently, Jim stopping now and 
 then as Wa-wa-nee dropped behind, Indian fash 
 ion. At a corner he left her for his business and 
 she went on alone to the home on the bluff. 
 
 She halted on the high porch, gazed far out 
 
 25 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 to the north where the blue green forest swept 
 down the mountain side to meet the green blue 
 waters of the Sound, to heedless vision a scene 
 ever the same, to Wa-wa-nee a restless, changing 
 world, theatre of all her dreams. Around the 
 end of the island to the north, that way one 
 went home ! Up there where the sea wooed the 
 forest, where the warming sun lingered later 
 each day, there lived the people she loved; 
 mother, father and brother they would be out 
 in the big canoe now the little brown sister, and 
 another. She could hear the huskies quarrel 
 ling over their scant scraps, see the feathery fir 
 tips, the scarlet hinting in sallal and blackberry. 
 
 Suddenly she drew the absurd hatpins and 
 flung them with the coppery brown hat to the 
 floor. Hairpins followed. One she ground with 
 her heel viciously. With a side comb she dressed 
 her long locks into shining braids, then walked 
 down the porch to the door, her lithe figure pro 
 testing against corset, band, and shoe. 
 
 When she came forth again it was in beaded 
 tunic, bangles, and moccasins. She was tall and 
 dark and strong, like the great cedar tree that 
 buttressed the porch. She leaned against the 
 ragged trunk, her motionless repose welding her 
 to the scene. Yet life emanated from her. The 
 lapping tide below, rustle of leaf and flower, 
 waterfowl s flight, every growing, shimmering 
 thing in nature was kin to her, incarnate in her. 
 
 An Indian stepped over the brink of the bluff. 
 
 "Lak-a-wah !" It was a cry, yet her lips 
 hardly moved. 
 
 26 
 
A G&rdfitii Knot 
 
 He strode to her with swift feet. 4i Wa-wa- 
 nee, come with me." He reached one hand to 
 hers, with the other pointed northward. 
 
 "No!" Her face was wooden, her voice hard. 
 Yet as an hour earlier fire gleamed in her eye. 
 
 "Moons gone, when nights were long and 
 dark, I came, and you said, No. Now the sal 
 mon runs in the rivers, the kam-ass is ready for 
 digging, the sallal berry and the wild currant are 
 red, and Wa-wa-nee s flesh is sick for tillicums, 
 for friends." He touched her arm, less round 
 than half a year before. "Lak-a-wah s heart is 
 empty, the fire in his tepee is dead." He grasped 
 her wrist. 
 
 "No! Go back!" She pulled free and stood 
 motionless, but the gripping hand behind her left 
 red stains on the cedar bark. 
 
 "Jim is kit-It u*. I , I man-Orloose " 
 
 Wa-wa-nee sprang forward and caught his 
 shoulder in a stinging clutch. "No, no! You 
 not kill Jim!" She pulled a crucifix from un 
 der her tunic and held it before him. "White 
 man, red man, you no more kill !" 
 
 "Jim is kul ." 
 
 "No, Jim is good, not bad! You not kill 
 Jim. Say it !" She put the crucifix in his hand 
 and lifted it high in both her own. "Say, it, 
 Lak-a-wali !" she repeated solemnly. 
 
 He hesitated, but her passion compelled him. 
 Afterward he hung his head and looked uncer 
 tainly out over the water. 
 
 "Go, Lak-a-wah," she urged softly, looking 
 northward. 
 
 27 
 
Tillicwn, Tales 
 
 He went away soon and sullenly, dropping 
 out of sight over the bluff. 
 
 The sun wheeled across the sky and glared 
 slantingly on the still Sound; dark shadows 
 swept out from the western shore. Still mo 
 tionless Wa-wa-nee stood against the tree, cheek 
 and eye forsaken of color and flame. Spiritless 
 she watched long, gleaming lines that widened 
 from the north-pointing prow of a boat. Two 
 men were at the paddles. As they lifted rythmi- 
 cally she could see the diamond drops fall, fan 
 cied she could hear the feathered dip, till at last 
 the lessening speck disappeared around the 
 island. 
 
 A childish cry aroused her. 
 
 "Be-be! Little Jim!" she called, and ran to 
 meet two small boys coming up the hill. "What s 
 the matter, Be-be ?" She caught the sobbing 
 child in her arms. 
 
 "Oh, he s blubbering cause I whipped a boy 
 for callin you a squaw. An Jim, he see the 
 bleed by golly ! You are a squaw !" 
 
 "Squaw! Squaw!" she whispered bitterly to 
 herself. She put the smaller boy down, and 
 gently wiped the sand and blood from Jack s 
 scratched face. "It s bad to fight," she said 
 half-heartedly. 
 
 Little Jim found his voice. "Teacher, he see 
 um, an he make shame to dat odder boy," he 
 piped in brotherly sympathy. "But for why 
 you wear Injun clo es? Papa, he say no. You 
 look all squaw now." 
 
 28 
 
Knot 
 
 "I ll be no more squaw. I ll be good mamma 
 all the time now," she whispered, and led them 
 into the house. 
 
 It was spotlessly clean, so much the Sisters 
 had taught her; and it was large and comfort 
 ably furnished; but of homelikeness there was 
 none. In a few minutes she was again har 
 nessed in conventional dress, her straight hair 
 coiled and topped with a tinsel butterfly. She 
 bathed Jack s bruised face and hands, tidied 
 both boys, and prepared the evening meal. But 
 her somber face did not brighten till a huge box 
 arrived, and she opened it to find the "glory 
 hat." 
 
 Jim came home, heard the story of the fight 
 without comment, and ate in silence, while Wa- 
 wa-nee minced about on her high heels, and 
 served him well, yet smiled inanely, believing she 
 was acting like the "store squaw." 
 
 Later Jim took the boys out. Wa-wa-nee 
 wondered as she washed the dishes what Jim 
 said to them during these frequent walks. She 
 knew they would, as always, be kinder to her 
 when they returned. 
 
 Out on the bluff she watched the sunset flame 
 die in the west. She wished the boys were in bed 
 that she might unmoor her boat below and fol 
 low the silver shaft of moonlight that began 
 to flitter across the darkening Sound. She 
 longed to get away from Jim tonight, from the 
 books he tried to read to her, that talked a lan 
 guage she could not understand. She wanted 
 to be in the midst of the thousand utterances of 
 
 29 
 
TilUcwm Tales 
 
 wood-world and water-world, a-lilt with summer 
 song and wooing. This language she knew; 
 could speak. 
 
 Boyish voices floating up the street recalled 
 her. She went in, turned on the lights, brought 
 forth her dearest treasure, the graphophone, and 
 stood comforted, entranced, while it ground out 
 "Bedelia." She took the "glory hat" from its 
 box, perched it perkily, wrong side to, on her 
 black coil, and peered at herself in the mirror. 
 Round and round she turned in mute admira 
 tion till steps on the porch startled her, when 
 she snatched it off and hung it guiltily beside 
 the straw just as the boys racketed in. 
 
 "Bill s 
 
 "Mr. Baxter," she corrected. She hated this 
 new chum of Jim s who looked at her scornfully, 
 and left Jim restless after his visits. She hur 
 ried the boys to bed, listening perfunctorily to 
 their prayers, while she strained to catch the 
 conversation in the living room. Once in her 
 own chamber no nice scruples kept her ear from 
 the keyhole. That was her usual way of receiv 
 ing Jim s callers; he could not persuade her to 
 appear. 
 
 "You re a fool, Jim! Ship her, and get a 
 decent mother for them little chaps. There s 
 more n one girl that would be glad of the chance 
 to stylish up this house, that would be a Jim- 
 dandy wife and mother, too." 
 
 "Shut up, Bill !" 
 
 Jim s voice rang heartily through the key 
 hole; yet Wa-wa-nee rose and crept stealthily 
 
 30 
 
Knot 
 
 along the wall, tore down the straw hat, muffled 
 it in her skirt and crushed it shapeless. 
 
 "I bet she likes some buck Injun a heap bet 
 ter n she does you." 
 
 "Shut up, I tell you !" Jim growled again. 
 
 Wu-wa-nee s cheek grew more coppery. She 
 picked up the hat and penitently pulled it back 
 to shape. 
 
 "How d you come by her, anyway? You ain t 
 never told me that, Jim." 
 
 "No, I don t talk much about it. The boys 
 mother, Ma-la-la, was Wa-wa-nee s half sister. 
 One of the old-time Alaska prospectors married 
 a chiefs daughter, Ma-la-la s mother, and before 
 he died three or four years after, he gave his 
 baby to the Sisters. The mother married an In 
 jun later, and Wa-wa-nee s the oldest of several 
 children." 
 
 "But how come you in it? You don t belong 
 to such an outfit." 
 
 "As much as to any. San Francisco streets 
 mothered me, poverty fathered me, the slums ed 
 ucated me. At sixteen I drifted to Alaska, near 
 ly died of exposure, and was nursed to life by 
 the nuns and Ma-la-la. She was the best thing 
 I d struck so far! I bid for her an got her. 
 But she didn t last long." He stopped, and the 
 other man did not speak. 
 
 \Va-\\a-nee stirred uneasily. 
 
 "Before she went," Jim went on slowly, "she 
 
 asked me to take Wa-wa-nee, and - and 
 
 Good God, man! What could I do? Alaska, 
 
 31 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 two kids, and not a white woman in five hun 
 dred miles that would have me!" 
 
 Wa-wa-nee heard him rise and pace the floor 
 impatiently, and her hand kept silent time with 
 his step. 
 
 "Did she want to marry you?" 
 
 "You don t ask one of them Injun women if 
 she wants to. You say, Come/ and usually she 
 does, willingly if you take her to the priest. 
 Besides, Wa-wa-nee liked the kids." 
 
 Wa-wa-nee breathed hard, and turned gentle 
 eyes toward the children s door. 
 
 "What brought you out of it at last?" 
 
 Jim stopped his walk. "I made a pile, and 
 that brought me up against men who knew some 
 thing. I got a few books and tried to teach my 
 self. The boys shucked the Injun as they grew; 
 an 7 I decided to bring em out and give em a 
 white man s chance." 
 
 "Bully thing all right," 
 
 "But I made a mistake. The little chaps are 
 doing fine, but Wa-wa-nee s pining herself to 
 death. Money can t make this city life possible 
 
 for her. I m going back I can send the 
 
 boys out later and take my medicine like 
 
 a oh, my God!" 
 
 Wa-wa-nee s nails sunk deep into her palm, 
 but a strange lightness crept into all her body. 
 
 "Jim, you re a chump! Shuck the squaw, 
 stay here, an make a man of yourself." 
 
 "Squaw!" Wa-wa-nee hissed; and a malig 
 nant light made shining points of her beady 
 eyes. 
 
 32 
 
A Gordmn Knot 
 
 "Damn you! There d be no man left if I 
 did that. Wa-wa-nee s a mighty sight whiter n 
 I d be if I did that. A fine example for my 
 boys!" 
 
 The Indian woman heard him walk to the 
 window, caught a passion new to her in Jim s 
 voice. 
 
 "Bill, you mean well but you don t know," 
 Jim went on more calmly. "If it was your fix 
 you d tumble all right. Let s drop it for good." 
 
 The visitor spoke a few words inaudible to 
 Wa-wa-nee, and left. 
 
 Long the man at the window and the woman 
 behind the door were silent, motionless. The 
 overhead moon shone palely in upon them; the 
 pitying night whispered comfort. But both 
 were numb and dumb. 
 
 Finally Wa-wa-nee heard him set about the 
 night chores, and slipped to bed. When he came 
 her eyes were closed, her face calm. He was 
 soon beside her, tossing restlessly, yet striving 
 not to disturb her. 
 
 The waiting seemed endless, but at last he was 
 breathing deeply, evenly. She crept out, dressed 
 stealthily in her Indian clothes, and stole into 
 the boys room. There she turned on the light, 
 carrying the extension lamp shaded in her hand 
 to the bed. The night was warm, and the chil 
 dren lay half covered, their little bodies relaxed 
 in all the soft curves of babyhood. Wa-wa-nee 
 knelt and kissed them, on cheek and hair and 
 brow; and last one arched foot that hung over 
 the bedside. A sob caught her throat, and one 
 
 33 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 of the children moved. Instantly the light was 
 out, the door softly closed. 
 
 She stood a moment hesitating. A pale 
 moonbeam fell athwart Jim s rugged features, 
 softening, beautifying them. Wa-wa-nee gazed 
 steadily but did not go nearer. "Good man, 
 Jim," she whispered, drew the shade, and 
 slipped to the kitchen where she set a sponge for 
 breakfast batter cakes, that Jim liked. She 
 peered about uncertainly, took up her small bur 
 dens, and went out. One long look she bent 
 upon the house from the edge of the bluff, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 An hour later the moon hung low in the 
 south. Its broad silver track stretched far 
 northward; and straight along its radiance Wa- 
 wa-nee was rowing bravely. The "glory hat" 
 waved a pale greeting to the moon, and the 
 graphophone in front of her gaily spluttered 
 out upon the still shores, "Bedelia!" 
 
 34 
 
Gulls 
 
 BY 
 EMMA PARSONS JOSENHANS 
 
Are gulls good for anything? said the stranger. 
 
Gulls 
 
 HE FLYER was late on her mid 
 day trip from Tacoma to Seattle. 
 The crowd awaiting her at the 
 Seattle dock grew impatient 
 and moved restlessly to and 
 fro. Dudley Armstrong, lean 
 ing idly against a pile at the edge of the pier, was 
 attracted by the nervous motions of a shrewd- 
 faced man of middle age who paced back and 
 forth near him, a little removed from the main 
 crowd. He appeared anxious to escape notice 
 himself, yet eagerly curious to see each new 
 comer. 
 
 Dudley was a sociable fellow, so after a time 
 he accosted the stranger. 
 
 "Lookin for your folks?" he inquired. 
 The man wheeled sharply and cast a suspi 
 cious look upon Dudley. Apparently it satis 
 fied him, for he laughed a short, hard laugh. 
 
 "I m trying to give my loving friends the 
 slip; but if that boat don t come p.d.q. I can t 
 make it," he replied. 
 
 "What s up?" asked Dudley, interested. 
 The stranger studied his face for a moment. 
 "It s this way," he said. "I ve just come 
 
 37 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 down from the North with my clean-up. A 
 couple of men that knew me up there are layin 
 to get it from me. They ve hung on to me like 
 grim death, but I ll fool em yet, if that blamed 
 boat shows up in time. I agreed to meet em 
 at the inter-urban station, but if I don t get off 
 soon they may catch on to my game, and come 
 over here. That s what I m afraid of I want 
 to shake em." 
 
 "Kind o dangerous business, ain t it?" said 
 Dudley. "I should think you d put your money 
 in the bank; those fellows might do you up 
 such things have been known to happen ." 
 
 "They ain t any too good for it but I ve no 
 use for banks too much red tape I like my 
 money where I can get at it in a hurry when 
 I want it and I know how to take care of it 
 don t you forget that." 
 
 The stranger showed such evident inclina 
 tion to change the subject that Dudley asked 
 no more questions, but began to speak of other 
 matters, and the talk drifted to the sea-gulls 
 screaming and wheeling about the water-front. 
 It seemed to Dudley a little odd that a man who 
 had been "up North" should display entire ignor 
 ance of the habits of such common water-fowl, 
 but he good-naturedly undertook to enlighten 
 him. 
 
 "Are they good for anything?" asked the 
 man. "Back East, where I live, they d strip off 
 the feathers for the women s hats. Ought to be 
 some use made of em. Are they good to eat?" 
 
 38 
 
Dudley rose to a realization of his oppor 
 tunity. 
 
 Some folks eat em they serve em at the 
 restaurants as spring chicken, and in tamales. 
 I don t care for em myself apt to be fishy 
 but you bet your life they re good for something. 
 I m getting a good income from em myself, 
 right now." 
 
 "How s that?" 
 
 "It s a long story. If you want to hear it 
 we better sit down sittin s cheap." 
 
 "Now go ahead," said the stranger, when 
 they had found a satisfactory resting place. 
 
 "The beginnin goes back to a day just about 
 like this two years ago. I d just got into Se 
 attle the night before from the East, and was 
 out bright and early, looking for a job, for I 
 was broke. I was waitin for the Bremerton 
 boat, hearing there was men wanted at the Navy 
 Yard. I didn t get a job, but I got a few ideas 
 that have worked out pretty good since. 
 
 "I d been watching an old gull like that one 
 tetering on the pile yonder. He d followed the 
 boat all the way over, and was coinin back with 
 her; it s wonderful how they fly can keep it up 
 twenty-four hours at a stretch but usually they 
 take a nap in between night and day somewhere. 
 Coming back to Seattle I was sitting just under 
 the edge of the upper deck, at the stern. I hap 
 pened to glance up, and there the old chap was 
 perched, tail sticking out just above my head. 
 I grabbed quick and hauled him down; he bit 
 my finger, and in the scuffle some of his breast 
 
 39 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 feathers came out; they were as soft and downy 
 as goose feathers and it set me to thinkin . Pin 
 quite a band to think about little things like 
 that. After awhile I let him go, but I had a 
 sort o feelin that maybe he and I d meet again 
 some day. 
 
 "Next day I was down on the docks again; 
 those birds kind o charmed me. I noticed they 
 all seemed to come from down Georgetown way, 
 so I took a trip down there to see what drew 
 ? em. Near s I could judge, there was millions 
 of em. 
 
 "Towards night they began to fly off in squads 
 past Alki Point, past Three Tree Point, and on 
 out of sight. It took me all of two weeks to 
 find out where they roosted, but when I did my 
 scheme began to shape itself. Nights, after I 
 was through at the shop I m a brass worker 
 by trade I worked on a device I was getting 
 ready to be patented a self-closing chicken- 
 house door. It was easy enough to get one to 
 do the trick, but there was a hitch when it came 
 to learning it to work just the right minute 
 when the last fowl was in before some fool hen 
 took a notion to walk out again ; but I got it. 
 
 "When I d saved up enough money to buy a 
 boat I cruised around the Sound nights, lookin 
 for a place near enough to get to easy, yet hid 
 so s not to attract notice. When I found it 1 
 began gettin things together." 
 
 "What was you driving at?" asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 40 
 
Gulh 
 
 Dudley settled back comfortably in his seat 
 
 That s what I m tellin you," he replied. The 
 
 >i ranger rose, took a searching look at the crowd, 
 
 then resumed his place and attitude of listener. 
 
 "Next thing was to fix up some sort of shelter 
 till I could afford to build a shack. There was 
 an old fish-net I d picked up on the beach, rotten 
 and full of holes, but by doubling it once or 
 twice, fastening the corners to some trees, and 
 covering the whole with fir boughs, it made a 
 dandy shed. 
 
 "When my livin arrangements was O. K. 
 I took wire nettin and built two cages, high 
 enough for a man to stand up in, bout twelve 
 feet long, and covered on top with the nettin . 
 Then I took a trip over to Seattle after bait, 
 and to throw up my job in town." 
 
 "What sort of bait did you have?" 
 
 "What didn t I have d be more like it. Talk 
 about smells! That boat-load of stuff perfumed 
 the whole Sound country lengthways and side 
 ways and up and down. Had to plug up my 
 own nose to keep it out enough so s I could get 
 it home. That night I cut it up into chunks, 
 put some into the far end of the cages, and 
 buried the rest; I figured I had enough on hand 
 for about a week. Then I turned in and slept, 
 for I was wore out. 
 
 "Next morning I heard a little noise in the 
 cages, and raised up to look; bait was all gone 
 and half-a-dozen or so birds pickin round not 
 enough to swing them patent doors shut cage 
 had to be full-up for that. But when I looked 
 
 41 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 to where I d buried the rest of the stuff there 
 was gulls a-plenty, but not a scrap of feed 
 they d robbed me of my pile. 
 
 "I sneaked out of bed and managed to shut 
 one of the cages with a few birds inside; and 
 say! Maybe I didn t have fun that day! You 
 see, I meant to pluck ? em, and start an industry 
 in feathers. You d have died laughin to see 
 those birds when I got through with em the 
 way they acted. A goose is brought up to expect 
 pluckin bout once in so often ; gulls ain t they 
 went plumb crazy. They flopped round in the 
 air as if they was drunk then they d drop down 
 on the water find it cold bound up like a rub 
 ber ball go reeling round again in circles 
 couldn t balance right. After awhile they seem 
 ed to get the hang of it again; then they d fly 
 off a ways, and come back and strut round on 
 the beach in the sun to warm up. It sure was 
 funny. 
 
 "At first I worried considerable as to what 
 was going to happen when my plucked birds 
 should fly away, and folks begin to take notice. 
 Gulls ain t exactly sacred birds, but the Gov 
 ernment protects em knows there s money in 
 ? em ; if I was found out, there was a good chance 
 of trouble comin my way. But I needn t have 
 Avorried; goin away was the last thing them 
 darned birds thought of they knew well enough 
 they d struck a soft snap all there was for em 
 to do was to hang around and kill time between 
 feeds. I baited the cages again as soon as I 
 could get some more fodder, and this time there 
 
 42 
 
Gulls 
 
 wasn t no hitch; I had em both full, and my 
 work cut out for a week ahead. 
 
 "The plucked birds got to be a nuisance 
 always under foot and so tanie I had to fairly 
 club em off. But there was compensations, for 
 the hens began laying; I d find nests in every 
 spot big enough to hold an egg. Ever see a 
 gull s egg? Well, they re a little smaller than 
 a common hen s egg bout like a pullet s. T 
 took a couple dozen to town first time I went; 
 the commission men kicked about the size, but 
 they take em right along. They mix em in 
 with hen s eggs, and customers never know the 
 difference. Course I can furnish em a little 
 cheaper than hen s eggs, so it s a good thing for 
 the commission men. Gulls is good layers, too. 
 I get so many eggs, sometimes I wonder if they 
 don t lay two a day but I s pose they don t. 
 
 "Then there s phosphates. If I had the means 
 to keep a dozen men and teams to work, I could 
 do a business in guano that would make old Chile 
 sit up and rub her eyes. A man don t need to 
 go away from Seattle with a gold-mine like that 
 at his very door, as you might say. If he does 
 waut a change there s Alaska Cram jam full 
 of gulls, too ; it would take a lifetime to use em 
 up and then you couldn t. But it takes capital 
 to get started, and that s what I ain t got yet. 
 If I had a little backin . What gets me is 
 that with all the years this Coast has been set 
 tled I m the first man to see the possibilities in 
 ^ulls. There s practically no end to em gulls, 
 or possibilities, either. If it wasn t for the 
 
 43 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 twenty-five-dollar fine for killin one, I could sell 
 enough broilers every year to knock the regu 
 lar chicken industry higher n a kite; and squabs 
 wouldn t have a show beside young gulls, which 
 is lots meatier, and have more flavor. Talk about 
 the American Eagle for our national emblem ! He 
 ain t in it with the American Seagull! If my 
 partner hadn t gone away and left me short- 
 handed" 
 
 An oath from the stranger interrupted. 
 "There come those skunks!" he exclaimed, 
 springing to his feet. At the same moment the 
 Flyer s whistle sounded close at hand and the 
 crowd pressed toward the gang-plank. The 
 stranger lingered. 
 
 "See here, young fellow, what s your name?" 
 "Dudley Armstrong, Alki Point." 
 "If what you ve told me is straight and you 
 can prove it after I come back, I d like to back 
 you in some of these things I can see there s 
 good money in em. You just freeze on to this 
 wad, and hold the chance open for me a couple 
 of weeks, will you? I ll drop you a line when 
 I m ready to come back." 
 
 Dudley s fingers closed about the roll of bills 
 thrust into his hand, but he clutched the stran 
 ger s arm to detain him. 
 
 "S posin you don t come back?" 
 "Then blow it in there s plenty more where 
 that came from." Then, in a lower tone: "I d 
 rather you had it than them," indicating two 
 men who were already on the vessel s deck. "Let 
 ? em search. They ll find before I get through 
 
 44 
 
(hUls 
 
 with ein that I ve fooled em once more. Good 
 bye!" 
 
 He was gone, nodding farewell from the 
 steamer s side before Dudley recovered presence 
 of mind. After the boat pulled out he went to 
 a retired spot and examined the roll; it con 
 tained five hundred dollars, in crisp, new bank 
 notes of various denominations fifty, twenty, 
 ten and five. What could the man be thinking of 
 he must be insane or a millionaire to throw 
 money about like that. The more Dudley pon 
 dered the more puzzled he became the more 
 ashamed of his own part in the transaction. He 
 was in the habit of amusing himself and his 
 friends by giving free rein to his naturally vivid 
 imagination, and had to perfection the matter- 
 of-fact, convincing manner of the born joker; it 
 had never occurred to him that the stranger 
 was taking his narrative seriously, and he did 
 not enjoy the sensation of having obtained his 
 money by false pretenses, however absurd in 
 themselves. 
 
 When Dudley called upon Elsie Whitney that 
 evening she at once perceived that he was in 
 wardly troubled, and coaxed the story from him. 
 Before he had finished her eyes were glowing 
 with impatience. 
 
 "I didn t suppose there was a man on earth 
 green enough to swallow a yarn like that," he 
 grumbled. "How shall I explain?" 
 
 "Don t explain. All you have to do is to 
 good/ 7 she told him. 
 
 Dudley failed to catch her meaning. 
 
 45 
 
Tales 
 
 "Don t you see, Dud, dear? You ve hit upon 
 a good scheme you really have. That man is 
 no tenderfoot he s a shrewd business man, and 
 was quick to see the value of your idea. While 
 he s away you must just hurry and do what you 
 told him you had done ; then when he comes back 
 show him get him in as partner branch out 
 boom the business and our fortune is made. 
 Oh, Dud, don t you see? Oh, why wasn t I born 
 a man, so I could do things like this? It s the 
 chance of a lifetime!" 
 
 Dudley looked stupidly at her, wondering if 
 all the world his world were going daft; or 
 could it be that he himself was "a little off?" 
 Elsie granted him short time in which to solve 
 the problem; she was wrought up to wild en 
 thusiasm, and rattled on at no loss for words 
 or ideas, which multiplied, even while she gave 
 them voice. 
 
 "I can help you, Dudley. Don t you remem 
 ber that little cove where we ate our lunch last 
 Fourth of July? That s the ideal place for your 
 cages; you have your tent and the boat. It 
 ought not to cost much to get started." 
 
 The girl s enthusiasm and faith were con 
 tagious. Dudley "pooh-poohed" her suggestions, 
 but he listened. 
 
 "And I ll find customers for the feathers. 
 Mama will come with me and camp somewhere 
 near you, and we can dry and prepare them, 
 and" 
 
 "Gather the eggs for market?" he asked, 
 scornfully. 
 
 46 
 
Gulte 
 
 "Yes, Dud, I will; and when I ve saved 
 enough rug-money for a gown, we needn t wait 
 any longer- 
 Dud had no further objections to urge. She 
 actually talked him into believing the plan feasi 
 ble; and when at last he left her, he was pledged 
 to put into immediate execution the dream of 
 his idle fancy. Misgivings assailed him as soon 
 as he was beyond the sound of her voice, but 
 he went to work next morning as per agreement. 
 When, towards evening of the second day there 
 after he called to report progress, she met him 
 with gloAving accounts of her own experience. 
 
 "You must go ahead now r , Dud, for I ve taken 
 orders enough for pillows alone to keep us busy 
 all summer. You see, I happened to remem 
 ber that Mollie O Brien, who works at the Bon 
 Marche, is engaged to the man at the head 
 of their mattress department, so I went first to 
 see her. She called him right down, and you 
 just ought to have heard me talk business. I 
 showed him one of those goose feather pillows 
 mama has made for us when we No, dear, 
 I didn t pretend we could furnish goose feathers; 
 I said we could give him something just as good, 
 at a cheaper rate; that we were just introducing 
 our goods in Seattle w r ith a view to putting in 
 a plant if conditions warrant. You see, Mollie 
 had told me the firm is bidding on contracts for 
 furnishing ever so many of the big new 7 hotels, 
 and with conventions, and the A.-Y.-P. Expo 
 sition, there s bound to be a big demand for pil 
 lows. He called the proprietor and I made them 
 
 47 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 an offer that, if they would buy of us exclu 
 sively, we would furnish pillows exactly like sam 
 ple for two dollars a pair instead of three, what 
 they re paying now. That s the large size, you 
 know; there s no use bothering with the rest 
 we want the best trade, or nothing. It ended in 
 their giving me a trial order of two dozen; then 
 I thought if they see it, others will; so I went 
 to all the big stores, and I ve orders ahead for 
 eleven dozen pillows." 
 
 Dudley groaned aloud. Elsie s face clouded. 
 
 "Aren t you pleased, dear? I m so encour 
 aged " 
 
 "But, Elsie, remember; I m not sure 1 can 
 catch a single bird I ve never done it. If I 
 could I don t know the first thing about drying 
 feathers where on earth could I put em " 
 
 "What s the matter with finding out how from 
 the encyclopedia? Besides, I agreed to look after 
 that part," said Elsie, aggrieved. 
 
 "I haven t told you yet all I did," she con 
 tinued, "but if you don t care to hear " 
 
 "Of course I care, you silly girl ! Go ahead !" 
 
 "This morning I met Jessie Evans, and she 
 insisted on taking me out home for lunch. I 
 didn t mean to say a word to her about this, but 
 I was so full of plans I couldn t help it. She 
 thinks it s a splendid idea. We agreed that I 
 really ought to be getting the ticks ready, so as 
 not to be rushed when the time comes; so we 
 measured the sample pillow, and she went with 
 me to the Bon I thought I d patronize the 
 firm that gave us our first order and I ordered 
 
 48 
 
"Here is a sample pillow. 
 
Gulls 
 
 the very best ticking that s made three whole 
 pieces; and Jessie is coming over here every day 
 to help me until we get them all made. There! 
 What do you think of that?" 
 
 "I think I ll have to hustle to catch up! 
 Eleven dozen pillows, and not so much as a 
 pin-feather on hand!" Again Dudley groaned 
 in sheer despondency. 
 
 Elsie flushed with resentment. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, Dudley Arm 
 strong?" she demanded. "I thought we agreed 
 to go into this thing together heart and soul, 
 so as to hurry up the time when we can be mar 
 ried. I have but you seem just ready to let 
 everything drop. Do you want an excuse to 
 break our engagement ?" 
 
 "For God s sake, Elsie, don t talk like that!" 
 exclaimed Dudley. "I love you with all my 
 heart you know that but this thing s an ex 
 periment it may not work out as we expect 
 and I ve got to live; I can t just throw away 
 my ranch " 
 
 "Rent your ranch; that s easy enough, with 
 people crazy to pay any price for a foot or two 
 of water-front. I don t see anything very dif 
 ficult about that; a man has to take some risks, 
 no matter what business he goes into. But if 
 you say so, I ll go round and take back all I ve 
 said only " 
 
 Dudley hastened to reassure her, and feigned 
 a zeal he was far from feeling. 
 
 49 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "There s this about it," he said, "if the thing 
 fails you ve got to skip the country with me. 
 We ve got five hundred dollars the man said I 
 should blow it in." 
 
 "We re not going to fail; and the best thing 
 you can do is to put that money in the bank 
 where you won t be tempted." 
 
 Dudley, however, kept the money by him; 
 he wished to hand the roll back to the owner, 
 intact. As his mind and hands became engaged 
 in the business so strangely undertaken, he be 
 came genuinely interested; there were undoubt 
 ed possibilities in it which, pushed to success, 
 meant the consummation of his dearest hopes. 
 The prize was well worth striving for; he could 
 but try failure would leave him no worse off 
 than before. If he should win out but he did 
 not allow himself to become sanguine upon that 
 head. 
 
 The summer passed all too quickly, for al 
 though the feather industry prospered it was not 
 without disappointments and drawbacks. For 
 one thing, Mrs. Whitney, at first favorably in 
 clined toward their project, positively refused to 
 listen to establishing a camp with her daughter 
 after one breezy night spent in the vicinity of 
 Dudley s plant. Moreover, she intimated her 
 disapproval of a young man who turned his back 
 upon a good ranch of his own, or an honest trade, 
 to fritter away time over hare-brained experi 
 ments. So Indian Joe cured the feathers under 
 Dudley s direction, \v;hile Elsie listened rebel- 
 
 50 
 
Gull* 
 
 liotisly to caustic criticisms of her lover, instead 
 of toiling joyfully at his side. 
 
 AN hen prospects began to be really promis 
 ing, the weather took a hand in the game. It 
 mined it kept on raining; the dry feathers be 
 came damp and threatened to mould. Neither 
 Dudley nor Joe knew what to do with them, 
 even if they had possessed proper facilities for 
 handling them. 
 
 This threatened calamity proved a blessing, 
 for it reduced Mama to the relenting stage, 
 prompting her to suggest her garret and a laun 
 dry stove, and this offer quelled the mutiny in 
 Elsie s heart. 
 
 How they worked, those two and they saved 
 the crop! They filled the ticks, too, and piled 
 them high all around the garret walls. When 
 Dudley was escorted up the stairs, and saw that, 
 thanks to their aid, he really had made good/ 
 he inarched boldly up to Mama and gave her a 
 resounding kiss, which she gracefully accepted. 
 
 When the fall returns were all in the only 
 shadow over the whole undertaking was the 
 stranger s failure to return. Disasters there had 
 been on land and sea, but Dudley rested in the 
 conviction that the man had been murdered for 
 his money by the two men who had shadowed 
 him. Elsie was opposed to using his money, so 
 it was determined to deposit the bills in the 
 bank to await his possible return. When Dud 
 ley presented them the cashier sorted them care 
 fully in little piles, counted them, looked dubi- 
 
 51 
 
Tillicum, Tales 
 
 ously at Dudley, then shoved them back through 
 the wicket. 
 
 "Can t take those," he said. 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Dudley. 
 
 "Counterfeit!" was the reply. It solved the 
 mystery. 
 
 52 
 
Northbound By Night 
 
 BY 
 GORDON HOUGHTON 
 
Northbound By Night 
 
 IGHT had shut down cold, damp and 
 dark on the little railroad town of Ked 
 Bluffs. With the exception of a few 
 flaring, spluttering arc-lights at occasional street 
 crossings and the twinkling lanterns of the 
 switchmen, no lights were visible in the freight 
 yards. Up and down on either side of the main 
 track long rows of box-cars, gondolas, and oil- 
 tanks loomed black and shadowy. 
 
 The door of one of the box-cars slid back 
 creakingly, and a man, after peering cautiously 
 around, dropped noiselessly to the ground. The 
 man w r as Jimmy Lainonte, professional tramp, 
 more generally known as "Denver Jimmy. 1 
 Judging from his appearance Jimmy was a very 
 ordinary sort of tramp. His oil-besmeared dark 
 suit and black shirt covered a short, thick-set 
 body which, though deft in all its movements, 
 VM gave a decided impression of awkwardness; 
 he wore his battered slouch hat cocked aggress 
 ively forward and to one side, so that it con 
 cealed his only good feature a pair of large, 
 Hear gray eyes; for the rest, his face was habit 
 ually adorned with a growth of black stubble, 
 which, combined with the coal dust, oil and soot 
 
 55 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 of the road, gave him a villainous aspect. In 
 manner he was cheerful from habit and neces 
 sity, but there was often an expression of weari 
 ness and melancholy in his eyes, which belied his 
 ribald tongue and coarse laugh. 
 
 On the present occasion, after muttering a 
 few oaths anent the coldness of the night and 
 the excellence of his late sleeping accommoda 
 tions, he made the best of his way, quietly and 
 unobtrusively, out of the freight yards, and to 
 wards that haven of refuge for the homeless 
 h obo the nearest saloon. He entered by the 
 rear door, and, after a hasty glance around at 
 the patrons and bar-tender to ascertain whether 
 or not the latter was likely to eject him on sight, 
 took a chair, drew it up close to the almost red- 
 hot air-tight, and dropped comfortably to sleep. 
 
 Some hours later he was aroused from his- 
 slumber by three short, sharp toots from a loco 
 motive. No matter how soundly he was sleep 
 ing, habit had taught him to wake at that sound. 
 He woke now with a start, and looked about 
 him nervously. The saloon was quiet. Over in 
 one corner a group of negroes were playing 
 poker in an indolent, sleepy sort of fashion; 
 the bartender was industriously polishing his 
 glasses, and an Italian janitor was sprinkling 
 wet paper, and sweeping up the cigar stubs and 
 mud-begrimed cards which were scattered over 
 the floor around the gambling tables. Jimmy 
 glanced at the clock and mumbled to himself, 
 "1:10 must be the north-bound the Bed Ball 
 freight. It s cold but I reckon I d better 
 
 56 
 
Northbound by Niyht 
 
 make her out." He yawned, stretched himself, 
 put on a pair of coarse gloves much the worse 
 for wear, and sidled toward the door. As he 
 passed the bartender, the latter smiled, and 
 said: "Traveling, partner?" Jimmy returned 
 his smile, and answered with equal brevity, "Yep 
 north," then, passing through the swing doors, 
 he disappeared into the night towards the yards. 
 
 When he arrived there, there were several 
 freight trains standing "made up," apparently 
 ready to leave. Jimmy hurried from one train 
 to another, rapidly examining the way-bills by 
 the fitful glimmer of the arc-lights, till he found 
 the one he wanted; then he ran rapidly up and 
 down the long line of cars, feeling each side door 
 hasp for the leaden seal whose presence or ab 
 sence showed whether the car was loaded or a 
 "deadhead." A careful search failed to reveal a 
 single deadhead in the thirty or more cars. Jim 
 my swore softly, and soliloquized, "I reckon its 
 
 the rods for me tonight, and its cold as , 
 
 too." By this time the chill of the fog had pene 
 trated his scanty clothing, and his teeth were 
 chattering pitifully. With slow and dejected 
 steps he moved forward, toward the locomotive, 
 for in order to "beat it out" on the rods suc 
 cessfully he would have to get ahead of the train 
 and "make it on the fly," when it had passed the 
 lights of the station. 
 
 He avoided walking in full view of the sta 
 tion by making a detour back of the roundhouse. 
 As he stole quietly along he passed a row of 
 silent cottages. A light shone invitingly through 
 
 57 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 the window of one of them. As Jimmy came 
 opposite the door swung open, and a man dressed 
 in the overalls, jumper and cap of a railroad 
 engineer stood silhouetted against the warm 
 light within, his profile showing clear-cut and 
 distinct. The vagrant stopped and looked en 
 viously at the cozy, comfortable-looking interior. 
 He looked at the man and inwardly cursed him 
 for what he called his luck. Why should not 
 he, too, be living as comfortably as that other? 
 He heard another warning blast of the whistle, 
 and was about to resume his way when a woman 
 appeared beside the man. The light from with 
 in shone full on her face. It was a strong, 
 calm, beautiful face, and there was such a look 
 of love and trust in it as she turned toward the 
 man that Jimmy, the renegade, the criminal, 
 who scarce knew what love meant, felt uncon 
 sciously awed, and looked away, bowing his head 
 almost reverently. Somewhere in his inner soul 
 a chord had been touched which had never thrill 
 ed before. Vaguely he heard a woman s voice 
 call "Good-bye, Harry ;" vaguely he heard a door 
 close and a man s footsteps running lightly on 
 the board walk. Jimmy felt in a dream, but the 
 mood quickly passed, and again he thought of 
 the other man as a natural enemy, more for 
 tunate than he. 
 
 He hurried to the water tank, in the shadow 
 of which he could conceal himself to await the 
 train. He had not long to wait. A final blast 
 of the whistle was followed by the slow clang 
 ing of the bell, and in another moment the 
 
 58 
 
Northbound by Xi 
 
 engine thundered by, belching great clouds of 
 steam from the cylinder-cocks on either side. 
 .Jimmy s every faculty was now strained to the 
 uttermost. When the locomotive had passed him 
 he sprang dose to the rapidly moving cars. He 
 looked beneath each to find one suited to his 
 purpose; .some had but two rods, while others 
 had the rods close to the body of the car; finally 
 he saw one with six rods, hung low, and with 
 the cast-iron struts wide apart. He braced him 
 self, caught the handle of the car door, and, as 
 he was swept from his feet, swung down and in, 
 and shot far under the car over the rods. In 
 a moment more he was reclining at full-length 
 on one of them, one foot extended to the next 
 rod to steady him, and one arm tightly clutch 
 ing the strut. 
 
 As the miles rolled by, he drowsed fitfully, 
 waking with his hands grasping the ice-cold iron 
 in a grip so tense that he could hardly relax 
 it to change his position. Occasionally on the 
 level stretches and down grades, he was pounded 
 by an incessant hail of gravel and clinkers, which 
 cut and bruised him painfully. Toward morn 
 ing the cold became so intense that sleep was 
 no longer possible. He was so benumbed and 
 fatigued that he only managed to cling to the 
 rods by sheer force of will. 
 
 All at once, without warning, the brake-shoes 
 ground upon the wheels, checking the cars so 
 suddenly that Jimmy almost lost his balance ; he 
 recovered himself with an oath, and sat up on 
 the rods expectantly. In another moment an 
 
 59 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 ominous crash sounded from the front; there 
 was a sound of crunching timbers and parting 
 bolts ; Jimmy s car reared like a plunging horse, 
 and then fell over on its side. Jimmy was 
 thrown violently to the ground, and picked him 
 self up, half stunned, but otherwise unhurt, from 
 among the debris of the cars. 
 
 For a few moments he staggered uncertainly 
 about, gathering his scattered wits, then prompt 
 ed by instincts of curiosity, he went forward 
 toward the engine. The wreck was piled high, 
 a tangled mass of twisted iron and splintered 
 wood, and was beginning to take fire indeed, 
 around the engine it was already burning fierce 
 ly. The cause of the wreck was soon apparent. 
 Ahead of the shattered engine were the remains 
 of several heavy gondola-cars such as are used 
 for shipping commercial iron. These had been 
 standing on a blind siding, when the freight 
 train ran through the open switch on to the 
 siding and into the cars. The engineer had no 
 ticed the automatic switch-signal which indi 
 cated that it was open, a few moments too late. 
 
 Jimmy watched the steadily-increasing blaze 
 with interest. The flames were creeping slowly, 
 but steadily, from one car to another; here great 
 tongues of flame leaped high into the air; there 
 they licked eagerly round the stout timbers of 
 the car frames, consuming them more rapidly 
 as the heat grew more intense. Jimmy drew 
 nearer to the engine itself. The fire had not yet 
 reached it, though the flames were approaching 
 rapidly; but it was enveloped in a great cloud 
 
 60 
 
yorthb&und by Night 
 
 of white steam, which was escaping with a steady 
 roar from some ruptured flue or water tube. A 
 gust from the furious draft of the fire scattered 
 the steam-cloud for a moment, and, through the 
 vista thus framed, Jimmy saw a face. He recog 
 nized it instantly. It was the same which he 
 had viewed but a few hours before with sensa 
 tions of envy. The engineer lay, now, with only 
 the upper part of his body visible, pinned to the 
 ground by the projecting cab-roof of his loco 
 motive. No human cry could have been heard 
 through the awful roar of the conflagration, but 
 Jimmy saw the instantaneous look of supplica 
 tion that flashed into the man s eyes. Despite 
 this the tramp s mental attitude was very littlt 
 changed the other fellow s luck had turned, 
 that was all. In the course of his short but 
 eventful life he had seen many men die, some 
 peacefully at home, some violently and suddenly, 
 with their boots on. Why should he trouble him 
 self to help this particular man, still less risk his 
 life for him? 
 
 Suddenly he started ; clear and distinct across 
 his memory flashed the image of a woman s 
 face. Again he saw the soft, warm light shin 
 ing through the open doorway; again he saw 
 the engineer s figure, standing black against the 
 bright interior; again he saw the lovelight in 
 the woman s eyes as she turned to bid him good 
 bye. Should she wait in vain for the return 
 of the man she loved, when he could save him? 
 He forgot himself, the danger, the heat, in his 
 new all-absorbing purpose. 
 
 61 
 
TiUlcum Tales 
 
 Without the least hesitation he wrenched a 
 two-by-four from the wreckage and rushed 
 through the blinding, scalding steam to the spot 
 where the engineer lay. Using it as a crow-bar, 
 he lifted the shattered framework of the cab, 
 and attempted to drag the now unconscious man 
 from beneath the ruin. He worked with fever 
 ish haste, for no man could long endure the fear 
 ful heat; the moments seemed like hours, and 
 still he struggled ineffectually; at last he put 
 forth an almost superhuman effort, put his 
 shoulder under the lever to sustain the weight 
 of the cab, and dragged the man out. Exhaust 
 ed from his labor and faint front the choking 
 heat, he relaxed his hold and permitted the 
 framework to settle back with a crash. As it 
 fell, a loose timber flew up and struck him full 
 across the head. He staggered for a moment, 
 dazed by the blow, then summoning his last 
 remaining strength, he half carried, half dragged 
 the other to a place of comparative safety. The 
 strain was over, and he fell unconscious to the 
 ground. 
 
 Some hours later a wrecking crew from Duns- 
 muir found the two, lying within a few feet of 
 each other near the track, some little distance 
 from the charred and smoldering remains of the 
 wreck. The railroad surgeon looked at them 
 both. He paused but a moment over Jimmy. 
 "Dead" he said, briefly, "concussion and proba 
 bly hemorrhage of the brain." He gave the en 
 gineer a more careful examination, and found 
 that though severely injured he would probably 
 
 62 
 
Northbound />// A ////// 
 
 live. He spoke a few words to the awed railroad 
 men standing around, and they carried the in 
 jured man to the caboose of the wrecking train. 
 The engineer recovered, but nobody ever 
 guessed the hand that "Denver Jimmy" had had 
 in his rescue. The press mentioned a tramp 
 "accidentally killed while stealing a ride on the 
 cars." 
 
 63 
 
Under the Platiron 
 
 A Story of the Snake River 
 
 BY 
 FLORA HUNT LEY 
 
Photo by A. O. Huntley. 
 
 "Like a writhing serpent trailed the Yellow Snake." 
 
Under the Flatiron 
 
 T was the hot canyon of the Snake 
 River. Above rose the bare, 
 scorched mountains in the late 
 August sun ; between them, like a 
 writhing serpent, trailed the Yel 
 low Snake. On a bar of land bor 
 dering the stream stood a solitary cabin, and just 
 withing its shadow a girl, so utterly incongruous 
 with her primitive surroundings, that she 
 seemed an unreal vision. Laura Curtis, in her 
 fresh pink dimity, would have graced a five 
 o clock tea. So little, and sweet, and dainty, she 
 stood there, so timid and appealing, one longed 
 to catch her up like a child and kiss her. 
 
 She lifted her head and sniffed the still air 
 for a breath of coolness, as she watched the even 
 ing shadows stretch across the river and climb 
 the peaks beyond. Their rude curves repelled 
 yet fascinated her, as her gaze followed the 
 outline of a colossal flatiron traced against the 
 cloudless sky. She shrank from its impending 
 heat and put up her hand to shut out the spec 
 tacle. Her eyes searched the wild trail on the 
 hills below, and her heart leaped at sight of a 
 rider, then sank at thought of the meeting. How 
 could she withstand his pleading! 
 
 67 
 
Tillidim Tales 
 
 She moved across the dry grass to a little 
 clump of alder bushes and parted the branches. 
 Beside a tiny stream that trickled slowly from 
 a spring above, stood a rude wooden cradle, cov 
 ered with musquito-netting and protected by a 
 wagon-sheet. Beside it sat Laura Curtis sister. 
 There were the same features, the same color 
 ing; but an infinite difference made itself felt. 
 Young Mrs. Bennett, in two years, had incor 
 porated herself into the landscape and become a 
 part of the picture. Laura, for three months, 
 had held herself away from it, and struggled to 
 preserve her own identity. Unlike the chame 
 leon, she felt that her protection lay in her con 
 trast to the life about her. 
 
 "Harry is coming with the mail," said Laura, 
 
 "How near is he?" 
 
 "A half-mile." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn t go back home, Laura,- 
 began her sister, with seeming irrelevance. There 
 was a home-sick note in her voice. "Harry Wes- 
 cott is a good man; he ll be a rich man some 
 day, when the mines open. Not that the money 
 matters so much but he s our kind, Laura; a 
 man of fine feeling, and still a strong, human, 
 natural man. When a fellow leaves college for 
 the woods or the mountains, it means an appre 
 ciation of the better things of life. Why can t 
 you like him?" 
 
 "I like him very much." 
 
 "You know what I mean, dear. It would 
 mean everything to me to have you here, near 
 me. You know how happy I am with Frank 
 
 68 
 
Under the r hit iron 
 
 and the baby, and yet one s own sister, and 
 our mother dead 
 
 "Don t, Hattie," said the girl, beseechingly. 
 "I should die; I don t see how you endure it." 
 
 "You wouldn t feel so if it were your home, 
 if those you love were here." 
 
 "My home? My prison! my tomb!" thought 
 the girl, as she looked up at the mountains which 
 shut her in. "It isn t the isolation it s just the 
 horror of the place. I can not breathe here; I 
 should suffocate." 
 
 "If you only cared for him," persisted the 
 wife, " it would all be so simple." 
 
 Laura opened her lips to speak. It would be 
 a relief to confess it all and own the love she 
 had denied. But only a sigh escaped her. Her 
 silence was her safety. The loyalty of her sis 
 ter for young Wescott was something to battle 
 against Not even to herself must she admit 
 her love, much less allow it to be discovered. 
 She would be misunderstood and misjudged. She 
 would seem selfish and unreasonable, and would 
 be urged to believe that she would grow to like 
 the valley. But the absence of love itself this 
 was an argument not to be gainsaid. It left her 
 sister weaponless. 
 
 The girl stood silent, thinking, listening. 
 
 Hattie rose, impulsively, and put her arm 
 about the little pink figure. "You look so lone 
 some, dear, one always feels like coming to your 
 rescue, somehow," she said, as they moved to 
 ward the cabin at sound of the horses feet. 
 
 Wescott tossed Mrs. Bennett the improvised 
 
 69 
 
TilUcum Tales 
 
 mail-sack, then reached a bunch of flowers to 
 Laura as he swung down from the saddle. It 
 was the sweet mountain laurel, with purple wild 
 asters, and he had added a handful of grasses. 
 This was the touch that appealed to her that he 
 had known to add the grasses ! 
 
 "Oh, thank you!" 
 
 She looked up into his brown, handsome, 
 joyous face. The hat pushed back showed a fine 
 white brow, and the low Byron collar of his black 
 silk shirt revealed the muscles of an athlete. He 
 had a clean look despite his dusty ride. 
 
 The spurs at his feet rattled as he stepped 
 nearer and drew something from the pocket be 
 neath his chaparejos. He opened his hand and 
 disclosed a huge rattle, the largest she had ever 
 seen. 
 
 "Mercy! I don t want it!" She put her 
 hands behind her and backed away. 
 
 "I thought you might like to take it home, 
 since you insist on going," he laughed skepti 
 cally. "I wanted to get the skin, but I bruised 
 the snake in killing it." 
 
 She shuddered and ran to the cabin, where 
 she watched him unsaddle the horse and slip off 
 the bridle. She spread a lunch while he washed 
 and Mrs. Bennett read snatches from the paper 
 while he ate. 
 
 "Where s Frank?" he inquired presently. 
 
 "He s milking. The cows didn t come home 
 and he had to hunt them, so he s late," said Mrs. 
 Bennett, as she laid aside the paper and made 
 her way to the little camp among the alders. 
 
 70 
 
Under the Flatiron 
 
 "Shall we walk down to the river?" sug 
 gested Wescott, rising. 
 
 "I don t want to see it," cried Laura, "it s so 
 cruel and treacherous. I can think of nothing 
 but the boy who was drowned." 
 
 "You re nervous over it, Laura. It s really 
 one of the most picturesque streams that I have 
 ever seen. Now the view from the point above 
 here let me show you " 
 
 "Not to-night." She shrank from the dry, 
 rustling grass, the rocks and the sand. 
 
 "We ll look at the mountains, if you like them 
 better," and he brought out the rude chairs, with 
 their hairy, cow-hide seats, and placed them be 
 yond the little garden patch, facing the Flatiron, 
 whore they could watch the moon rise over its 
 rim. 
 
 "I m not over fond of the Flatiron, either," 
 she said, half seriously. 
 
 "Case of Devil and deep sea, is it?" 
 
 "Two Devils, and both pushing me into the 
 treacherous Snake, which is more horrible than 
 the deepest sea. Look at the Flatiron! Isn t 
 it hot and relentless! I can just imagine how 
 it would siss if I touched a wet finger to it. I 
 often fancy it ironing its way over this valley 
 and smoothing out all the wrinkles." 
 
 He laughed at her fancy and abruptly 
 changed the subject. 
 
 "The ^fcDougal mine was sold today for two 
 hundred thousand." 
 
 "Oh, I m so glad!" 
 
 71 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Are you?" he cried, eagerly. "Mine are 
 every bit as good, and when I get my price, you ll 
 see what I ll do." 
 
 "You ll leave the Snake River?" she ques 
 tioned, not daring to hope it, 
 
 "I couldn t do that not for some time at 
 least and I shouldn t want to; it s home to me." 
 He drew the picture. "When the wind sweeps 
 over the hills, it s warm and sheltered here. The 
 snow creeps down the mountains but stops be 
 fore it reaches us. I like to think of the New 
 England snow storms and the Dakota blizzards, 
 as I pick the early February flowers. It s all 
 so snug and cozy a little happy-valley, where 
 one can live content and feel the very smile of 
 heaven." 
 
 The girl listened absently to his strange in 
 fatuation. 
 
 "And when the railroad comes down the river 
 I m in no hurry for it " he added parentheti 
 cally, "we won t seem so far away from the 
 world; the country will be opened up " 
 
 "It will never be opened." 
 
 "Why not, you little skeptic?" 
 
 "The Peacock mine was opened in 1863, and 
 what has been done with it? The mines at Cup 
 rum ten years ago, and they are deserted; your 
 railroad has been surveyed a dozen times, and 
 always with a boom, but it will never come. No 
 body would live here." 
 
 "Do you really dislike it so?" he asked, sur 
 prised at her familiarity with pioneer history. 
 
 72 
 
Under the Flat-iron 
 
 "Fve seen more attractive places/ she an 
 swered evasively. 
 
 "You re homesick/ he taunted. "After a visit 
 to the East you ll long for this wild, free life." 
 
 "Listen," she said, resolving to be finally un 
 derstood. "It s neither the East nor the West; 
 it s the earth, the soil; I never could take root 
 in it. It s that horrible wall of rock, rising into 
 the air. It s all a tragedy of nature, when some 
 mighty convulsion left this awful havoc, and we 
 are caught in its ruins." 
 
 "What a tragic little girl it is," he said, re 
 fusing to be serious. "There! see the moon over 
 the mountains. Isn t it beautiful, away from 
 the busy world, and close to the great earth ! Do 
 you know, I never care to see the moon in the 
 city. It seems out of harmony; but this is per 
 fect." 
 
 They sat in silence, watching the increasing 
 segment till it rose a completed circle. 
 
 "There!" exclaimed Wescott, with boyish de 
 light, "now let s do it over again." 
 
 "You mean ? 
 
 "I ll show you." 
 
 He caught her hand and led her forward, 
 stumbling over the dusty uneven ground. They 
 stopped beside a mass of huge boulders, grouped 
 in rude resemblance to a human dwelling "the 
 play-house" they had christened it. Here they 
 were again within the shadow of the mountain 
 and the moon was lost behind the rising ridge. 
 
 They stood motionless, speechless, before the 
 familiar spectacle, but to the girl it was as if 
 
 73 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 the moon had never risen before, and would not 
 appear again in all eternity. Fascinated, she 
 watched it grow, and felt that with its com 
 pleted disk, her tragedy would be upon her. 
 
 The night was pregnant; its details etched 
 themselves into her soul. A squirrel rustled the 
 dry leaves and disappeared in the rocks; a wan 
 dering bat flapped against her hair; and a line 
 from Omar whispered itself over and over. 
 
 "How oft hereafter rising look for us 
 Through this same garden and for one in 
 
 vain 
 
 t 
 
 She shivered and strangled a sob in her 
 throat. The touch of the rustling grass rasped 
 against her hand; she longed to nestle it in the 
 strong clasp of his, but she moved away, and 
 leaned for support against the wall of rock. 
 Startled, she drew back at the hot touch kept 
 from the day s sun. A dwarfed pine caught her 
 little fluttering sleeve and fastened it with pitch. 
 
 Tears came to her eyes. Why was nature so 
 cruel here! At every touch it scorched and 
 stung and frightened her; and he was so near! 
 His eyes were on the sky, but his hand reached, 
 asking for hers. 
 
 The lower arc suddenly darted above the rim 
 of the mountain and the moon was full! A 
 breath of relief escaped her as their eyes met. 
 
 "It seems like turning back the wheels of 
 Time," he said. 
 
 "Would you care to?" she questioned. 
 
 74 
 
the i l<i t iron 
 
 "I d live these months since you came to the 
 river, a hundred times over." His voice was 
 very tender. "Would you?" 
 
 "I wouldn t live them again not once for 
 all the world !" 
 
 "Do you mean it, Laura?" He came nearer. 
 "Do you know, I was going to ask you tonight, 
 to live here to stay with me, always. Do you 
 mean that it could never be? Have you taken 
 this way to tell me?" 
 
 She trembled, but her voice was clear. "It 
 could never be." 
 
 "Are you sure, Laura? Oh, are you very 
 sure? This is a question between us. You re 
 not thinking of the country it isn t that? Can t 
 you tell me? There is some one else?" 
 
 "Don t, Hal," she besought him. She felt 
 that she still had strength to put him out of her 
 life, she still possessed herself; but a word 
 spoken, the touch of his hand, a kiss to be re 
 membered and there would be a claim on her 
 soul beyond her power to forget. "Don t let us 
 talk of it. I can not." 
 
 "You can not mean it, Laura!" It was a 
 wounded cry, and he clutched her arm to keep 
 her. "It is not true." 
 
 She repulsed him rudely. "I am going 
 back." 
 
 He shrank at the changed tone, and the light 
 in his eyes went out. His fa< < hud an unnatural 
 seriousness that made it dull. The girl was 
 thankful for this apathy; it was less hard to 
 witness than his pain. 
 
 75 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Hurt by the gesture, and stung at the quiet, 
 decisive voice, he walked silently beside her to 
 the spot where they had watched the first moon- 
 rise. Without a word he left her to go for his 
 horse. 
 
 "I can bear it, oh, I can bear it," she moan 
 ed, clasping her hands, "I can live without 
 love, but I can not put love to this awful test, 
 I know my weakness and my little strength." 
 
 It was a prayer ; it was a struggle for life ; it 
 was the assertion of a prenatal influence, inten 
 sifying itself in this crisis of her soul. The in 
 stinctive, unreasoning fear of animal life; the 
 shrinking from Nature in her crude and violent 
 forms, was a mortal antipathy, which her pio 
 neer mother alone had understood. 
 
 Wescott stopped beside Laura for his final 
 good-bye. 
 
 "I shall not see you again," he said. "There 
 are two or three weeks of assessment work to be 
 done on the mines, and I think I ll go up and be 
 gin it tomorrow. You will be gone before I come 
 back." 
 
 "Yes," she said, holding her beating heart, 
 and pausing for breath to speak evenly, "I shall 
 be gone." 
 
 "Sit down, Laura," he said, seeing her agita 
 tion. "You are tired; I have made it hard for 
 you." He threw the bridle rein over the horse s 
 head to the ground and walked back. 
 
 She sank into her chair. 
 
 "I think you know, Laura, how love changes 
 all the world. This valley will be less beautiful 
 
 76 
 
Under the Flatiron 
 
 to me, because you have gone. You have made 
 it wonderful. Everything will speak to me of 
 you. I hoped to interpret it, transform it for 
 you. If after a time, when you are away from 
 it all, you feel different, I want you to tell me, to 
 come back to me. Will you?" 
 
 She did not speak. Her hand toyed nervous 
 ly with her chair, and reached to the dried grass, 
 but her fingers touched the cold, damp folds of a 
 snake, coiled at her side. 
 
 The cry was frozen on her lips by the quick, 
 unmistakable rattle. All the horror of the wild 
 life about her seemed concentrated into this 
 loathsome thing waiting to dart its poison into 
 her life, and her reserve melted into a sickening, 
 helpless terror. 
 
 "Harry," she sobbed, and clung quivering to 
 his arm. 
 
 It was a call to his very soul, thrilling him 
 with its subtle appeal; but he put her away to 
 crush the reptile with his heel, pausing an in 
 stant to make sure that it was dead. 
 
 The girl stood terrified and alone, not daring 
 to move. He took her unresisting into his arms. 
 Faint and weak with fright and her long self- 
 control, she yielded utterly to his embrace. 
 
 "Laura!" he implored, as if to convince him 
 self as well as her, "it is I you love me, Laura ! 
 There is no one else!" 
 
 Her little hand tightened over the hard mus 
 cle of his arm and moved convulsively to his 
 face; her wet lashes touched his cheek; her lips 
 moved against his throat 
 
 77 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Laura!" he gasped, holding her away from 
 him almost roughly, and turning her face up to 
 the light. "Laura, I understand, I see how you 
 suffer. You shall not stay here another day, if 
 I may go with you, back to the world any 
 where, so that we go together." 
 
 A light suddenly gleamed in the cabin, and 
 a low lullaby came on the still air. 
 
 "It would be death, here," she said, "but T 
 am ready to die with you." 
 
 "You shall live with me!" and he drew her 
 home to his heart. 
 
The Chiefs Counterplot 
 
 BY 
 EDITH ALLEN JORDAN 
 
The 
 Chief s Counterplot 
 
 HE chiefs big feet shuffled uneasily under 
 the desk. He was scowling abominably. 
 
 "Dang it, Bobbie! I won t touch it," he 
 said. "There s no use sending it here. I know 
 the type. You needn t tell me anything about it. 
 I tell you that girl can t write stories!" 
 
 "But if you could find time just to look it 
 over." 
 
 "It isn t the time. I ve all the time there is. 
 Take it to Smith." 
 
 "You are so much more just than Smith," 
 persisted Bobbie. "Besides she knows Smith, 
 and has an intense dislike for him." 
 
 "What s that to do with it? I ll be hanged 
 if I want her to love me! Nice mess, if every 
 woman who wrote fell in love with the editor! 
 Tell her to send it to The Argus." 
 
 "She can t wait so long. The truth is 
 though she doesn t say so I I think she s 
 up against it" 
 
 A sharp glance shot from under the heavy 
 eyebrows of the chief. 
 
 "So? What s the matter with her?" 
 
 81 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "She s been having a beast of a time. Her 
 mother was sick all winter, and died a couple of 
 weeks ago. They lost their home had no end 
 of trouble. I don t suppose her salary went 
 very far, and school s out now." 
 
 "Any family?" queried the chief. 
 
 "One brother. Bright little chap, but deli 
 cate. She s awfully good to him. I told her I 
 thought she could sell anything she would write. 
 She s very clever." 
 
 "Humph! That s no sign she can write. 
 Good-looking, too, I suppose." 
 
 Bobbie flushed. He suspected he was being 
 quizzed; but he was the chief s favorite. He 
 knew anyone else would have been squelched long 
 ago, so he rose to it manfully. 
 
 "Yes, she is good-looking. I think she s 
 beautiful." 
 
 Another glance from the keen eyes, as the 
 chief paused in the work he was continuing, not 
 withstanding the argument. 
 
 "Why don t you help her, instead of putting 
 her up to this sort of thing?" 
 
 Bobbie was off guard. 
 
 "Help her! I d die I d do anything for 
 her," excitedly. "She won t let me help her. 
 She s so confoundedly independent. She would 
 never bring her story here if she thought you 
 hesitated about it." 
 
 "Bring it ! Great guns ! Don t let her bring 
 it! Send it, man, if you must but don t let her 
 bring it!" 
 
 82 
 
TJie Chiefs Counterplot 
 
 Mischief wrinkled the corners of Bobbie s 
 mouth for a second. He knew the chiefs weak 
 ness. 
 
 The cause was half won. Now for the other 
 half. He took a long jump. 
 
 "If you don t mind, chief, she would like to 
 read it to you. She has read it to me. It is full 
 of human interest. Could she come at two, do 
 you think?" 
 
 He gasped a bit. Had he overstepped? 
 
 The blue pencil slammed on the desk. The 
 broad back straightened. The gray eyes shot 
 fire. 
 
 Not a trace of impudence was lurking in the 
 innocence of Bobbie s rosy face. 
 
 "Dang it ! I don t care when she conies !" 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 Bobbie was gone, but the chief was sputtering. 
 
 At precisely half a second before two, the 
 young woman under discussion entered the 
 chiefs private office. 
 
 A grunt of satisfaction curled over in the 
 chief s throat after the moment of mutual in 
 spection. Then his big hand went out. 
 
 She smiled, and the chief was won. 
 
 "I knew your mother. You are like her," he 
 said, and wished he had kept still. 
 
 In the next thought he wondered if there had 
 really been a look of pain in her face or if his eyes 
 were growing old. 
 
 She was quite composed, quite dignified 
 not at all afraid, as girls were apt to be when they 
 
 83 
 
Tillicwm, Tales 
 
 came to that office, and she went straight at her 
 mission, which he liked. 
 
 "No tomfoolery !" he thought, shoving his pa 
 pers aside. 
 
 "You are very kind. I know how busy you 
 are," she remarked, opening her manuscript. "I 
 have cut it quite short. Mr. Hartrett thought 
 it long in places." 
 
 "Humph! How many words?" he asked, 
 gruffly. 
 
 "Just four thousand. I inserted some extra 
 words to make it even." 
 
 The chief spoke hastily. "What s your 
 title?" 
 
 "Root-loimd." 
 
 "Good title. Where did you get it?" 
 
 "Well, you see, I began this story when we 
 first came West. Our neighbors were so very 
 homesick." 
 
 "Of course. Weren t you?" 
 
 "My mother would not allow us to think so," 
 she answered, very quietly. "I realize, now, how 
 brave she was." 
 
 "Women are, sometimes," under his breath. 
 "Read your story." 
 
 He listened until she had finished, enjoying 
 the well-modulated voice, vastly more than the 
 account of a homesick old lady who had come 
 West to live told simply, but with a creaking 
 of machinery that jarred the chiefs nerves. 
 
 "What s your motive?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 She colored. "I desired employment during 
 my vacation." 
 
 84 
 
The Chiefs Counterplot 
 
 He coughed. "I don t mean that. What s 
 the motif of your story your theme? What 
 are you driving at?" 
 
 "O, I did not understand you. I believe T 
 had several aims in my mind. I wished to show 
 the Western people how they could help those 
 who came from the East to become contented 
 and the Eastern women how to help themselves. 
 Then I wanted to tell how lovely those young 
 people were to their grandmother. O, yes and 
 I wanted to show how the beauties of nature 
 could assist one in being happy. I must have 
 had four motives." 
 
 "Humph!" restlessly. "Too much motive. 
 Have one, and stick to it. Make it strong. Too 
 much narrative. Not enough action. Make the 
 old lady do something." 
 
 "Why, Mr. Sterling, she did all the house 
 work, and made a home for those young people. 
 Surely that was enough for one woman to do. 
 An old lady, too." 
 
 A chuckle came from the chief. 
 
 "Plenty, plenty ! I like your style." 
 
 The girl blushed. Bobbie had said he was a 
 gentleman. Were all editors like this? 
 
 "I am in mourning, because of my mother s 
 death," she replied, with dignity. The editor 
 was surprised at his own embarrassment. 
 
 "I referred to your literary style. Where s 
 your climax?" 
 
 "My climax? Why, O I think it must have 
 been when they reached Mount Rainier. No, it 
 was when she came home from the picnic, Sun- 
 
 85 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 day evening. She did not want to go, you know." 
 
 "Naturally from New England and on 
 Sunday, too. She should not have gone." 
 
 "But, you see, the old lady, who was our 
 neighbor, really did go." 
 
 "No matter! Don t let her do it again!" 
 
 The girl s eyes sparkled with fun. The chief 
 forgot what he meant to say in noticing the 
 laugh, and how it brightened even her black 
 gown. 
 
 "There is no danger of her doing it again, 
 for she has gone back East," she answered. 
 
 "Where she belonged," emphatically. "Ought 
 to have stayed there in the first place. How 
 much time have you put on this?" 
 
 "Not long enough, I am afraid," she spoke 
 doubtfully. "I worked at it, off and on, during 
 several months, some time ago. Then, recently, 
 when I had read it to Bobbie to Mr. Hartrett, 
 I changed it some." 
 
 "Fine fellow, Hartrett, Known him long?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed. All my life. I do not know 
 what we should have done, last winter, without 
 him." 
 
 The chief s shaggy head nodded. His alert 
 eyes had seen, and the quick mind interpreted, 
 all that was necessary. He strode down the 
 room, then back to his desk. 
 
 "I ll give you a hundred for it. We pay on 
 acceptance. Publish when we get ready." 
 
 "Oh," she gasped. "Oh !" 
 
 He hoped she wasn t going to faint, and 
 wished Bobbie were there. 
 
 86 
 
The Chiefs Counterplot 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Sterling, do you mean you will buy 
 my story? That it is worth a hundred dollars?" 
 
 The chief cleared his throat. He was hedg 
 ing for time. 
 
 "That s all I can allow for it. Better bring 
 everything you write to me. Am very busy. 
 If you see Bobbie, send him here, if you please. 
 Good afternoon." 
 
 Bobbie came. There was no question in the 
 chiefs mind about his having seen the ladj. 
 The young man s usually ruddy face was quite 
 pale. He wanted to shake hands but the chief 
 would not see it. 
 
 "Turned in that political stuff?" he asked 
 brusquely. 
 
 "Yes, sir." Bobbie s work was always on 
 time. "But I I will just have to thank you, 
 sir she was so happy, she cried. She said it 
 would clear her up in great shape." He hesi 
 tated, with a lump in his throat "And if you 
 please, Mr. Sterling, I will be responsible for 
 that hundred dollars, myself. I she can you 
 use the story at all, sir?" 
 
 The chief turned on him. 
 
 "You scoundrel ! It s in that basket! That s 
 what I bought it for. Save postage. I told 
 you she couldn t write. Knew it all along. 
 Wrong makeup. Made to boss a cook, and to 
 s-\v on buttons. Any woman can peg at story- 
 writing. Only one in a thousand can make a 
 homo. Why don t you marry her?" 
 
 87 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "I want to, and she won t. She says she 
 won t marry till little Dick is well, and we are 
 ready to go to housekeeping." 
 
 "That s nothing, you booby! Be more con 
 vincing! You are as bad as her yarn nothing 
 doing not enough action wrong suspense 
 concentrate your forces get a move on you ! Do 
 you hear? Bring things to a climax!" The 
 chief was growing excited. 
 
 "I d be the happiest man on earth, if I could," 
 soberly spoke Bobbie. 
 
 "Well, do it! Marry her now this after 
 noon both of em! Take em to my house. 
 Need s a woman around. She can look after Wil 
 liams. Housekeeper been gone for a month. Do 
 as you please about going yourself. But 
 somebody s got to marry that girl! Dang 
 it Bobbie! If you don t, / will! Are you con 
 vinced? If she isn t there to pour my coffee to 
 night, you lose your job ! I mean it ! D ye hear? 
 Now act!" 
 
 As the door slammed behind the delighted 
 Bobbie, the chief wiped his spectacles. 
 
 "I m an old fool! Got even with Bobbie, 
 though !" 
 
 88 
 
A 
 
 Matrimonial Epidemic 
 at Skookum 
 
 BY 
 F. RONEY WEIR 
 
 Author of 
 
 A Romany of Rabbit Run", 
 "The Hired Man", Etc. 
 
A 
 
 Matrimonial Epidemic 
 at Skookum 
 
 . WARREN swears it was his plan, 
 but it wasn t ; it was mine from the very 
 outset 
 
 Doc. was up in the Skookum Country to buy 
 my wares, Siwash blankets, baskets, mats, cou 
 gar skins, elks teeth. I was rather a poor 
 farmer, and eked out my income by gathering 
 such interesting and ill-smelling curios as came 
 my way during my intercourse with the natives. 
 
 There were four of us ranchers whose claims 
 joined; Jones, a raw-boned Missourian, Ole Hel- 
 geson, from the land of the Sagas, and Albert, a 
 Canadian of French descent, who let his hair 
 and whiskers grow until, if we wanted to commu 
 nicate with him, we had to fire a rifle to attract 
 his attention and get him out of the brush, and 
 myself. 
 
 Said I, "Doc., we re all good fellows, and if 
 this railroad goes through, as we expect it will, 
 we shall all be rich within the next ten years. 
 We are all able to support wives in good shape 
 even now if we had ern, but there are no women 
 
 91 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 out here except a kloochman or two, and we ve 
 been stowed away in the woods here so long not 
 one of us dares make a break into the world 
 after a wife. Now you are going to Chicago with 
 goods, and coming right back. A big city like 
 Chicago must be full of women sort of old, or 
 homely, or over- worked, who would jump at the 
 chance to come out to live on a Washington 
 ranch, and marry a man who stood a chance of 
 being rich as soon as the country opens up, and 
 the railroad gets in." 
 
 "I presume I could find four women of that 
 description down there," said Doc., "but the 
 trouble is if I should find em and send em out, 
 you wouldn t like the brand, and I d have em all 
 on my hands. Of course, being a widower, I 
 could provide for one of em, but what would be 
 come of the other three?" 
 
 "Aye tak von, by yingo!" 
 promised Ole Helgeson. 
 "I, too," promised Albert. 
 "I want a good-looker, and 
 young!" said Jones, and we 
 gave him the laugh, for I 
 suppose the Lord never 
 made but one homlier man 
 than Jones, and for personal 
 reasons I rather not men 
 tion the name of that other* 
 man. 
 
 Well, before Doc. started we all promised 
 that if he would do the best he could we d stand 
 by, no matter what he handed out to us ; and he 
 
 92 
 
1 Matrimonial Epidemic at Skookitm 
 
 left for Chicago with that understanding, and a 
 cargo of Siwash handiwork. 
 
 After Doc. was gone, and the die cast, we 
 began to feel pretty serious about what we had 
 done. We used to get together nights in one 
 cabin or the other, to talk the matter over. \\V 
 were full of suggestions as to improvements in 
 cadi other s personal appearance, and surround 
 ings. 
 
 We made a bee and gave Albert a hair-cut and 
 a shave, and after that we used to start every 
 time we met him unexpectedly, thinking him a 
 stranger. 
 
 Every man jack of us did some extra stunt 
 to make our cabins more attractive. Jones 
 painted his door sky-blue; Ole cut a window in 
 his cabin (he had never felt the necessity of a 
 window before) ; I tapestried my walls with In 
 dian blankets, and Albert winged the dust from 
 the top of his stovepipe. 
 
 At last we got a letter from Doc. "I ve 
 rounded up the four," he wrote, "I don t know as 
 they will be at all satisfactory, but it is the best 
 I can do. One is young and pretty, one not so 
 young, nor so pretty, but full of fun and mighty 
 stylish; one is a Swede girl who will never be 
 hung for her beauty, and the fourth is a widow 
 with a bad eye and encumbrances." 
 
 "Aye tank aye don t tak dat cucumbrances," 
 said Ole, "Aye tank aye lak dat Svede gal pooty 
 veil." 
 
 "You ll take just whatever you happen to 
 draw out of the hat!" Jones assured him. 
 
 03 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "I think/ said I, "that Doc. has made an aw 
 ful mistake. At least he should have evened up 
 the bunch. From one who is young and pretty 
 to a widow with a bad eye and encumbrances, is 
 a fearful latitude. I hope the matter won t 
 breed quarrels between us." 
 
 I could see that Jones had his mind set on 
 the young and pretty one; and Ole kept saying, 
 "Aye lak dat Svede gal pooty veil," which nar 
 rowed Albert s choice and mine down to the 
 stylish one, and the widow with the bad eye. 
 
 Then Albert made his declaration of inde 
 pendence by stating that he had but one pet 
 aversion in the world, and that was widows, so 
 you see where I stood. 
 
 The nearer the time came for our cargo to ar 
 rive, the shakier we got. It began to be pretty 
 clear to me that both Albert and Jones were just 
 on the point of taking to the tall timber, and 
 leaving Doc. and the rest of us in a pretty mess. 
 Something had to be done. 
 
 I said: "Boys, it s a good week before they 
 can get here, what do you say to all going down 
 to Skookum and bowling up for the last time?" 
 
 None of us were drinking men, but they all 
 grasped at the idea. 
 
 Albert told me confidentially that whenever 
 he thought of that "stylish one" looking him 
 over, and making remarks about his clothes, he 
 felt that he must make a run for safety while 
 yet there was time. 
 
 94 
 
A Matrimonial Epidemic at Skookum 
 
 Even Ole began to weaken. He kept say 
 ing, "Aye tank ve pooty big fools! Ve gat long 
 on ranch a right mitout dem encumbrances!" 
 
 I, myself, didn t have much faith in the goods 
 Doc. was sending out. If he had considered 
 them fair to middling why didn t he come along 
 back with them according to agreement? But 
 I wasn t going back on the arrangement at this 
 late day, and what was more, I didn t intend that 
 the boys should. 
 
 I had told the boys that it would be a week 
 before the shipment from Chicago could arrive, 
 but in reality I knew that they were due at 
 Skookum then. 
 
 Not being in the habit of drinking, it didn t 
 take the boys any time to get into a condition 
 where they wouldn t have been afraid to face a 
 drove of ichthyosauruses. 
 
 The only trouble was that in getting the boys 
 fixed up I became so uncertain in my movements 
 that if Ole Helgeson hadn t hitched on to me and 
 hauled me round I d have been mislaid in some 
 odd corner and forgotten entirely. My legs felt 
 just like two strings of boiled macaroni. 
 
 From that time on, until we got the whole 
 consignment out to the ranches, there is just a 
 hazy glimmer in my mind, like looking into a 
 broken kaleidoscope. I remember dimly of 
 standing up in a row to be married. Somebody 
 had his arms around me, supporting the weight 
 of my body, which my macaroni legs refused, and 
 I took it for granted that the person who was 
 supporting me was the one to whom I was being 
 
 95 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 married. When I discovered that it was still 
 Ole, I was troubled. I liked Ole as a neighbor 
 and friend, but I didn t care to be joined to him 
 in the holy bonds of matrimony. 
 
 Opposite us stood a group of women, some 
 young, some old. 
 
 After the ceremony we hired a team and a big 
 wagon with a shingle-rack, and all went home 
 together. Ole Helgeson drove. He was the only 
 one in the crowd who had kept up his practice 
 in the gentle art of boozing, so he was not quite 
 so incapacitated as were the rest of us. 
 
 It seemed to me as I looked over the load, 
 that there were a great many more of us than 
 there should have been. 
 There was one old party 
 with a heavy dewlap under 
 her chin, and a sunken 
 mouth, who kept looking re 
 provingly at me with her 
 little, aged, watery eyes un 
 til it dawned on my be- 
 dimmed brain that she must 
 be my wife. 
 
 It made me pretty blue. 
 She seemed a kindly old soul, but her extreme 
 age precluded the hope that she could long oe 
 spared to bless my life, and a fear of long years 
 of unconsolable widowerhood saddened me. But 
 I had promised Doc. Warren to stand pat in this 
 deal, no matter what I drew, so as soon as 1 
 could, safely, I crawfished over to her side and 
 asked her gently if she knew whether or not I 
 was her newly wedded husband. 
 
 96 
 
A Mc&rimOttM Epidemic at Skookiim 
 
 She said it was all so muddled up that she d 
 be blest if she could tell who was married and 
 who wasn t She said that everybody that was 
 able to stand up stood up, and the justice of the 
 peace rattled off something, and there wasn t 
 light enough from the one old dirty oil lamp to 
 distinguish faces, especially the faces of strang 
 ers. 
 
 By the time we reached my shack we had 
 sobered up a good deal. We piled the women 
 and child dear, thin-legged, little Alexandrina, 
 the sweetest youngone on earth! all out there, 
 and then we men drew off to one side and held 
 a consultation, and found out that we were as 
 much in the dark as was the old lady. 
 
 Jones crumpled right down under a big tree 
 and began to cry. 
 
 "I don t give a hang what you do to me, I 
 will not have that old woman!" he blubbered. 
 "You re goin to poke her off on me, I can see that 
 plain enough, but I won t stand for it I tell you !" 
 
 "Aye lak dat Svede gal pooty veil," said Ole 
 sadly. 
 
 "Who are all these women anyhow?" de 
 manded Jones. "There are more women here 
 than the bill calls for and who does that thin 
 long-legged youngone belong to? Who wants 
 her, I d liko to know!" 
 
 "I ll take that youngone," I said, "She s just 
 as gentle and pretty as she can be !" 
 
 "There s just one woman in the whole bunch 
 that s worth taking!" declared Jones. 
 
 "Which one is that?" inquired Albert. 
 
 97 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "It s the yellow pompadour the pretty one! 
 But, of course, you all feel the same as I do, I 
 suppose !" 
 
 "I dont," said Albert, 
 "Fd rather have the one 
 with her back platted into 
 town lots, and her hat 
 clean out of plumb the 
 stylish one." 
 
 "Aye lak dat Svede gal 
 pooty veil," suggested Ole 
 gently. 
 
 "So far as I am concern 
 ed," said I, "I am willing 
 to become the stepfather of that dear, thin-legged 
 little girl, no matter who her mother is." 
 
 "We all know who we want," said Jones pet 
 ulantly, "but we don t know who we ve got! 
 Where are the licenses, Leffy. What did they 
 say?" 
 
 "I got the licenses before the women came. I 
 didn t know their names, of course, so I just had 
 em filled in as they do in legal documents, Jane 
 Doe, Jennie Doe, Jennet Doe, and J. Doe." 
 
 Then we looked up the certificates which that 
 old dough-head of a justice had scratched off, 
 and we found that they corresponded with the 
 licenses and told us nothing. 
 
 "We each know the woman we want," said 1 
 decisively, "but we don t know whether we are 
 married to the right one or not. Now there is 
 only one way to be sure and that is to go back 
 and start all over again!" 
 
 98 
 
A Matrimonial A m/V////r at *s /v>o A- inn 
 
 "How s that?" asked Jones. 
 
 "Take em all back to town, all get divorces, 
 and get married again soberly, decently, and in 
 daylight, and to the right ones!" 
 
 But Jones objected. He said that would do 
 very well for the rest, because they were just 
 everyday common place sort of women ; but to 
 take that golden-haired beauty back to the gay 
 town of Skookum, and leave her there all the time 
 it would take to get a divorce would be to risk 
 losing her entirely. Some Skookum man would 
 put her in mind of the loneliness of ranch life, 
 and she d never come back up in here to live, in 
 the world. 
 
 "Let s ask the women," I suggested, and they 
 appointed me a committee of one to do so. 
 
 I went up to a tall, pleasant-faced woman, and 
 began to open the case, but she stepped back and 
 called softly, "Gabrielle!" and out came the 
 daintiest little thing I could see at once that 
 she was better than pretty she was fascinat 
 ing! 
 
 "This is my daughter, 
 Mrs. Roby," said the pleas 
 ant-faced woman. "I mean 
 she was Mrs. Roby before 
 she was married this morn 
 ing." 
 
 Mrs. Roby had a bandage 
 over one eye. Here, then, 
 was the widow witli the had 
 eye, as Doc. Warren had put 
 it, the mother of the thin- 
 
 99 
 
Tillioum Tales 
 
 legged little cherub whom I coveted. 
 
 I was gone in a minute ! all in, as they say. 
 
 She sat down upon a log and put a hand 
 over the bandage as if in pain. 
 
 "What s the matter with your eye?" I in 
 quired kindly. 
 
 "Gone!" said she solemnly. 
 
 "You poor little thing !" said I, "But what of 
 it! I am going to make you just as happy as a 
 little queen out here. The railroad is coming 
 through pretty soon, and we intend to start a 
 sawmill and work up our own timber. You ll 
 be rich, and a rich woman don t need but one 
 eye." 
 
 "Do you like me?" she inquired softly. 
 
 "Like you!" said I, "More than that!" 
 
 "And there is little Alexandrina " 
 
 "I loved her before I ever saw you ! I shall 
 keep her whether you have me or not!" 
 
 "And there s mother " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "And grandmother " 
 
 "Bring em on !" said I, "Aunt Susan and 
 Uncle Phineas, Cousin Jerusha and John Henry ! 
 If your relations stood as thick as those cedars 
 out yonder, I d take em all with you !" 
 
 Then if you ll believe it> she shed that band 
 age then and there, and gleamed up at me 
 through two of the prettiest eyes man ever gazed 
 into. 
 
 "What made you do that?" I asked. 
 
 "I thought the wrong man wouldn t be apt 
 to choose a disfigured woman, and if there was 
 
 100 
 
A Matrimonial /v/>/</r;/nr at Xkookum 
 
 a right one he would choose in spite of the dis 
 figuration. If there wasn t any right one mother 
 and I had planned to go out as cooks in Seattle, 
 with grandmother to care for little Alexandrina," 
 
 Well now you may be sure I was glad enough 
 that Jones was smitten with that yellow pompa 
 dour. I never liked the looks of that young 
 woman from the very first; she was young, but 
 she looked too wise to suit me. I wouldn t care 
 to have this get out, for Jones thinks she is the 
 one and only; he wouldn t stand anybody saying 
 a thing against his wife. And Jones and Albert 
 and Ole and I have always been good friends and 
 neighbors, as I hope we always shall be. And 
 I was glad that Albert took to the woman with 
 the plaid mackintosh and that Ole "laked dat 
 Svede gal pooty veil," leaving the widow with the 
 bad eye and the encumbrances to me. 
 
 "I suppose we ll all have to get divorces," I 
 said. 
 
 "I hardly believe that will be necessary," an 
 swered Gabrielle. "What is written in your 
 marriage certificate?" 
 
 I took it out of my pocket and 
 read: "This is to certify that 
 Leffingwell Stroud and Jane Doe 
 were this day united by me in 
 the holy bonds of matrimony " 
 and so on. 
 
 "Christenings are much cheap 
 er than divorces," said Gabrielle, 
 and reaching down, she dipped 
 her pretty fingers in a little rill 
 
 101 
 
Tillictim Tales 
 
 and sprinkled a few drops over her own head. "I 
 christen you Jane Doe," she said, "and I believe 
 now we are as legally married as the law can 
 make us." 
 
 We all gathered round and held a council of 
 war, and as the women were satisfied, we adopted 
 Ga , I mean Jane Doe s, suggestion. 
 
 After the christening my wife and my mother- 
 in-law got up a dinner why say! everybody in 
 the settlement talks of that dinner to this day! 
 And evolved from just next to nothing, too! 
 There isn t but one woman west of the Cascades 
 who can cook better than my mother-in-law, and 
 that is my wife, Jane Doe. 
 
 And this brings me to the sad part of my 
 story : 
 
 I went right to work to build the swellest 
 ranch house around the country in which to make 
 my family comfortable. I had a great fireplace 
 put in, and I bought a fine upholstered easy- 
 chair, with elephant ears at the sides you know 
 the kind for my grandmother-in-law to sit in 
 beside the roaring blaze of my chimney, and tell 
 my little Alexandrina fairy stories; and I built 
 an elegant kitchen and pantry, equipped with 
 all the latest devices for fine cooking, so that my 
 mother-in-law could show off her fine points 
 there wasn t a man of em but who envied me my 
 mother-in-law and j ust as I had everything 
 fixed to the queen s taste, along comes that old 
 Doc. Warren back from the East and robbed me 
 of my mother-in law, and my grandmother-in- 
 law! Yes sir! married my mother-in-law, and 
 
 102 
 
A Matrimonial Epidemic at Skookum 
 
 took her to Skookum to live, and of course, she 
 took her mother with her. 
 
 Said I, "Doc., I never thought you d do me dirt 
 like this!" and then I heaved that easy-chair with 
 earlappers up on top of the load of moving stuff 
 trunks and things which belonged to the bride 
 and says I, "Take it along! I can t bear the 
 sight of it there by the fire! But," I says, 
 "there s my wife and child left; no man can ever 
 get them away from me." 
 
 "What ll you bet?" says Doc. "Look at that 
 youngone, how she s shooting up. Before you 
 can say Jack Robinson she ll be a young lady 
 and some young rancher will come courting, and 
 away will go another of your brood." 
 
 And I presume that s true. 
 
 Yes, we took great chances on that marriage 
 deal, but we came out lucky after all. Jones 
 has an ever-augmenting family, and his wife 
 hasn t a particle of good looks left; but Jones 
 doesn t know it. Albert just sits and lets his 
 whiskers grow, and gazes with admiring eyes at 
 the "stylish one," and Ole will stop work any 
 time of day to assure you that he "laks dat 
 Svede gal pooty veil!" My wife, Jane Doe, has 
 all the beauty, and what s more to the point, all 
 the brains, and it seems strange that the other 
 men don t realize it. 
 
 103 
 
The Duchess of Rattle 
 snake Prairie 
 
 BY 
 FLORENCE MARTIN EASTLAND 
 
"Near the door of the lean-to kitchen Joe Had resumed his 
 biscuit-making." 
 
The Duchess of Rattle 
 snake Prairie 
 
 Round Hill school house bell had just 
 sounded its morning invitation. \Vheu 
 the teacher, Ida Hamilton, appeared at 
 the door to shake a dust-cloth she saw two little 
 strangers toiling up the frozen pathway. Their 
 faces were blue with cold and occasionally they 
 brought to their lips their mittenless fingers in 
 vain efforts to breathe warmth into their frozen 
 tips. 
 
 "Never mind, Baldy," remarked the larger, a 
 girl, "we re here now an we ll soon git warm. 
 Don t cry; teacher 11 think you re not a nice 
 boy." 
 
 "You poor babies!" Ida exclaimed compas 
 sionately, noting the thin ragged clothing. 
 "Whore 1 did you come from? No; you need not 
 tell me till you are warm. Here." 
 
 She drew her chair to the red-hot stove and 
 took the boy on her lap, rubbing the rough, 
 cracked hands. The little girl attended to her 
 own needs in a most womanly fashion. When 
 she became warmer she took from her apron 
 pocket a note which she handed to the teacher. 
 
 107 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 " Fraid you cayn t make it out," she smiled. 
 "Maw allers writes with so many kinks an the 
 ink was froze; but I kin tell you what she says." 
 
 The "kinks" resolved themselves into a badly 
 expressed wish that the teacher would call the 
 children by their full names, Gwendolin and 
 Archibald Dinwiddie. 
 
 "Don t do it," entreated the child. "Every 
 body laughs at em an paw calls us jest Linny 
 an Baldy an the baby Essy her real name is 
 Esmereldy." 
 
 "We will see," Ida answered. Other chil 
 dren entered and after a little the last bell sig 
 nalled them to their seats. At the conclusion 
 of the opening song Ida announced : 
 
 "We have two new pupils this morning from 
 Rattlesnake Prairie. They have such grand 
 names, Gwendolin and Archibald, that they do 
 not harmonize with our plain ones, Susie and 
 Sadie, Annie and Ida, Taylor and John, so I 
 think we will do as their father does and call 
 them Linny and Baldy, except," she paused and 
 smiled into the upturned puzzled faces "on 
 great occasions like our entertainments, when 
 we will use their full names." 
 
 Books were quietly taken out and the routine 
 of the day began. According to the business-like 
 program fastened above the front blackboard, 
 the infant class recited first. Baldy was called 
 up with two others who had learned to read a 
 little. 
 
 108 
 
The Duchess of /fr////r.s-/w/,-r I mirie 
 
 "Do you know this word, Baldy?" inquired 
 Ida as she pointed to the lesson printed on the 
 board. 
 
 "D-o-g," was the reply spelled slowly. 
 
 "Why you know your letters," commented the 
 teacher. "Now tell me the word." 
 
 "Duchess," loudly declared the boy. A sup 
 pressed titter rippled around the room, soon 
 silenced by Ida s warning glance. Linny, sit 
 ting close by, put up a timid hand above a 
 troubled brow. 
 
 "Please, teacher, he only knows his letters. 
 Paw told him D stood for Duchess." 
 
 "Duchess of Rattlesnake Prairie," inter 
 rupted Baldy. "That s what paw calls maw." 
 
 Tears rose in the eyes of the sensitive girl; 
 but Ida with another look at the amused pupils 
 reassured her by observing pleasantly : 
 
 "Your father must think a great deal of your 
 mother when he gives her such a fine title. A 
 duchess is a great person indeed." 
 
 "He does," was the earnest reply. "He tells 
 maw every day he ain t good enough for her, but 
 that ain t so." 
 
 "Now show me how nicely you can write your 
 father s name while I finish this lesson," re 
 turned Ida hastily. 
 
 The children interested and puzzled her. Neg 
 lect, sturdiness of character and ability to 
 solve their own problems were strongly in evi 
 dence. During the next week she could learn 
 nothing of the new-comers who lived two miles 
 
 109 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 off the main road. She resolved to make a call 
 Sunday afternoon on the parents of her pupils. 
 
 As she drove up the bad road of the rented 
 farm she caught a glimpse of a curl-papered head 
 at the uncurtained window. Immediately a 
 couple of barking hounds sprang out of the door 
 followed by a good-natured giant with floury 
 hands. With a word he silenced the dogs. 
 
 "Howdy, Miss," was his greeting. "Linny 
 seen you com in an said you re her teacher. 
 Come in." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Dinwiddie," replied Ida, 
 alighting before he could brush the flour from 
 his hands. 
 
 He regarded her sheepishly. 
 
 "Jest Joe, Miss. Laury, my wife, you know, 
 carries all the honors. She ll be right glad to see 
 you." 
 
 They passed into the cabin and with great 
 pride Joe presented Ida to his wife, who sat in 
 an old hickory rocker. The curl papers had van 
 ished and in their stead rows of straw-colored 
 ringlets clustered around the forehead and ears 
 of the Duchess. Her pale blue eyes shone kindly 
 while a smile shortened .the lip above the promi 
 nent teeth. With quite the air of an exalted 
 dame she motioned Ida to a seat on the only un 
 occupied splint-bottom chair. 
 
 For a time Ida was overcome by the studied 
 negligence of the Duchess and surprise at finding 
 the frail little woman upholding such an im 
 pressive manner. She glanced about the room 
 and noted its disorder and poverty. In a home- 
 
 110 
 
The // // 7/rx.v of Jtatth Niutkc Prairie 
 
 made cradle by the untidy bed lay a sleeping 
 child with very dirty face. Near the door of the 
 lean-to kitchen Joe had resumed his biscuit-mak 
 ing, and near by little Linny was trying to comb 
 Baldy s hair. The eyes of the Duchess followed 
 Ida s and with a fetching sigh she observed : 
 
 "I kin guess what you re thinkin of, Miss 
 Hamilton; but when a woman marries beneath 
 her she rnusnt expect to have everything nice 
 around her. Joe does the best he kin, but " 
 She paused with a deprecatory wave of her hand 
 while she pathetically shook her ringlets. 
 
 Ordinarily Ida, the energetic, would have 
 breezed a little wholesome discipline into her re 
 ply to a speech so entirely at variance with her 
 common-sense principles. She was therefore 
 amazed to hear herself saying : 
 
 "Every sacrifice costs something." 
 
 Immediately she realized the import of her 
 remark and she glanced apologetically at Joe. 
 He nodded contentedly over his biscuit-pan. 
 
 "My little woman, the Duchess there, made a 
 great mistake when she took me. I knowed it 
 at the time, an we ve tried to make the best of 
 it. She d orter married the quality." 
 
 "I think she did," returned Ida with her eyes 
 on the wholesome honest face. 
 
 "Who me? Well now, ain t that a joke? 
 Why I cayn t hardly read an write; but Laury 
 there knows them books nearly all by heart" 
 
 He pointed to a row of paper-back novels on 
 a shelf. Beside them lay heaps of "Ledgers" and 
 
 111 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Family Journals." One survey was sufficient 
 to account for the airs of the Duchess. 
 
 "Yes, sir;" he continued, "inany s the night 
 she s set in her cheer till mornin a-readin em. 
 Tain t any ord n y woman that 11 do thet." The 
 baby awoke and cried. The mother paid no at 
 tention, but continued her posing while Joe came 
 and put on the child s shoes and gave her some 
 milk. 
 
 "It is true," declared the Duchess plaintive 
 ly. "I was so young when I married only six 
 teen t I didn t re lize I was thro win myself 
 away. Ef I d only waited I m sure I could a 
 married into the aristocracy. Think of me tied 
 down with children when I might be holdin court 
 in a splendid palace." 
 
 Ida was interested in spite of her disapproval 
 of the hopeless condition of the Duchess. She 
 could not comprehend the situation. Here was 
 a narrow-chested delicate woman with no sem 
 blance of beauty, who compelled a sturdy adoring 
 protector to spoil her life as well as his own by 
 humoring her absurd pretenses. Did he really 
 believe in his wife? There was no doubt of it. 
 Ida herself felt something of the dominant power 
 of the pretender. 
 
 Yet something should be done. The domes 
 tic peace of a family possibly rested upon suc 
 cessfully arousing the woman to a perception of 
 her deficiencies; and Ida was young and consci 
 entious. She found her judgment, however, less 
 acute when confronted by this strange family, so 
 she resolved to study the situation before at- 
 
 112 
 
The Duchetts of / uttlcxiuike 
 
 tempting to bring the Duchess to a realization 
 of her failure as a wife and mother. 
 
 nn her homeward drive she concluded her 
 most effective plan would be a hint to Joe at the 
 first opportunity. It came sooner than she ex 
 pected. Upon reaching the school-house next 
 morning she found him waiting in his farm 
 wagon. Anxiety clouded his open face. 
 
 -The children won t be to school today. I 
 left em home to set with their maw. She was 
 took with a hard chill last night an her fever to 
 day is awful high. I thought mebby you d know 
 of some woman I could git to come fer a few 
 days." 
 
 "Why, yes; Hannah Manley is an excellent 
 nurse and lives three miles east of here. She 
 will go, I am sure. Was your wife ill when I 
 left yesterday?" 
 
 "No, no!" Joe hastily affirmed, "she was bet 
 ter n I ve seen her fer some time. Said it done 
 her good to meet somebody her ekal. She had a 
 faintin spell after supper, but she has them right 
 often jest like high-toned ladies," he concluded 
 with a wan smile. 
 
 The little Dinwiddies failed to appear each 
 morning of the ensuing week. As no word of 
 their mother s condition had come to Ida, she 
 decided to go over Saturday morning to see the 
 sick woman. 
 
 The baying hounds greeted her unchecked be 
 fore she silenced them with a flourish of her whip. 
 Tying her horse to the rotten pickets of the gar 
 den fence, she tapped lightly at the door. Han- 
 
 113 
 
Tittioum Tales 
 
 nah Mauley appeared and motioned her to enter. 
 Before her eyes sought the Duchess she noticed 
 the cleanliness and order. 
 
 The bed had been pulled near the center of the 
 room and above the clean sheet laid over the bed 
 covers arose the hollowed face. Her breath 
 came with difficulty between the parched lips and 
 her eyes were staring and glassy. The baby lay 
 asleep on the foot of the bed. Near by the chil 
 dren stood sobbing quietly. By his wife s side 
 knelt Joe, overwhelming misery expressed in his 
 tearless eyes. 
 
 "Laury, Laury girl, cay n t you see me or hear 
 me? It s Joe, yer old rough, unworthy Joe. 
 Little girl ye ain t goin ?" he cried, as he 
 chafed her thin hands. "Little Duchess, my lit 
 tle Duchess," he moaned in despair. 
 
 Hannah Manley, sorrowfully shaking her 
 head in answer to Ida s look of inquiry, poured 
 some brandy between the colorless lips. Soon 
 the breathing became less labored and the eyes 
 grew natural. The sick woman motioned Ida 
 to come nearer. 
 
 "Tell em to go out fer a little," she whispered 
 weakly. "I want to speak to you." 
 
 Fortified by another dose of brandy adminis 
 tered as the family withdrew, she seemed almost 
 herself again, putting up a trembling hand to 
 arrange the damp hair above her forehead. 
 
 "It looks very well," observed Ida soothingly. 
 "Now while you are stronger tell me what you 
 wish to say." 
 
 114 
 
The Dtwtess of Rattlesnake Prairie 
 
 "Joe has been good to me," she said, faintly, 
 after a long pause. "I want to tell you, but not 
 him, thet Fve found out durin this sickness jest 
 how selfish I ve be n an what a poor wife I ve 
 made him. He thinks I m way above most wom 
 en, an when I m gone I want him to think of me 
 like that an tell the children what a fine woman 
 I was, jest as he allers has." 
 
 She paused exhausted. As Ida rearranged 
 the pillows to raise the tired head she thought of 
 the pitiful passion strong even at death s door, 
 that had made the life of the poor little Duchess 
 a mockery. Incomprehensible was the attitude 
 of the dying wife. With never a thought of her 
 future existence, her last desire was to perpetu 
 ate a sham. While Ida was trying to frame a 
 suitable suggestion of the hereafter, the failing 
 voice resumed : 
 
 "Gwendolin 11 soon be able to do a right 
 smart about the house. She s conside ble handy 
 now. Mebby you ll come sometimes an learii 
 her how to do things. Joe will git along bout 
 as well without me, only he will miss me. I 
 want him to. He s all I ve ever had to worship 
 me ; an ef he marries ag in I s pose he will no 
 other woman 11 ever take my place." 
 
 "Have you thought of anything else the life 
 beyond?" inquired Ida noting the growing weak 
 ness. 
 
 "No; it makes my headache. I ain t afeared. 
 ( all Joe and " her voice trailed off faintly 
 "don t tell him." 
 
 115 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Ida quickly summoned the others and went 
 into the kitchen. After a time Joe staggered 
 out. His face was drawn and gray, his eyes 
 hopeless in their woe. 
 
 "She s gone," he groaned. "I never deserved 
 her. She was way above me; but I could look 
 up to her an be thankful every day I had her to 
 work fer." 
 
 His broad shoulders shook and he bowed his 
 head in his hands. Quick tears rolled down 
 Ida s cheeks tears of sympathy for Joe and re 
 gret for the hasty judgment which had con 
 demned as useless the life of the poor little Duch 
 ess. But her heart throbbed in thankfulness 
 that, through her sense of duty, she had not 
 robbed a simple soul of his highest ideal. 
 
 116 
 
A Letter to Cecilia 
 
 BY 
 MABEL VOLLINTINE McGILL 
 
A Letter to Cecilia 
 
 "Oh, the little more, and how much it is! 
 And the little less, and what worlds away!" 
 
 BOVE his writing-table hung Ce 
 cilia s portrait, the one he had 
 painted that last summer she was 
 at home. Whatever his other pos 
 sibilities as an artist might be, he 
 certainly could paint Cecilia, could catch and 
 hold fast on canvas the elusive beauty of her 
 face, with its sweet, eager eyes, its tender mouth. 
 His weekly letters (posted weekly, but written in 
 daily instalments) and her picture before him as 
 he wrote had served infinitely to lighten the four 
 dreary years of her absence. With the help of 
 these, he, who was of none too patient temper, 
 had not failed in the task of enforced patience he 
 lia<l s<*t himself the awaiting that time when 
 Cecilia, having tried her wings, having absorbed 
 the best that the ateliers could give her, should 
 return, like a homing dove, to the hand that had 
 sent her forth. 
 
 And now he would meet his reward she was 
 coming home! 
 
 "Tli is is my last letter," he wrote, "for you 
 will sail on the twenty-seventh. It rejoices me, 
 
 119 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 dear, that your heart yearns toward the old home 
 and the old friends. Your country needs your 
 art, and we need you! 
 
 "I suppose I shall have no more letters from 
 you ; although, to be sure, your last one is dated 
 more than six weeks ago. But then, your writ 
 ing always did leave much to be desired in re 
 spect of frequency. The more I consider that 
 last letter, the odder it seems that you could 
 have written such a cle profundis sort of thing. 
 It only goes to show that periods of depression 
 will come to all young creatures with tempera 
 ment even to you, the hopeful, the ardent. 
 However, that was six weeks ago; and today you 
 are happy enough, I doubt not, for your father 
 and mother are with you, and to witness their 
 delight in the things they have dreamed all their 
 lives of seeing and enjoying would, I am sure, 
 cheer up the most melancholy young person liv 
 ing. 
 
 "What innocent old creatures they are! I 
 wonder, Cissy, if you and Philip do properly ap 
 preciate your parents and the simple, beautiful 
 lives they have lived out here in the country. 
 Few people have more of hard work or of skill 
 ful management to their credit; and yet they 
 have always taken time for books and flowers. 
 How perfectly mated they are, how wholly as 
 one in their efforts to give their children the best 
 that the world affords in the w r ay of opportunity 
 for knowledge and culture. Let me tell you, if 
 they had had no children to rear and educate, 
 
 120 
 
A Letter to Cecilia 
 
 they would have realized many years earlier their 
 dream of European travel. 
 
 "How it must add to their happiness to find 
 that you are coining home with them ; that at the 
 most you will not be separated from them hence 
 forth by more than a few hours journey. 
 
 "Today, as I sit thinking of you, the years 
 that are past come thronging upon me with more 
 than their ordinary insistence. I see myself, 
 young in years but aged and worn by the feverish 
 existence of the Latin Quarter, seeking health 
 through the back to nature process on the farm 
 of my father s old friend. I see you, a girl of 
 nine, with your hair in one long pig-tail down 
 your back. It was the honor and glory of im 
 parting to you wonderful, wide-eyed child of 
 genius that you were! all that some years of 
 the ateliers had taught me that more than half 
 decided me to become your permanent next-door 
 neighbor. The lesser argument was the realiza 
 tion that I had found my line and that the life 
 of woods and fields was the life for me. A few 
 years more of the Quarter, and there would have 
 been little left of me, body or soul. It is hard 
 for you, perhaps, to understand this, since 
 glimpses at most are all you get of the aspects of 
 life with which I came in close alas! over 
 whelming contact. Yet on the other hand per 
 haps you do understand, for even the glimpses 
 aro enough, poor child, to induce in you the pro 
 found dissatisfaction voiced in your last letter. 
 At least, this seems to me a probable explana 
 tion of your melancholy. 
 
 121 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "How can I ever be grateful enough to you, 
 Cissy, and to your dear people, for these happy 
 years that I have known? For while I taught 
 you to paint I was taught the practical acquaint 
 ance with nature and the sound and rational 
 view-points of wholesome, out-of-door people, as 
 well as many other things that make for true 
 wisdom and spiritual culture. 
 
 "And then, forsooth, you must needs upset 
 the well-ordered serenity of our lives with your 
 ambition! Mea culpa! Mea culpa! I was 
 your abettor I confess it. I helped you to per 
 suade your father and mother and Phil to let you 
 go but then all of us loved you too well to wish 
 to fetter your wings. And I knew that with 
 your strength of character and purpose, and the 
 sound common-sense that your rearing had bred, 
 you would pass through even the student-life of 
 Paris unspotted from the world. Ah! and I 
 wanted you to achieve success and fame. Not 
 that these have much intrinsic worth, but that 
 they are assuredly valuable inasmuch as they are 
 an inspiration to further and better work. 
 
 "Yet, Cissy (I have never confessed this to 
 you before, have I?), after I had settled you in 
 Paris the journey home was most dismal; and 
 often and often the old tormenting question har 
 assed me, Is it worth while? But that is all 
 past now. Your success has been more than even 
 we dared hope; of the three young American 
 women who exhibited this year your name is men 
 tioned the oftenest and with the most unqualified 
 distinction and you only twenty-two! Oh, yes, 
 
 122 
 
A Letter to Cecilia 
 
 it was well worth while, dear, for now it is all 
 over and you are coming home! 
 
 "I have been alone all day not a soul but me 
 on either farm. The apple-trees are in full blos 
 som, and everybody is away on some mysterious 
 errand of his own. Phil leaves nothing to be 
 desired in his management of the farm I doubt 
 if even his father could do better and all the 
 week works so hard as to be quite above criticism 
 in that regard; but when Sunday comes well, 
 you know, In the spring a young man s fancy. 
 He goes early in the morning and returns after 
 the rest of us are abed; so you see it is a serious 
 matter. The girl seems a nice sort, and will 
 doubtless make you a fairly satisfactory sister- 
 in-law ; but naturally I am inclined to be captious 
 where Phil is concerned. 
 
 "I wonder, Cissy dear, if you think of me as 
 a decidedly elderly fellow. I suppose I am get 
 ting older every day, but somehow it s mighty 
 hard to realize the fact. 
 
 "Au revoir, little girl. Three weeks from 
 tonight we ll surely be together! 
 
 "Your ever affectionate Van." 
 
 He sealed and directed the envelope, then 
 took his pipe and went out on the veranda to 
 smoke. It was the lingering twilight of a day in 
 late spring. A slender moon had begun its west 
 ering descent; the freshly browsed grass of the 
 pasture, the blossom-laden trees of the orchard, 
 wafted their delicate odors to him through the 
 still air. In great content he sat and dreamed 
 of the day so near at hand, when he should see 
 
 123 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 again in the flesh the girl whose dear, question 
 ing eyes looked at him from the pictured face 
 above the writing-table. 
 
 What would she say when he told her all his 
 heart? Never yet had he breathed a word of 
 his love: he had chosen, against all the pro 
 testations of his passionate heart, to leave her 
 bright youth free as air. Love s turn would 
 come later, he had told himself, when art and 
 ambition had had theirs. He must be perfectly 
 fair, must bide his time till the day when he 
 should be justly entitled to claim his own, if in 
 truth Cecilia and he were meant for each other, 
 as seemed to him so clearly obvious. Not that 
 he, or any other man for that matter, was worthy 
 of her; but who could love her better than he, 
 and who could understand her half so well? So 
 ideal an intimacy had always existed between 
 them, so close a sympathy, that such a little, 
 little more was needed to weld their souls to 
 gether in the bond of passion. 
 
 The pain of her absence was all past now; 
 she was coming home coming to him coming 
 of her own free will. The time remaining was 
 too scant to signify; she was all but here his 
 
 girl, his beauty, his own little artist love ! 
 ******* 
 
 "Hello, Van ! Enjoying the young May moon 
 by your lonesome?" 
 
 A tall figure came around the corner of the 
 house and up the steps. 
 
 Thus rudely aroused, the dreamer returned 
 to consciousness of the present. 
 
 124 
 
A Letter to (Vr ///</. 
 
 "You already, Phil? What means this early 
 desertion of your fiancee?" 
 
 "Yes, it is a little early, I admit," the young 
 fellow replied, helping himself to a chair. "The 
 fact is," he said hesitatingly, "I hurried back 
 because I have some news for you that I didn t 
 feel I ought to delay very long in delivering. 
 I m afraid I don t consider it altogether good 
 news, though," he added a little ruefully. "I 
 don t know what you will think." 
 
 "Why, what s the trouble?" exclaimed the 
 older man, made vaguely uneasy by the other s 
 tone. 
 
 NVell, on my way through the village this 
 morning I stopped at the post office and found a 
 letter from the folks that is, from mother and 
 Cissy and a note enclosed from Cissy to you. 
 I suppose you might as well get the news from 
 her direct" 
 
 He drew an envelope from his pocket, ex 
 tracted a small folded sheet from its contents, 
 and handed it to his friend, who, thoroughly 
 agitated now, received it with shaking fingers. 
 Unaccompanied by Philip, who lit a cigar and sat 
 smoking moodily, he went into the sitting-room 
 and lit the lamp. 
 
 Thus had Cissy written: 
 
 "Dearest Van : Before you read this I shall 
 have become a married woman. For full details 
 you are to read mother s and my letters to Philip ; 
 but, hurried as I am, I must send you a line for 
 yourself, my dear old Van, to explain that last 
 wretched, gloomy letter of mine. I can t re- 
 
 125 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 member all I said, but I believe among other 
 things I threatened to come home. I was very 
 unhappy when I wrote; there was a misunder 
 standing between him and me (something that 
 neither of us was really to blame for) which 
 just at that time had reached its blackest, most 
 desperate stage. 
 
 "Just a day or two after I had written that 
 letter all was made clear between us, and when 
 mother and father arrived we begged them to let 
 us be married while they were here, so that the}* 
 could see us nicely settled before they returned 
 home. For once it was pretty hard to bring 
 them my way; but when they came to look into 
 the matter thoroughly to learn what he is 
 thought of as artist and man they finally re 
 lented. Really, Van, he is going to be a great 
 man; indeed he is a great man already. It 
 seems to me that a young couple could scarcely 
 have a more encouraging outlook than ours. 
 
 "We shall live in Paris for the present prob 
 ably for some years to come. After that, our 
 plans are uncertain. 
 
 "Write to me soon, my best of friends, and 
 wish me happiness! 
 
 "Ever your loving Cissy." 
 
 The bit of paper slipped through his nerve 
 less fingers to the floor. For a space his brain 
 was literally lapped in unconsciousness by the 
 sudden upward surge of frightful anguish. Then 
 he pulled himself together and extinguished the 
 light Phil must not see his face! 
 
 126 
 
A Letter to Cecilia 
 
 As he returned to the veranda the young 
 man looked up with the question : 
 
 "What do you think of it? 7 
 
 "I can t form an opinion on such short no 
 tice." His voice sounded unfamiliar even to 
 himself, and he wondered bitterly if he could not 
 keep even a thoughtless young fellow like Phil 
 from suspecting how it was with him. But he 
 went bravely on: "By the way, I finished a 
 letter to her an hour or so ago. I suppose it 
 might as well go along just as it is I can add 
 a postscript wishing her joy. Isn t that your 
 horse whinnying, Phil? He wants to get back 
 to his stable." 
 
 127 
 
Five Dollars 
 
 BY 
 FRANCETTE MA RING 
 
Five Dollars 
 
 DOLLARS! Yes, children, Miss Giv- 
 ens gave me a five-dollar gold piece and 
 told me to spend it the way that would 
 do us the most good." 
 
 A minute s silence, almost consternation fol 
 lowed this announcement then Tom Mulligan 
 turned a hand-spring (his specialty), Sam and 
 Susan grasped hands and spun around until both 
 fell over dizzy and big Harry clapped his hands. 
 
 "What shall we do with it?" 
 
 "I say, Ma," said Susan, "Let s do have a 
 ride in one of them mobile things. They are 
 just five dollars an hour and each one of us would 
 have as much fun as the other one." 
 
 "Good! Good! Goodie!" shouted the young 
 tribe. 
 
 Mrs. Mulligan had longed for a ride in one 
 of those wonderful horseless vehicles, but would 
 hardly have suggested that way of spending this 
 particular gold-piece. 
 
 Big Harry, who sold evening papers on the 
 street corners, had more idea of the value of five 
 dollars than the mother and the other children 
 combined and he suggested that they hold the 
 money for winter necessities. 
 
 131 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "No! No!" That didn t suit the family and it 
 was decided, amid shouts of pleasure, that a ride 
 in an automobile was to be the order of the day. 
 Harry submitted to the plan and started to the 
 Broadway garage to hire the machine. 
 
 Now, it so happened that Pat Moriarty was 
 chauffeur for a wealthy citizen; his master, who 
 was the owner of a big white steamer, was out of 
 town and Pat had been left in charge. He and 
 Harry had had many a chat on Second Avenue, 
 one holding down the auto and the other the 
 street corner, the latter occasionally yelling: 
 "Times Star. All about the suicide. Paper, 
 mister? Times, sir? Star?" 
 
 Harry hailed, "Hello, Pat, we want to git 
 one of them machines to take the family out. 
 Who is a good driver?" 
 
 Pat looked wise and thinking the matter a 
 joke, said: "I ll take yees." 
 
 "Shure, Pat?" 
 
 "Shure, Harry, for the same price as the 
 other fellows, five dollars an hour." 
 
 Harry, to Pat s utter bewilderment, handed 
 him the gold-piece and then Pat began to won 
 der what kind of a furore would follow if his 
 master should ever know that he took the Mul 
 ligan family out in his white steamer, but he 
 was true to his bargain and called for them at 
 two o clock. 
 
 When Harry returned to the family and de 
 scribed the beautiful auto in which they were to 
 have a ride, excitement reigned supreme. 
 
 132 
 
/ /re Dollars 
 
 Such a washing of hands, faces, yes, and 
 feet, was never experienced in that household. 
 To be sure, when finished there was a streak of 
 black on the outer rim of every ear and a streak 
 at the neckline, but the family posed as clean, 
 and they were decidedly so for the Mulligans. 
 
 Jack and Sam each found stockings but had 
 only one pair of shoes, and they wrestled to see 
 who should wear them. Jack won and Sam was 
 inconsolable until he spied an old pair of Harry s 
 oxfords. He donned them in glee. Fit or misfit 
 didn t count only covering. 
 
 Susan wanted very much to wear a veil and 
 her mother s gloves, and Mrs. Mulligan, feeling 
 especially good tempered, allowed her to have one 
 of her gloves. 
 
 "I say, give Ma her other glove, looks as if 
 you haint got no hand and fastened that glove 
 on your wrist cause you didn t have a wooden 
 hand." But Susan s pride was supreme and the 
 glove suited her. 
 
 "Ma, you must have something tied around 
 your hat. I never seed a lady a-riding in style 
 without, and I m the only girl and I want some 
 thing too." 
 
 Mrs. Mulligan and Susan hauled out some 
 things that had been left by charitable ladies to 
 be made over for Susan. 
 
 i Mrs. Mulligan had no machine and didn t 
 have much time except to do washing for a fam 
 ily for recompense.) 
 
 Such things to search among for a veil, waists 
 and waists, boned and boned and cut in such tiny 
 
 133 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 pieces, bits of lace, worn out hose, old jackets, 
 long past any use, in fact, many garments fit 
 only for patch work but yes it will do, a dim 
 ity dress skirt not all gored into bits almost 
 the only thing in the collection which could be 
 utilized for a dress for Susan. It could be torn 
 into strips and used on their hats, and they felt 
 quite elated over the success. 
 
 The clock on the shelf struck two and at the 
 same moment Pat blew his Gabriel horn. The 
 excited family scrambled in and filled both seats. 
 Pat s eyes twinkled; he saw a bit of fun ahead. 
 "Shure, and we all had the toime of our lives," 
 said Pat, when he returned the Mulligans to 
 their home at three o clock. 
 
 Pat had another surprise. Mr. Givens, his 
 master, was awaiting him at the garage. He had 
 been informed of the use his beautiful white car 
 had been put to and poor Pat was summarily 
 dismissed. 
 
 A fe\v days later the philanthropic Miss Giv 
 ens called again upon the family. She was re 
 galed with a most thrilling story of the ride her 
 five dollars had bought for the Mulligans. "Gee, 
 but we whizzed round the corners." "The auto 
 was a big white beauty." "You gave us such 
 fun, Miss Givens." The young lady was really 
 overwhelmed with their exhuberance. 
 
 That evening she entertained the guests at 
 dinner by a very comical description of the use 
 the money had been put to and her father leaned 
 back from the table and laughed as she had never 
 thought him capable of laughing. Then he told 
 
 134 
 
Fire Dollar* 
 
 story of Pat, and after a conference it was 
 agreed, with a proviso, that Pat should be rein 
 stated. 
 
 The proviso was that Pat must buy a ton of 
 coal with that five dollars and send it to the Mul 
 ligans, 
 
 135 
 
The Taming of the 
 Barons 
 
 BY 
 CORA CHASE CHARLTON 
 

 "Below, a gracefully rounded valley. 
 
The Taming of the 
 Barons 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EKE in the great northwest, no less 
 than in the more exploited south 
 west, romance after romance has 
 been weaving its vivid color into 
 local history until it would seem 
 that every acre must represent 
 something worth telling. 
 
 How John Oswald, he of the baronly blood, 
 came to leave off "promiscuous peregrinations" 
 for "pastoral pursuits," as he once expressed it, 
 mid how, later, he came to yield up his gay bach 
 elorhood, may be one of the things worth telling. 
 John was a queer mixture to find in the wilds 
 of the "Inland Empire" twelve years ago; for 
 anybody who saw his particular locality in those 
 days would have said "wilderness." A look at 
 his present time ranch with its luxurious homo, 
 helpers thrifty cottages, magnificent orchards 
 and Columbia River steamers loading almost 
 tropical fruit for less favored regions, would sug 
 gest anything but that. 
 
 139 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Remarkable changes one might say to have 
 taken place in so short a time, but that is the 
 West and the charm of it. If the man has 
 changed as much as the landscape it can be 
 ascribed to the old transforming power of love, 
 no less potent in one place than another. 
 
 To begin with, the John Oswald one saw at 
 first glance was so scholarly and esthetic and had 
 such classic features that he was inconceivable 
 off the stage or out of some professional career, 
 and more than one man had been deceived to his 
 undoing by this exterior, for there was another 
 John within him entirely in harmony with this 
 wilderness, and in every way a consistent de 
 scendant of his castle-storming, boar-hunting, 
 maiden harrying ancestors. 
 
 To account for him at all one was forced to 
 consider heredity ; he was such a tantalizing mix 
 ture of amiability and temper, of winning tender 
 ness and bombastic tyranny, of cautious pru 
 dence and whirlwind changes. 
 
 In this more than dual personality, then, one 
 might trace the eternal struggle for supremacy 
 between the line of gruff old barons on his 
 father s side, (himself a stormy political exile 
 subdued into a fiery editorial scribe in America) 
 and the Priscilla-like grand dames of his sweet 
 little New England mother. 
 
 If the ultra refined New York aunt and uncle 
 into whose care he and his modest estate fell 
 when he was ten, had understood boys as well as 
 estates John s history might have been different ; 
 however, his conformity to their well meant plans 
 
 140 
 
The Turn mii of the llnrun* 
 
 for his future seemed the accepted state of af 
 fairs up to his twenty-third year. Then occurred 
 what one might call "the Baronial Renaissance" 
 and things happened. New York and his cus 
 tomary routine shrank to oppressive limits, and 
 very fibre of his young: manhood called aloud 
 for a more tensely active physical existence. It 
 came over him that there was nothing big enough 
 and untamed enough for him in this mood but 
 the great West, 
 
 No need to dwell upon the indignant disap 
 pointment of John s guardians when he refused 
 to see the West from any Pullman window, ho 
 tel-piazza standpoint, but insisted on going forth 
 an adventurous tenderfoot. They had to accept 
 the situation under the comfortable delusion that 
 six months of it would suffice. 
 
 The succeeding two years only confirmed 
 John in the adventuring habit, and the end 
 of that time found him the tacit leader of a 
 party of prospectors leaving the railroad termi 
 nus at Spokane Falls (now the bright thriving 
 city, crisp Spokane) for a trip into the heart 
 of the Cascades. 
 
 To the present day tourist, who is whisked 
 from the park-like pleasantries of the Spokane 
 region into the Cascade scenery in less than a 
 half day s time, the intermediary landscape of 
 fers just the right touch of contrast ; to John and 
 his party, with their trailing pack horses it 
 seemed an interminable stretch of sagebrush and 
 sand, ending, as they neared the Columbia River, 
 in a veritable desert, where even the sagebrush 
 
 141 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 admitted defeat before the hot sand and piles of 
 crumbling rock formation. Beyond this mighty 
 Hudson of the West the country changed for the 
 better, and there lay the bit of landscape that 
 was responsible for John s new tack. 
 
 After crossing the river, which was accomp 
 lished with the aid of an Indian guide and his 
 craft, they followed for some miles up stream the 
 "Cultus trail," a particularly difficult route 
 which hugged the river, at one moment leading 
 them along the edge of a precipice, the next 
 through some tunneled passageway under an in 
 surmountable obstruction. 
 
 In few but telling words the Indian guide pic 
 tured to them the occasion when nature s violence 
 left this indestructable record of her angry mood ; 
 for within his memory had a great mountain, 
 started by volcanic disturbances, toppled over 
 into the stream, completely darning it for a few 
 hours, so that its bed could be crossed, like the 
 Red Sea of old, dryshod. 
 
 To be sure the sweeping river of turquois 
 tints, the swelling foothills and their timber, 
 climaxed by the glistening snow-capped peaks 
 of the range, gave the scene plenty of grandeur, 
 but the "near to" was mighty repelling John 
 thought, and he "cussed" mildly as his cayuse 
 strained along. 
 
 Then, with scarcely any intimation of what 
 was coming, there lay, hundreds of feet below 
 them, a gracefully rounded valley in emerald 
 contrast to the surrounding colorless landscape. 
 It nestled amid a bulwark of frowning, craggy 
 
 142 
 
The TnmiHij of thr 
 
 bluffs except where the Columbia swept one sec 
 tion of its circle. Here soft grasses and decid 
 uous trees grew flourishingly. The reason was 
 not far to seek. A generous spring seeped out of 
 a bluff and watered the valley to perfection. 
 
 The guide pointed to this valley as the site 
 of the night s camp, and slowly zigzaging down 
 the trail they reached its welcome level and re 
 freshing verdure, and soon most of them turned 
 their attention from the camp fire and supper to 
 their blankets. Not so John, for something in 
 that valley struck an answering response in his 
 heart right from the start, neither was it all due 
 to sentiment, for while the average man in the 
 region knew nothing or talked nothing but gold, 
 John s keen eyes had taken in the surprising re 
 sults apparent where a little water had been ap 
 plied to the rich volcanic soil through the mde 
 system of irrigation in use by the settlers. 
 
 As moonlight chanced to lend its enchantment 
 to the scene that night he strode back and forth 
 for an hour or so before betaking himself to his 
 saddle pillow and blankets. The burden of his 
 Bub-conscious soliloquy must have been some 
 thing after this fashion, "delightful nook of na 
 ture s contriving, what a beautiful retreat you 
 might prove. Imagination pictures you some 
 feudal stronghold," (the baronly instinct no 
 doubt recognized the resemblance), "with walls, 
 and moat and pinnacles of rock for towers at the 
 only two approaches. A veritable little kingdom 
 set apart for some man to claim. Say! blest if 
 I don t do it myself." 
 
 143 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 His companions, who loved and hated John 
 by turns, knew his idiosyncracies pretty well by 
 that time but even they were a dumbfounded 
 group, when, next morning he coolly announced 
 that they might ride on, as he had decided to 
 stake his claim right where he stood, and with 
 just as good prospects as though he should search 
 the Cascades till doomesday. 
 
 No explanation as to beautiful scenery or 
 rich soil reached their unsentimental souls, or al 
 layed the suspicions of some, that John had se 
 cretly discovered "showings" in the valley. 
 Finding arguments in vain, (how the New York 
 relatives could have sympathized), and more 
 over seeing the ire beginning to rise in John s 
 eyes, they rode reluctantly on, leaving John his 
 share of accoutrements and vainly wondering 
 what there was in that particular spot to have 
 locoed their leader. 
 
 And right there John stayed, as much to his 
 own surprise as anyone s, finding in the contrast 
 of ruggedness and dainty beauty that surrounded 
 him something satisfying to the extremes in his 
 own nature. 
 
 144 
 
The T<nnhi</ of the liaronx 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Some seasons later, spring with its chorus of 
 meadow-larks and other "up-to-date attractions," 
 was lending its seductiveness to the "Oswald 
 Valley," as it came to be called. 
 
 As the result of considerable energetic work 
 and several trips out to civilization, John was 
 basking in the comforts of quite a well-appointed 
 establishment. He kept a hired man to "run 
 things," and John "ran" the hired man, and at 
 a lively gait by times when both work and amuse 
 ment palled on him, and even a hunt was voted 
 dull sport by the barons. He enjoyed no com 
 panionship closer than that of his horses, dogs 
 and books. 
 
 Then, one forenoon, (there is no room for sur 
 prise after the glimpses given of John s abrupt 
 ness) he decided that now was a suitable time 
 for him to consider matrimony ! He approached 
 the subject quite in the cold-blooded manner to 
 be expected of one to whom Cupid was a total 
 stranger. The ultimate consummation seemed 
 advisable and even desirable but the intermedi 
 ary processes of courtship for instance, loomed 
 up a great bore. Another proof that the little 
 god had no hand in the affair. 
 
 The fancied "Mrs. John Oswald" that he 
 finally evolved was such a climax of perfection 
 
 145 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 in all details that the most exalted cult of any 
 modern city might have been searched for her 
 in vain. John ruefully admitted that there 
 might be some difficulty in locating her. The 
 solution he hit upon was that he would return to 
 the New York fold temporarily and pursue his 
 search. Result, his aunt, amid the smothery re 
 finements of her New York home, reading aloud 
 to her husband, with many exclamatory inter- 
 spersions, the following: 
 
 My Esteemed Aunt: 
 
 How well I am punished for neglecting you, 
 by finding that I must ask a favor. 
 
 I am thinking of wintering in New York with 
 a view to furbishing up my wardrobe and my 
 gentility generally. Why fence, my discerning 
 aunt, so I admit that I am considering matri 
 mony and would enlist your good judgment and 
 social prestige as first "aids" in the necessary 
 campaign. 
 
 In considering the suitable party, please re 
 member that the one positively necessary requis 
 ite must be educational and literary attainments. 
 
 Will announce my further plans after having 
 heard from you touching this letter s contents. 
 Your returning prodigal, 
 
 JOHN OSW T ALD. 
 
 "Philip," said the lady, upon finishing, "if 
 the brilliant Clara La Forge can not teach that 
 complacent goose more in one minute about 
 women and love than he ever knew before, I am 
 mistaken. Cleverly managed and we will have 
 
 146 
 
77/r Tninimj <>f fJir llarona 
 
 John in New York from now on and a barbarian 
 no longer." 
 
 But Cupid, the sly, knew a maneuvre or two 
 of his own. Realizing that no field is more favor 
 able for his activities than the anomalous social 
 conditions of a pioneer region, and stung, no 
 doubt, by John s slighting oversight of his right 
 ful share in such an affair, he was lying in wail 
 for him with an extra quiver full. 
 
 Now it chanced that in acquiring a title to his 
 valley, a strip of twenty acres or more on the 
 south side was not included, but as new settlers 
 were rare it never occurred to John that any 
 other mortal might lay claim to anything within 
 that natural enclosure. 
 
 One balmy morning, as this would-be "mon- 
 arch-of-all-he-surveyed 1 rode forth, he espied a 
 sin* ike curling up from the strip; not strange, ns 
 prospectors still occasionally camped there, but 
 as it was late in the day for them to be lingering, 
 John galloped off in that direction to investigate. 
 He looked quite the landed proprietor with his 
 equestrian boots, good mount, and powerful Dane 
 at heels, and there is nothing on record to show 
 that he was not vainly conscious of the part. 
 
 Rounding a hillock he came upon a sight that 
 brought both his horse and his breath momentar 
 ily to a standstill; for a typical Arkansaw mov 
 er s outfit was as foreign to anything in John s 
 experience as a totem-pole pedigree would be to a 
 cotton state coon. 
 
 A small tent and a dilapidated prairie 
 schooner were disposed with a view to perma- 
 
 147 
 
TUlioum Tales 
 
 nence. Domestic utensils lay scattered about. 
 A woman was cooking over a camp-fire and two 
 disheveled children were having a rough and 
 tumble play with at least five hounds. A tired- 
 looking man was leading a pair of lean and har 
 ness-worn mules up from the ditch stream. They 
 were probably the first the region ever saw. The 
 hounds set up a great howling, and the group 
 turned and saw John in the act of dismounting 
 and giving his Dane a cut with his riding whip, 
 with the command, "Stand still, sir! 7 
 
 Either the appearance of the group, or the 
 impudence of the hounds, something, started 
 John off into a whirlwind of unreasonable anger. 
 Veritable blue blazes shone in his eyes. Even 
 the hounds slunk away, and the woman halted in 
 her hospitable intention of greeting the stranger. 
 The man looked as if he meditated flight, if he 
 had been in the habit of doing anything so sudden 
 and energetic. 
 
 After the barons (per John s flashing eyes) 
 had sufficiently scorched the group, he burst 
 forth : "What in h 1 do you call this layout ! 
 Where did you come from and where are you 
 trying to get to?" 
 
 After a few choking attempts the man made 
 audible the reply : 
 
 "We cum frum Arkinsaw; that is, we ve bin 
 a cumin frum than off an on of two years. We- 
 uns wuz kalldlatin tuh git further up thuh river 
 to thuh Big Bend country, but ? t seemed like 
 we ud got tuh stop some whah now, tuh git in a 
 crap. Sis, that is, we-uns, we liked thuh look of 
 
 148 
 
v 
 
 "When a firm but musical voice called from the tent door." 
 
The Taming of the Barons 
 
 this here level an we lowed we could squat, but 
 course, stranger, ef thuh land is yourn we ll 
 vamoose." 
 
 The very meekness of this overture seemed to 
 enrage John even more. He fairly yelled : 
 
 "I don t own the land, but I ll control it, 
 never you fear, and no d d product of the Ar- 
 kansaw swamps shall plant himself here. ( Blank- 
 ety, blank, blank!) You pull out of here you 
 malarial, clay-eating refugee!" 
 
 "Yes, yes, we will stranger. Jest give us 
 time tuh pick up our traps, won t yuh?" the thor 
 oughly frightened man was saying, when a firm 
 but musical voice called from the tent door, 
 "Paw." "Paw" turned to the door and the voice 
 said something inaudible to John, whatever it 
 was, it acted like magic on the man s spinal col 
 umn. He very perceptibly stood more erect, and 
 actually looked John in the eye as he said : "Ef 
 I understand you tuh say, stranger, that the land 
 ain t yourn, by what rights can you order we-uns 
 off like we wuz dogs. Sis says, that is we-uns 
 say, that we air agoin tuh stay till somebody 
 shows rights tuh order us off." 
 
 Fairly gasping from this burst of nerve, he 
 began to look as if he might weaken, when the 
 female of the tent, garbed in calico mother-hub- 
 bard and sunbonnet, (which reveals little), 
 stepped forward composedly, held out a splint- 
 bottomed chair, and said in tones of honeyed 
 mischief: 
 
 "Paw, invite the stranger to set while he s 
 stoppin at we-all s." 
 
 149 
 
Tillicam Tales 
 
 With an actual snort of rage John strode off, 
 flung himself onto his horse and galloped away, 
 vaguely planning to return with his shotgun and 
 drive the intruders back to Arkansaw. Increas 
 ing moments cooled his w r hite heat of anger, how 
 ever, and he decided that instead he would turn 
 the water off from the strip, leaving them with 
 out a supply. 
 
 Next morning this course looked small to him. 
 Several days passed, but John did not deign to 
 glance in the direction of the strip, although he 
 had reminders by way of baying hounds and the 
 reports of a shotgun in the direction of his grouse 
 roost that kept his temper peppery. Something 
 must be done. He would buy them off. Why 
 had he not thought of that sooner? He would 
 attend to it at once. 
 
 His part of the plan w r orked beautifully. He 
 rode up to the camp jauntily and smiling the 
 smile that won men. He called out the paternal 
 head of the family, apologized handsomely, ad 
 mitted their rights, and named a sum for their 
 prospective ownership that made the eyes of the 
 man, who seemed in a receptive mood, brighten; 
 when the same summons came from the tent door, 
 and he again received a galvanic charge. 
 
 John expected a demand for a larger sum. 
 Instead the camper struck an attitude, and in the 
 most dignified tone he could command, an 
 nounced that he and his family intended to leave 
 the valley that very day, "An not because they 
 wuz bought out nuther, but because Sis, that is 
 we-uns, we don t care tuh stay in no such neigh- 
 
 150 
 
77/r Tnmintj of the Barons 
 
 hnrhood. An as for takin your pay, Sis, that 
 is we-alls, we wouldn t tech it with no ten-foot 
 pole." 
 
 In spite of himself, John blazed up afresh 
 and said : 
 
 "You darned travesty of a man, next time I 
 come to do business with you I ll call for Sis 
 in the first place." With which thrust John was 
 obliged to content himself, and for the second 
 time left in a discomposed and routed frame of 
 mind. 
 
 The next day nothing remained of the camp 
 ers but the smouldering embers of their fire. 
 John heard of them as having "squatted" on 
 "Three-Mile Flat," a locality some five miles 
 <!<>\vn the same side of the river, where a scant 
 amount of moisture made cultivation possible. 
 
 To John s credit be it said he felt a twinge of 
 pity for the man who bore so plainly the stamp 
 of "inefficient," trying in his weak way to wrest a 
 living from the thirsty soil, and within a stone s 
 throw of the unattainable volumes of water pour 
 ing down the Columbia. 
 
 The more he thought of it, the more he felt 
 that it would salve his dignity and relieve his 
 sympathies if he could do them some favor. So 
 he sent his hired man off leading a young cow 
 i valuable and scarce then), with a message to 
 the effect that he felt indebted to them to that 
 extent, and would they please accept with his 
 compliments. Mr. Sibley, for that was his name, 
 took her, dubiously, before consulting his family. 
 
 151 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Next morning when John got up, the cow 
 was tied to his fence. He only ejaculated : "Its 
 that Sis, blame such idiots !" 
 
 152 
 
The Taming of the Barons 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was a month later that John saw a yel 
 low cayuse, whose rider it puzzled him to iden 
 tify, come loping up the valley. It was not a 
 white man, an Indian nor a kloochman; and 
 that exhausted the list of probabilities. Then 
 it became clear that the doubtful head-gear was 
 a sunbonnet and the rider a woman using a side 
 saddle. 
 
 "Holy smoke! It is a Sibley! To what am 
 I indebted for this honor, I wonder?" 
 
 It was a Sibley, and Sis at that. 
 
 John made no move to assist her in alight 
 ing, but sat aloof waiting her approach. 
 
 It was like Sis, once there, to advance with 
 out apparent hesitation or timidity, although 
 nothing short of a life and death matter to her 
 would have brought her. Her shapely if rough 
 ened hands betrayed some nervousness as she 
 fingered the birch switch she carried, but the 
 sunbonnet (of the "slat" variety) presented an 
 unmoved front. 
 
 Xearing John, but without looking up, she 
 spoke; her voice unexpectedly soft and low; the 
 lingo (a modification of her parents ) something 
 new to John. No manner of spelling conveys it, 
 but the softness of the accents well nigh dis- 
 
 153 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 pelled the shock from her rending of good Eng 
 lish. 
 
 "Mistah Oswald," she began, "I ain t letting 
 on I don t hate you, for I do; but our little Jim" 
 (slightly tremolo) "is sick. Maw says that if he 
 had somethin to eat sides sech as we-alls have, 
 he might get bettah. Could you" (decidedly 
 smothery now) "sell Paw that COW T ? We kaint 
 pay you now, but we shorely will," (desperate 
 inflection). 
 
 For a moment the hands clasped and unclasp 
 ed themselves in agitation over this self-imposed 
 task, but the sunbonnet remained cool. Some 
 illusion John had held about the age and temper 
 of the speaker faded away at the girlish tones, 
 and he mellowed up, as we all do, under the sen 
 sation of having a proud spirit humble itself 
 before us. 
 
 "Have her? Why, of course, you can have 
 her. Blamed nonsense that you haven t had her 
 all this while. Come to think of it, you can t 
 have her that is, unless you promise to say no 
 more about pay. That is how much I care for 
 your hate did you say, Miss ah Miss Sib- 
 ley?" 
 
 "Paw will git huh" (loftily and no mention 
 of thanks). 
 
 John s gallantry revived, and to the girl s dis 
 comfort he insisted on holding the cayuse by 
 the bits while she mounted; a proceeding so un 
 necessary considering the starved and reluctant 
 condition of the Sibley animals that spring, that 
 
 154 
 
The Tatnlntj of the Barons 
 
 he was to be suspected of wanting to catch a 
 glimpse of the features inside the sunbonnet. 
 
 The Sibley family was of a class only com 
 prehensible to the long-time Southerner. Oth 
 ers group all of the South s illiterates under 
 the one head u poor white trash" but the 
 understanding know that some unaccountably 
 proud blood flows in the veins of families whose 
 social status, if gauged by scholarliness, would 
 be "nil." 
 
 From such an one came Mrs. Sibley. Once 
 within the breastworks of a truly formidable 
 family reserve, one found that Mrs. Sibley had 
 wonderful qualities as a born hostess and moth 
 er, a conserver of hope and cheerfulness, and 
 hearty friendliness that could win over even a 
 critical grammarian and send him away thaweil 
 to the marrow. Poverty could not utterly dis 
 pel the comfort of a home where her geniality 
 was the keynote. Even behind the rather high 
 white forehead of "Paw" Sibley lay sensibilities 
 along the line of morals and emotions that would 
 dwarf by comparison those of many a shrewd 
 and educated man of affairs. 
 
 Whatever misfortunes had followed them, 
 one thing the Sibley s had accomplished that 
 neither intellect, wealth nor education can know 
 ingly do they had produced in their offspring 
 the physical combination called beauty, and the 
 mental poise recognized as power. 
 
 Accounted for or not, there was Sis with a 
 face and form to transfix the gaze of an artist; 
 quick-witted, tender-hearted and bewitching. Pov- 
 
 155 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 erty and a cramped life had left but superficial 
 traces on a countenance of fascinating individ 
 uality. Her delicate features, topped by a mass 
 of brown waviness, would have graced a more 
 esthetic region than Three-Mile Flat. One wavy 
 lock refused to lie with its mates and stubbornly 
 dipped over her brow in a most coquettish man 
 ner. Mrs. Sibley was wont to account for it 
 this way: "That s thuh Jamison cow-lick. It s 
 bin croppin out now an then ever sence thuh 
 name of Jamison crossed thuh fam ly way back 
 in Georgia." 
 
 Happenings that have to do with this story 
 were at a standstill until mid-summer. 
 
 Mr. Sibley often repaired to the ferry for a 
 little diversion and gossip, as the ferryman was 
 his nearest neighbor and situated right in what 
 might be considered the thick of public events 
 in that region. 
 
 One evening as he returned from one of these 
 visits, he set himself, as usual, a chair out under 
 the hop-vine which Mrs. Sibley had coaxed into 
 arbor-like appearance in front of their shack and 
 lit his pipe. Mrs. Sibley desisted from watering 
 the hollyhocks she had fenced away from the 
 rapacious chickens, and came and sat herself 
 down by Sis in the front doorway. The tangle 
 of boys and hounds having been sent to a bear 
 able distance, Mr. Sibley began to regale the 
 womenfolk with his news items. 
 
 "Seems that thuh Grand Mogul has met up 
 with a comedown." Grand Mogul was a title Mr. 
 Sibley had felt moved to confer on John Oswald. 
 
 156 
 
The Tumi n<r of tlir ttaronx 
 
 "How s that, Paw," from both listeners. 
 
 "He s got his laig broke him tin ovah them 
 bluffs. Doctor s bin up tub set it an wuz jest 
 ferryin back when I wuz down thah." 
 
 "Broke his laig! An nobody thah tub do 
 nothin fob him but that onery half-breed," said 
 Mrs. Sibley, showing that the feud-like hatred 
 for John had undergone some modifications since 
 the episode of the cow, which John had stoutly 
 refused to be paid for. 
 
 "I m feared that half-breed ull not treat him 
 right," from Sis, revealed an unsuspected degree 
 of interest on her part. 
 
 "Don t yuh worry none bout that, Sis. That 
 half-breed s as skeart of John Oswald with all his 
 laigs broke as you air of thuh ol Nick." 
 
 As he spoke Mr. Sibley glanced reminiscently 
 at the scenery as if he had some comprehensive 
 recollections along that line himself. Then re 
 sumed : 
 
 "Hit s been uncommon hot to-day an thuh 
 man tub thuh ferry says we kin look out foh 
 thuh biggest rise in ten years, when thuh sun 
 strikes that jag of snow onto thuh mountains. 
 I reckon we bettuh git tub town tuh-morrer, 
 hadn t we, maw 7 , fore thuh ferry quits?" 
 
 The river did rise in the night, and another 
 hot day threatened, but the ferry was not dis 
 commoded, and Mr. and Mrs. Sibley, being inex 
 perienced in the floods that come from hot sun 
 shine, drove off early to town. 
 
 As Sis fetched the family water from the 
 river during the day, she was alarmed at its 
 
 157 
 
TilUcum Tales 
 
 rapid rise. By night the waters, liberated from 
 the mountains some fifty miles away, came sweep 
 ing down in ever-increasing volumes. Anxiously 
 the children sought the ferry, to find it moored 
 helplessly on the other side. 
 
 This meant a night alone, which in itself had 
 no terrors for this daughter of a hardy life. Once 
 her brothers slept she wandered down to watch 
 the swirling masses of debris and uprooted trees 
 in the raging river. Surprised, she heard a gal 
 loping horse approaching. Instinctively she hid, 
 then clearly recognized John Oswald s half-breed 
 as he galloped past, bareheaded, his face atwist 
 with malicious passion. A revolver glistened in 
 his belt and he rode one of John s own horses. 
 
 As he swiftly disappeared, every faculty Sis 
 had was strained to account for the incident. 
 Her indignation swelled at the story her intui 
 tion supplied. Oswald down and helpless; some 
 unreasonable anger of his, a cankering grudge 
 in the heart of the half-breed; this his oppor 
 tunity for revenge. Her only thought, at first, 
 that he would steal and leave John helpless 
 until some one chanced to come to his rescue. 
 Then, with a shudder, came a more poignant 
 thought. The flood! The exposed situation of 
 John s house. Even now it must be threatened 
 perhaps destroyed. She shrank, coweringly, 
 from the quick following suggestions; she alone 
 knew and could help, but how? 
 
 "Not a horse on thuh place. Five miles an 
 dark as Egup round that cultus trail. Dear 
 God, I kaint!" was her first exclamation. Then 
 
 158 
 
The Taming of the Baroiis 
 
 one thought of lying helpless before the stealthy 
 waters approach, blotted all disagreeable recol 
 lections and hesitation from the girl s mind, and 
 "I must, I just shorely must!" came from her 
 tense lips. 
 
 Awakening her eight-year-old brother, she 
 gave him many injunctions to follow, "till sister 
 comes back," and then slipped swiftly away in 
 the darkness. 
 
 159 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The distance was no real tax on this girl s 
 strength, neither had she any of the sentimental 
 fear of darkness to be expected of an ordinary 
 miss; but there were real dangers and well she 
 knew them. The dismal howl of a coyote was to 
 her a reassuring sound, indicating the absence of 
 possible larger and fiercer animals. But more 
 than once, as she sped along, did she hear the 
 tell-tale jingle of a disturbed rattler, an all too 
 frequent pest in the vicinity at that time. Night 
 and summer time were the normal seasons of 
 their prevalence, and the flood had driven them 
 from their rocky crevices in surprising numbers. 
 
 Even her stout little heart gave a few catch 
 ing throbs as she neared the tunneled passage 
 ways through which she must trust her sense of 
 direction to guide her, for on no account must 
 she touch their ledgy sides, so likely a retreat 
 for the reptiles; but she scarcely had entered 
 their blackness before the cool night air from the 
 other side greeted her and she was through and 
 on. Once she paused, hopelessly trying to dis 
 tinguish the outlines of field and flood in the val 
 ley below, then descending to its level, she neared 
 her destination. Here a new obstacle confronted 
 her. The irrigation ditch, swollen by back-water, 
 spread half a hundred feet wide. But Sis had 
 
 160 
 
The TatniH f/ of the Barons 
 
 not crossed the continent in a mover s wagon 
 without acquiring resources. Quickly stripping 
 her clothing off she wrapped each garment 
 around a stone, tossed them across, and, like the 
 little athlete she was, swam easily after them, 
 redressed and was again hurrying up the road 
 way toward the house. Once the river encroach 
 ed upon her path and she made a wide detour 
 to avoid it. The howling of John s dogs gave 
 her an uneasy pang, prepared to face them if 
 necessary though she was, but luckily they had 
 been tied by the cunning half-breed for purposes 
 of his own. She could now distinguish the out 
 lines of the house, but there was neither light 
 nor sound to reassure her. Then a new fear, a 
 real gripping one, assailed her. It made her 
 breath come in gasps. Why had she not thought 
 before! Oswald was dead within! The half- 
 breed had murdered him! She could scarcely 
 restrain the impulse to run and crouch by the 
 dogs by anything that was alive! 
 
 It uiis pluck in a slip of a girl, but she 
 st ;idied herself and walked straight through the 
 gate and onto the porch; she rapped as briskly 
 as a mid-day caller might have done, the while 
 listening in an agony of tension. 
 
 What a heavenly sound, then, was the decid 
 edly gruff "Who s there!" that followed. It was 
 a pity that the cunning little gesture and soft 
 laugh of relief Sis gave were lost on the unappre- 
 ciativo night. She stepped into the darkness 
 inside and answered rather faintly: 
 
 "Its me, Sis Sibley." 
 
 161 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 A pause; then, 
 
 "Well, ah, Miss Sibley, affairs in my house 
 hold seein to be in such an unusual state that I 
 am obliged to waive all ceremony in receiving 
 you. I might add that I was not expecting call 
 ers, though I assure you I am glad to see you, or 
 will be when I do. Would you mind stepping 
 to this table and lighting a lamp which you will 
 find there? You see I am disabled myself and 
 that d d man of mine has either been hurt him 
 self or has decamped, and the devil seems to pay 
 outside, though what is wrong I can t guess." 
 
 What with physical suffering, suspense and 
 vexation, the day had been a wearisome one for 
 John, though he was far from realizing what 
 really did portend. Of a part with all the 
 strangeness seemed the coming of this woman. 
 
 At first sight of her his serious mood under 
 went a comfortable reaction. He was genuine 
 ly amused. People who are familiar with the 
 Arkansas backwoods customs will not be sur 
 prised that Sis wore the inevitable sunbonnet. 
 
 "Miss Sibley," said he, with a hovering 
 smile, "won t you remove your wraps?" 
 
 If Sis noticed either his invitation or his ridi 
 cule, she gave no sign. Affairs of more conse 
 quence were uppermost in her mind. 
 
 "Mistah Oswald," her tone was solemn, "your 
 man has gone an left yuh, an thuh river is 
 floodin an is clean up tuh thuh door. I must 
 loose them poor critters at thuh barn first, an 
 then you must tell me what I kin do foh you-all." 
 
 162 
 
The Tain i n (/ of the Karon* 
 
 John gave a piercingly astonished look at the 
 sunbonnet, and ejaculated something too ex 
 pressive to be recorded here. As Sis stood, im 
 movable, awaiting orders, he said: 
 
 "If you think you can, you may untie my 
 horse, but I forbid you to molest the dogs. They 
 would probably tear you to pieces." 
 
 By the aid of a lantern Sis found her way to 
 untie the frantic horse, which left his stall with 
 a bound to seek the higher ground where the 
 other stock had already gone; then she went de 
 liberately and untied the dogs, who seemed to 
 fawn thanks of deliverance, and then ran with 
 glad barks to the porch where they vigorously 
 shook their wet coats. 
 
 In such truly tyrannical manner had John 
 grown to expect obedience, that he was smartly 
 vexed, and when Sis presented herself for fur 
 ther orders, he said sternly: 
 
 "Woman, there is nothing you can do, nor 
 nothing needing to be done. In my opinion 
 (very pompously) "you have over-estimated the 
 danger. There is no reason to suppose that this 
 house can really be threatened. I appreciate 
 your efforts in my behalf 7 (very stiffly) "but it 
 would be wise for you to compose yourself until 
 such time as you feel that you must return," (not 
 quite an invitation to go). 
 
 Having delivered himself of this very warmly 
 appreciative dissertation, John virtuously await- 
 od the next move of the Siblcy. 
 
 The girl held her head high as she thought 
 for a moment, then said calmly: 
 
 163 
 
TiUicum Tales 
 
 "Mistah Oswald, your boat is swept away. I 
 thought you would tell me what tuh do tuh save 
 us if thuh house goes too, but I kalkilate I must 
 see things through by myself." With this she 
 took the light and started out. 
 
 From John harshly : "What do you propose 
 to do?" 
 
 "Try an build a raft." 
 
 "You ll do nothing of the d d sort!" (eyes 
 steely and voice hissy.) "In the first place, it 
 is not needed, and in the next place, there is not 
 a suitable thing on the place to use for such a 
 purpose. You build a raft!" 
 
 Sis had a temper that was scarcely proof 
 against such unjust treatment, but she went 
 coolly out into the adjoining room and com 
 menced a search after various articles. 
 
 John boiled silently for a few moments, then 
 remarked scathingly: 
 
 "I suppose impudence and bad manners from 
 some sources no need to surprise one." 
 
 "Were you speaking of mannahs^ Mr. Os 
 wald?" said Sis from the doorway in a tone that 
 carried volumes of meaning. And the barons 
 began to realize the uselessness of blustering to 
 ward some people. 
 
 When Sis had gathered together hammer, 
 nails, a clothesline and two planks, she took, one 
 by one, three house doors from off their hinges, 
 laid them on the porch convenient to John s win 
 dow, and nailed them together securely. Fasten 
 ing one end of the line to the doorknobs and one 
 
 164 
 
The Taming of tJie Barons 
 
 to a substantial nearby tree completed her op 
 erations. She then repaired to the kitchen, drew 
 her wet feet up under her and sat shivering and 
 waiting, not caring whether John was gnashing 
 his teeth or amusing himself some other way. 
 
 105 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Soon a long glistening streak crept in under 
 the door. With fascinated interest the girl 
 watched it extend itself, then spread gradually 
 into pools. As she saw the floor about to vanish 
 beneath the muddy waters it seemed the limit of 
 what she could endure of lonely waiting, so she 
 took the lamp and beat a hasty retreat to the 
 room where John lay. The silent intruder was 
 making headway there also, as the advent of the 
 light revealed to John s sudden consternation. 
 For a time he said nothing, nor the girl ; though 
 the rapid changes his countenance underwent be 
 spoke a realization, at last, of the danger and of 
 his helplessness. Then he asked, with a new 
 shade of respect in his tones: 
 
 "How happened you to be here tonight?" 
 
 "I seen your man run off an I was feared 
 thuh flood would drowned yuh," replied Sis with 
 her customary directness. 
 
 "Do you mean to say you rode from your 
 place here, alone, because of that?" 
 
 "I walked." 
 
 "Walked! Dead Caesar s ghost! That was 
 no joke." 
 
 Again silence, then John: 
 
 "Miss Sibley, (blessed if I know just how I 
 ought to address you!) I feel that an apology 
 
 166 
 
The Taming of the Baron* 
 
 is due you for what might have appeared lik<> 
 rudeness on my part. No doubt by now you 
 think drowning is too good for me." 
 
 A light laugh, quickly caught and suppressed, 
 was the girl s answer, then she ventured: 
 
 "My name is Drucilla, if you care tuh know." 
 
 "Drucilla, Drucilla Sibley," slowly repeated 
 John as if struck with something euphonious in 
 the name. 
 
 Confronting a situation such as faced these 
 two is conducive to rapid acquaintance. In the 
 phenomenally long few hours that followed, 
 John found himself confiding to a Sibley such 
 personal matters as that there was no one to care 
 what accident might befall him, nor indeed if the 
 Columbia should sweep him into the Pacific that 
 very night; while in turn he got an insight into 
 the strange childhood and girlhood of Sis; the 
 years of poverty and drifting, with no school ad 
 vantages other than that of a few months each 
 out of two winters spent in Fayetteville. 
 
 Now and then John ventured a reassuring re 
 mark in the direction of her voice (and bonnet), 
 to the effect that the Hood must surely have 
 reached its worst stage. Sis, as conscientiously 
 tried to feel reassured. Hut no amount of jug 
 gling with conversation blinded them to the fact 
 that the danger kept increasing. 
 
 John even asked anxiously if she had suc 
 ceeded in constructing anything that she thought 
 would float. She explained her crude prepara 
 tions, and they lapsed into a silent vigil of such 
 suspense that it was almost unendurable. 
 
 107 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Then the spell was broken! The house gave 
 a sickening floating motion. With one bound 
 of terror the over- wrought and exhausted girl 
 sprang toward John and frantically clutched his 
 arm as she cried in a passion of nervous fright : 
 
 "Oh! Mistah Oswald, I m so feared, an so 
 cold an so tired, just let me touch you, won t 
 you please?" 
 
 Sis had always had Mrs. Sibley s ample and 
 reassuring bosom to flee to in times of stress, and 
 for the moment was a very child in fear and 
 helplessness. 
 
 With shame we must record that John s first 
 impulse was to repulse such unwarranted famil 
 iarity, especially upon the part of a Sibley, but, 
 at this critical moment the hitherto faithful sun- 
 bonnet had tumbled back unheeded, and John 
 found himself gazing at close range into as love 
 ly, if pale and tearful, a face as he had ever 
 seen. 
 
 Here was a situation for the totally unprepar 
 ed John in which his calloused emotions had to 
 give way to some lively adjusting. Surprise at the 
 butterfly which had emerged from the sunbonnet 
 chrysalis was uppermost. The novelty of having 
 a human being dare approach him came next, and 
 was no less interesting by reason of its being a 
 pretty woman in distress. Unwonted thrills 
 that might have been awakening chivalry, or long 
 dormant impulses of tenderness, ruffled his se 
 renity. The memory of his last caresses, a 
 mother s, came vaguely to him. Some intense 
 grief over the pity of his long repressed affec- 
 
 168 
 
The Taming of the Barons 
 
 tions seemed to catch momentarily at his con 
 sciousness. Floods were forgotten in this mo 
 ment of introspection. 
 
 A repressed sob from the girl renewed the 
 present, and he laid his hand gently on her 
 head, saying: 
 
 "Little girl, don t be afraid; we will see this 
 thing safely through yet," a very creditable at 
 tempt at comforting for the baronly unaccus- 
 tomedness. With her face in a convenient pil 
 low Sis sobbed convulsively. 
 
 \\V suspect now that Cupid has command of 
 the elements to further his plans, for having used 
 the flood to bring affairs up to this climax, he 
 allowed it to subside. 
 
 John s happy ejaculation, "Jove! I believe I 
 can see more of that chair than I could a few 
 moments ago!" aroused the girl. 
 
 She raised her woe-begone face, saw that he 
 was right, and gave way to real girlish impulses 
 of delight. She patted John s hand, clasped 
 her own excitedly and pressed her face to the 
 windowpane, eagerly seeking the coming of day 
 light. And come it did very soon, revealing a 
 most prosaic state of mud-disfigured surround 
 ings. 
 
 With assured safety came much of their 
 former reserve, and Sis would have been glad 
 to don her sunbonnet if John had not purposely, 
 or otherwise, laid it behind him. At one time he 
 would have considered the tongs the only proper 
 thing with which to handle a Sibley garment. 
 
Tillioum Tales 
 
 Continued glances at the head the bonnet had 
 sheltered were rapidly dispelling that point of 
 view. 
 
 Sis prepared some acceptable toast and cof 
 fee, and a short time thereafter no less a person 
 appeared on the scene than Mr. Sibley; the very 
 widening of the river below the narrows having 
 made rowing across it easier than usual. 
 
 So, leaving the invalid to the doubtful ten 
 derness of "Paw Sibley," Sis hastened home to 
 the comforting arms of "one who would appreci 
 ate that she had gone five miles alone in the dark 
 through dangers, and would give her a word of 
 praise," as Sis said to herself with an aggrieved 
 sigh, though for some reason a blush hid very 
 near the sigh. 
 
 After his recovery, John made several at 
 tempts to see Sis and formally thank her. He 
 was puzzled to know why he never found her on 
 any of these occasions. He was no more puzzled 
 than poor Sis would have been if called upon to 
 explain what impluse sent her scurrying to the 
 fields every time John s saddler was seen ap 
 proaching. "Paw" and "Maw" had their per 
 plexities too, these days, because of the new 
 sensitiveness Sis exhibited to all the Sibley de 
 ficiencies, and her unwonted longings "for things 
 like other girls." Her merry-hearted mischief 
 seemed suddenly to have given place to a patient 
 and painstaking devotion to the home folks and 
 duty. In short Cupid had touched a young 
 girl s imagination and another hero was born. 
 
 170 
 
The Tainin<f of the 7ff/ro//\ 
 
 Even John Oswald showed "symptoms un 
 derstood by the wily fellow, who no doubt went 
 on to other scenes, knowing full well that his 
 arrow-sped virus would "take" in due time. 
 
 For some reason John s previous plans and 
 purposes seemed as out of date as if blocked out 
 for a stranger, and to which to try and reconcile 
 himself, was to be interrupted by irrelevant recol 
 lections of a girl s tear-stained face and soft 
 touch ; while letters from the New York aunt, 
 urging the date of his arrival, made John so cross 
 that his new helpers, a man and his wife, could 
 hardly endure him. 
 
 One can follow a worse guide than the genu 
 ine little Cupid, no matter how impractical lie, 
 may seem. Perhaps he sees things not apparent 
 on the surface; for instance that John needed ,i 
 little leveling down to the average humanity be 
 fore he should be quite the man he might bo ; or, 
 he knew that Sis, barring little trips in grammar, 
 and things superficial and to be overcome, wa* 
 John s equal. Perhaps he foresaw how the meek 
 adoration of Paw Sibley and the homely affec 
 tionate atmosphere surrounding Maw Sibley 
 would supply in John s future something sadly 
 hi (king in his past. John may have been dimly 
 conscious of such subjective suggestions himself, 
 but it needed one more circumstance to jog the 
 baronly vanity "out of the common time into 
 the salute." 
 
 As John was returning from Wenatchee one 
 day, lie was overtaken by another horseman 
 whom he recognized as the dashing and sportv 
 
 171 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 proprietor of the new hotel at that place. In 
 an overly familiar manner, he confided to John 
 his errand. It was to find old man Sibley, "who 
 has a girl, an uncommon peachy looker, and I m 
 going to persuade that girl to come to work at 
 my hotel. Girls is scarce and high and I hap 
 pen to know the old man is down on his finances ; 
 anyway Fm going to make it worth that girl ? 
 while," and here he tipped John a sly wink. 
 
 John turned livid and raised his riding whip, 
 but reason prevailed, and he only brought it 
 down on his own horse, which was off like the 
 wind. 
 
 "That s blamed queer; wonder if he s got de 
 signs on that girl himself," was the man s sur 
 prised comment. 
 
 John rode that gait the several miles home, 
 then turned and rode as rapidly back again. 
 In the meantime he was coming round to one 
 of his lightning-like conclusions. He recalled 
 and bade a last farewell to "Mrs. John Oswald, 
 late of New York." He even considered a few 
 remembered arguments against marriages be 
 tween people of different social environments 
 and attainments. Some way the color of eyes, 
 the balancing of wills, and even the tones of a 
 voice seemed confusingly prominent in the at 
 tempt to weigh the matter coolly. 
 
 As he passed over the narrow trail, the 
 thought of a girl crossing it alone and in the 
 night to come to his aid seemed to clinch matters, 
 and one near might have heard him say, forcibly : 
 
 172 
 
The T a mine/ of the Barons 
 
 "Dang it, a fellow wants what he wants, don t 
 he, and that settles it." Then he remembered 
 the jaunty stranger and rode the harder. 
 
 Around the Sibley home an air of excitement 
 was still apparent. Paw Sibley, looking almost 
 as fierce as some of his Kentucky cousins, still 
 held his shotgun, while he and Maw Sibley ex 
 changed scathingly indignant remarks to nobody 
 but the awe-struck boys. Sis had fled upon see 
 ing John. 
 
 The Sibley vocabulary was taxed while Paw 
 and Maw tried to tell how the name of Sibley 
 and Jamison had been insulted right at their 
 door. 
 
 "There ain t never been a Sibley nor a Jamison 
 hire out to nobody" ("nor never shall," broke 
 in Mr. Sibley.) "They owned their own niggers 
 too, an here comes this pisen Yankee talkin tuli 
 our Sis bout hirin ," and Mrs. Sibley wiped her 
 eyes as she continued, "Thuh hardest part fur 
 Paw an me wuz havin Sis speak up an say she 
 thought twas time we quit talkin bout the Jam 
 ison an Sibley niggers an let her go tuh work. 
 She says she kaint bear tuh see Paw work no 
 harder an he kaint make no livin here." 
 
 Leaving Mr. and Mrs. Sibley groaning over 
 this unexpected degeneracy in the "apple of their 
 eye," John suddenly stepped inside. 
 
 There sat Sis looking miserable indeed. For 
 the first time her parents had disapproved of 
 "wo-all, that is, Sis." Deep humiliation at all 
 these reminders of their poverty lowered her 
 head. She was altogether crestfallen and con 
 querable. John was correspondingly positive, 
 
 173 
 
TilUcum Tales 
 
 so it came about with shocking suddenness that 
 John was holding the trembling girl, new pink 
 calico and all, in his arms, and pouring out plans 
 by which Mr. and Mrs. Sibley should live com 
 fortably on the strip, and she quite as comforta 
 ble with him! 
 
 When Paw and Maw stepped inside and be 
 held their Sis in the arms of "the grand mo 
 gul," not having had any "soul interchange" to 
 prepare them, they stood in rank amazement, all 
 of which John was oblivious to until the young 
 est Sibley shouted : "Paw air yuh goin tub draw 
 yer gun on that one too?" 
 
 Some days later John started the following 
 letter eastward : 
 "My Dear Aunt : 
 
 "You may expect me in New York the first of 
 the month. I am coming after an educated and 
 refined woman, yes! as a companion, certainly! 
 but for my wife! as lovely and sweet a girl as 
 was ever made. Some day soon I shall present 
 her to you, as we shall spend the season in your 
 city. 
 
 "Dear aunt, I have found that it is not essen 
 tial in an agreeable companion that she shall be 
 a counterpart of one s self in book learning; in 
 stead I find it very agreeable to be the first to 
 unfold these things to a fresh and appreciative 
 mind. 
 
 "I make a fair task master considering that I 
 am utterly unable to intimidate my pupil by any 
 means what-some-never. 
 
 "Your enthusiastic nephew, 
 
 "JOHN OSWALD." 
 174 
 
Under the Tricolor 
 
 BY 
 FRANCES K. BYERS 
 
Under the Tricolor 
 
 jjjf WONDER what can be the matter with 
 1 8 my wheel. I almost believe it is be- 
 witched, and the thread, too, for not one 
 smooth skein have I spun today." 
 
 There was an angry snarl, the thread snapped, 
 and Fran Lenz pushed the wheel impatiently 
 from her and walked to the window. 
 
 "Ach!" she murmured, "it is not the fault of 
 my faithful wheel, but of my own heart dark 
 and tumultuous it is, like the Rhine itself, today. 
 And how can I spin when my eyes are blurred 
 with tears? Never did I, nor my mothers before 
 me, shrink from giving our best, yes, our all, in 
 defense of our Fatherland and our rightful king! 
 But when I think of my husband in the ranks of 
 the usurper, forced to fight against Russia who 
 is our friend perhaps lying wounded and frozen 
 upon a battlefield and my son, my happy little 
 Fritz"- 
 
 Down the street came the clatter of wooden 
 shoes. The children were coming from school. 
 
 "Mein Uebling," she said tenderly, caressing 
 Hanschen, the youngest, who hurried to her and 
 buried his face in the folds of her skirts, "starved 
 as usual, is it not so? But where/ she asked, 
 
 177 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 pausing before the crane, kettle in hand, "where 
 is thy brother Karl? It grows late, and he 
 should have been at home this half hour." 
 
 She cast a quick apprehensive glance at the 
 door, which burst open a moment later, and Karl 
 stood before her. 
 
 "Mother," he said, when he had recovered his 
 breath, "I saw a great mass of people around the 
 fountain, so I went too. A rider, whose -horse s 
 muzzle was white with foam, was reading a pa 
 per. I could not understand what he said, but 
 the crowd cheered until the gendarme galloped 
 up and scattered them, commanding them in the 
 name of the King to go home." 
 
 "It is Frederick William s proclamation," 
 said Frau Goetz, their neighbor, who, in the ex 
 citement, had entered without the formality of 
 knocking. "Here I have a copy of it in my 
 pocket. Take it or let me read it aloud, so that 
 all may hear." 
 
 Tears often choked her utterance and her au 
 dience hung on each word of the long-hoped-for 
 proclamation of their beloved king, which de 
 clared that the decisive moment had at last ar 
 rived, and exhorted all his loyal subjects 
 Brandenburgians, Prussians, Silicians, all who 
 call themselves German to remember the his 
 tory of their past, to remember the noble 
 Elector, to remember the great and victorious 
 Frederick and the achievements of their common 
 ancestors, and above all to remember the past 
 seven years of war and desolation; impressing 
 upon them that by reason of these memories no 
 
 178 
 
Under the Tricolor 
 
 sacrifice could be too great for the King and 
 Fatherland. 
 
 "Now, God be thanked !" broke in the old 
 grandfather, rising from his seat by the fireside 
 and letting his pipe fall to the floor. His eves 
 flashed, and he stood before them, not the infirm 
 cripple, who, as he often bitterly said, was only 
 fit to do the tasks of an old woman, but again 
 the stout hussar, ready to follow Father Blucher 
 into hell itself. 
 
 "Ach!" he groaned, sinking into a chair, "if 
 it were not for that accursed bullet but go on, I 
 must hear it all." 
 
 "We must fight and conquer," she continued, 
 "if we do not wish to cease being Prussians and 
 Germans. It is our last decisive effort for ex 
 istence. There is no other issue than an honor 
 able peace, or a glorious overthrow. God and 
 the right will make us victorious !" 
 
 "Amen!" said the old man devoutly, and all 
 in the room echoed the word. 
 
 "The king says great sacrifices will be re 
 quired," said Frau Lenz sadly. "Alas! we have 
 nothing to give. We can furnish no soldiers, 
 and all has been taken from us; even our last 
 cow was taken away yesterday. 
 
 "Here is something," said Frau Goetz, point 
 ing to the shining pewter dishes on the dresser. 
 
 "But of what use would they be to the King?" 
 asked Frau Lenz, wonderingly. 
 
 "Bullets," answered the other woman stoutly. 
 "And/ she continued, "I still have something to 
 show thee these!" 
 
 179 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Drawing a box from her pocket she showed 
 her astonished friends a dozen or more iron rings, 
 shaped like wedding rings and engraved on the 
 inside with the words, "I Gave Gold for Iron 
 1813," 
 
 "These were brought me from Berlin," she 
 went on, "by the same courier who brought us 
 the news. My friend the silversmith sent them. 
 By royal authority he has made ten thousand of 
 the rings, and has addressed a request to all 
 patriots, especially all married women and be 
 trothed maidens, to bring their gold rings and re 
 ceive the iron ones in exchange." 
 
 Without a moment s hesitation, Frau Lenz 
 drew her wedding ring from her finger, and, 
 pausing only to press it to her lips and to read 
 for the last time the names inside, "Ludwig and 
 Frederika, 20th June, 1790," laid it in the open 
 hand of her friend. 
 
 "Heart s treasure, farewell," she murmured 
 softly. "Long years of service have proven thee 
 pure gold, like the heart of him who put thee on 
 my finger." 
 
 "Ac7i/" exclaimed Amelia, impulsively, press 
 ing forward, "if only I, too, could have a ring! 
 But I have none to give in exchange." 
 
 "See," said Frau Goetz, throwing back her 
 close-fitting hood. They saw that the shining 
 braids which had been her pride were gone. 
 
 "Thank you, Frau Goetz!" cried Amelia, "I, 
 also, will give my gold to the King, and you shall 
 make me a hood." 
 
 180 
 
Under the Tricolor 
 
 Swiftly she ran to a work-basket and came 
 back with a heavy pair of shears which she 
 handed to Frau Goetz. In a twinkling the two 
 glittering yellow braids lay in that good wom 
 an s lap. 
 
 At that moment heavy footsteps were heard 
 without, hurrying toward the house, and the 
 girl caught up a kerchief to cover her shorn 
 locks. Frau Lenz hastened to the door, but be 
 fore she could fasten the bolt it flew open and 
 two tall soldiers, wearing the Emperor s uni 
 form, stood before her. 
 
 "Sirs," she demanded sternly, "by what right 
 do you so brutally invade my home? My God!" 
 she cried, as the foremost pushed back his hat 
 and advanced into the room, "can it be? yes, 
 it is Fritz, my dear, dear son !" 
 
 "No, no, mutterchen-/ said Fritz, brushing 
 away his own tears, "this is not the time 
 for crying. Why, this is the happiest day of my 
 life, for have I not escaped from the service of 
 the man whom I hate more ardently than I love 
 my own life, and am well on my way to become 
 one of Von Lutzow s riflemen? So another kiss, 
 dear heart, and I am off. But God forgive me!" 
 he cried, as he suddenly recollected his friend. 
 "Mother, sister, have you no greeting for Franz 
 Werther, the truest friend man ever had? Thank 
 God, who made his legs so long, else I should now 
 be at the bottom of the river ! It is swollen from 
 the heavy rains, and swimming against the swift 
 current had exhausted my strength, when his feet 
 touched bottom and he dragged me to the shore." 
 
 181 
 
Tilliciim Tales 
 
 "God bless you, my son!" exclaimed the 
 mother, impulsively clasping the tall Westpha- 
 lian to her heart and kissing him on both cheeks. 
 
 "Wait," she said, detaining them; "I could 
 not think of sending soldiers so poorly equipped. 
 I have provided something against this day." 
 
 She cautiously bolted the door. Under her 
 direction the flagstone in front of the hearth was 
 raised, and from her store, hidden there, she 
 chose two new suits of homespun. 
 
 "Now, off with those rags," she commanded, 
 "for they hurt my eyes, and while you are about 
 it I will make you some coffee. Then you will 
 be able to travel twice as fast." 
 
 While Fritz was taking leave of his mother 
 and grandfather, his friend stood looking admir 
 ingly at the severed hair that still lay on the 
 bench where Frau Goetz had laid it. 
 
 "Fraulein" said he, "God grant great hearts 
 to us men that we may be worthy of our heroic 
 women!" He drew a tiny tress from one of the 
 braids. "Fr<mlein" he entreated, "will you not 
 give this little lock to me?" 
 
 She flushed and shook her head. "No," she 
 answered, "we German maidens do not give our 
 hair to strangers." 
 
 "But, Fraulein." he persisted, "you are giv 
 ing all of yours to the King, whom you have 
 never seen, while I have had the happiness of 
 your acquaintance for a blessed half-hour." 
 
 She stood with averted head, her hand held 
 out for the tress of hair, which he still with 
 held. 
 
 182 
 
Under the Tricolor 
 
 "Dear Fraulein,* he said pleadingly, "it is the 
 old story of the Rhine maiden, and I am entan 
 gled in the meshes of her hair, which will hold 
 me forever by her side, if she does not let go." 
 
 She caught her brother s questioning eye, im 
 patient to be gone. 
 
 "Yes, take it," she faltered, "take it and go." 
 
 **** 
 
 Blucher commanded the Prussian army 
 Blucher, who had sworn every day since Jena 
 and Tilsit that he would not sheathe his sword 
 until he had driven Napoleon beyond the Rhine, 
 and when he took command declared that for 
 them there could be no retreat. Joyfully all the 
 able-bodied men who called themselves German 
 hastened as one man to Berlin, and, while the 
 streets were ringing with the martial strains of 
 Fouque and Korner, enlisted under their be 
 loved old general. With a confidence that never 
 wavered, they followed their impetuous leader 
 through days of success and days of gloom and 
 disaster; onward like the rising of the ocean s 
 tide, until they stood with him upon the heights 
 of Montmartre and beheld Paris at their feet. 
 
 The lot of the women, left at home, was no 
 less arduous than that of the men, and animated 
 by an equal enthusiasm they made themselves 
 the base of supplies for the soldiers, whose pa 
 triotism, however great, must have food and 
 clothing to keep it alive. True, friend and foe 
 alike had depleted their possessions, but in their 
 rich fields, their strong arms and their skillful 
 fingers, lay always the possibilities of more. 
 
 183 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 They toiled, these women, not to the beat of drum 
 and call of bugle, but to the music of their folk 
 songs, and clung to their homes until a courier 
 startled them with the news of Napoleon s re 
 treat toward the Rhine. 
 
 They then fled from their home, and it was 
 only when the enemy had been driven beyond 
 the Rhine that, with glad and thankful hearts, 
 they retraced their way. 
 
 At times they traveled along roads broken and 
 strewn with debris; at other times through fair 
 country lanes bordered by whitening hawthorn, 
 wherein nature herself seemed to rejoice in the 
 new dispensation. At last, with tear-dimmed 
 eyes, they beheld their beloved Rhine. 
 
 "My daughter," entreated the elder woman, 
 "your eyes are younger and stronger than mine. 
 Try if you can see the chimneys or at least the 
 church-spire of our dear village." 
 
 Amelia looked long and earnestly. "Xo," she 
 said at last, "it must be the mist from the river, 
 for I can see nothing." 
 
 "Ah, well," said the mother, stifling a sigh, 
 "what matter a few minutes, when we know that 
 to-night we shall rest again in our own home!" 
 
 Slowly a blur grew through the mist, took 
 shape, and became trees, stone walls and chim 
 neys. With fast-beating hearts the women alight 
 ed from the traveling-vehicle and turned up the 
 well-remembered road toward home. But scarce 
 ly had they walked twenty yards when cries of 
 anguish burst from their lips. There was neither 
 
 184 
 
Under the Tricolor 
 
 light nor warmth in the village houses nothing 
 but blackened walls and ruined hearths. 
 
 Napoleon had passed before them ! 
 
 Frau Lenz was exhausted by the vigils of the 
 past months, her nerves shattered by their hor 
 rors, and only the thought of home and a re 
 united family had sustained her during the fa 
 tigue of the long journey. She sank lifeless on 
 the doorstone of her old home, at the feet of the 
 husband who had returned one moment too late 
 
 to save her. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Two days later, and the beloved clay had been 
 consigned to its last rest in the poor trampled 
 little churchyard. Lenz and his father walked 
 slowly through the village streets. 
 
 "I have brought you here," he said to the old 
 man, as they seated themselves on the broken 
 wall of the village fountain, "to hold a council 
 of war. Often I have heard my old General 
 voice his contempt for the man who is crushed 
 by misfortune, and I feel that even in sorrow, 
 such as ours, we must not forget that we are 
 brave men. During my campaign I have heard 
 much about America, and many of our friends 
 are going there. Our work here is done; our 
 old home is no more. I have not the heart to 
 build another on its site, but if we can establish 
 one across the sea it will mean the beginning of 
 a new life for the children at least" 
 
 The veteran entered with enthusiasm into the 
 project, and when it was imparted to Amelia 
 and the boys they joyfully acquiesced. But no 
 
 185 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 news had as yet come from Fritz; and Amelia, 
 thinking of the soldier friend as well as of her 
 brother, pleaded for delay. 
 
 "But if he comes the pastor will give him all 
 necessary information/ answered her father, 
 "and you may be sure that he will soon follow 
 us." 
 
 Accordingly, they collected their few belong 
 ings. The two men procured some carpenter s 
 tools, and from the blasted trunk of an aged 
 cherry tree that had been the special favorite 
 of the dead wife, fashioned a sea-chest. 
 
 "Wait," cried Karl, "I think of something 
 else we have forgotten the things under the 
 kitchen floor." 
 
 They followed his eager footsteps and soon 
 had the ashes and fallen timbers cleared from 
 the floor and the carefully concealed treasures 
 uncovered. 
 
 For the first time the bereaved husband gave 
 way to his grief, as with trembling hands he 
 transferred to the new chest the relics his wife 
 had cherished for so many years. 
 
 "We will not look at them now," he said, 
 "but our new home will seem the sweeter to us 
 because of them." 
 
 The last article was being deposited in the 
 chest when there sounded from the door the name 
 "Amelia!" 
 
 The girl raised her tear-w r et eyes, and recog 
 nized in the tall, bearded soldier, who hastened 
 eagerly toward her, her brother s friend, Franz 
 
 186 
 
Under the Tricolor 
 
 Werther. Her heart sank when she saw that he 
 \\;is alone. 
 
 "Where" she faltered "where is my broth 
 er?" 
 
 "Fritz sent me ahead to tell you that he will 
 soon be here," he answered. 
 
 In the midst of the joyous exclamations he 
 gently drew the girl a little aside. Taking out 
 his pocket Bible he opened it and revealed a lock 
 of golden hair. 
 
 "See," he said, softly, "the hair of the Rhine 
 maiden ! and it has brought me back to you !" 
 
 187 
 
A Maker of Violins 
 
 BY 
 KATHRYNE WILSON 
 
A Maker of Violins 
 
 CAUGHT in a draught of sea-air, the fog 
 curtain of nightfall curled outward, and 
 swinging over the waters of the Sound, 
 folded itself above the swaying ships, shadowy 
 wharves and gloomy warehouses of the water 
 front, and lifted to wind about the terracing 
 hills of the Bay City. Here a stronger gust bore 
 an edge of the gray mantle still higher, only to 
 flap it idly around the steeple of an old aban 
 doned church, where one corner, blowing into the 
 window of the bell-tower, brushed the seamed 
 face of a stubby little man who sat on a chest, 
 
 191 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 rubbing vigorously with the palm of his hand 
 the curved sides of a violin. 
 
 A beautifully formed creature was this that 
 he held, with perfect poise of sloping shoulders, 
 its bosom rounding beneath the dusky satin skin, 
 the slender throat curved just enough to bear 
 gracefully the proud lift of the head a figure 
 lacking but a touch of its creator to render it a 
 tremulous, sentient thing, with a voice to set 
 one s soul to dreaming. 
 
 The little man lifted it high before him, and 
 regarded it proudly, tenderly. 
 
 "Thou art all but perfect, liebchen" he mur 
 mured, in German, "at last I have done all I can 
 for thee. Tomorrow " 
 
 A step echoed through the deserted hall back 
 of the tower, and with a whisk the violin dis 
 appeared into the chest. The nimble old hands 
 were busy with a bit of unfinished maple when 
 the door was flung open and there burst into the 
 litter of the eight-by-nine cubbyhole a pair of 
 broad shoulders supporting a shock-head of black 
 hair, and a face lined with struggle, rather than 
 years, but now exuberantly radiant. 
 
 "Friebel, Friebel!" cried the impetuous vis 
 itor, "such a joy have I had, such a happi 
 ness! I came at once to tell you I could not 
 waii> I " 
 
 With a sweep of his arm the old man made 
 a place for the new-comer to sit. 
 
 "A joy, Kulik?" he said, simply, looking over 
 his spectacles, "I am glad." 
 
 192 
 
A Maker of Violins. 
 
 "Ach, but let me tell you," exclaimed the 
 other, rapping the door-sill impatiently in the ex 
 cess of his enthusiasm. "The Virtuoso the 
 givat Hungarian Virtuoso who plays in recital 
 at the Mctntpole tomorrow night he is today 
 in the city I have seen him, and he is my old 
 friend ! The name he bears is strange to me, 
 but I mot him by chance and I recognized him, 
 though it has been ten years since we were to 
 gether at the academy at Budapest. I have come 
 but now from a visit with him. Ah !" he mused 
 gazing unseeingly at the piece of wood in the old 
 man s hands, "to see him once more, to talk 
 of the fatherland, of music, of old dreams, to 
 live again for the moment!" 
 
 Recalled presently by a movement, he dropped 
 obediently into the chair prepared for him. 
 "Such a happiness it was, Friebel," he said, 
 with a little sigh, "but this will please you to 
 know : the Virtuoso he has a Cremona " 
 
 "A Cremona !" The little man let his hands 
 fall on his knees and gazed up at the other in a 
 hungry kind of way. "A Cremona!" he repeat 
 ed, almost in a whisper. 
 
 "Ja. irftlil," answered Kulik, eagerly, "and, 
 Friebel, I I have played it!" The big fellow s 
 voice caught somewhere and refused for the mo 
 ment to serve him. "The Virtuoso would know 
 how I played, and he thrust the treasure into 
 my hands. I to play a Cremona! It w r as the 
 moment of my life, my friend, and I played as I 
 never thought I could play. At the time, noth 
 ing was there but that which I should have been 
 
 193 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 and the Cremona. All the possibilities of the 
 lost years I cried them out in my music. And 
 when I had finished, the Virtuoso was weeping. 
 "Why are you lost away out here at this land s 
 end of the West, Kulik?" he asked me. "What 
 have you done?" 
 
 "And then I told him the wretched story. 
 Of what use is genius when it must grovel for 
 sticks to keep the pot boiling? What would you, 
 when to feed one s body is to starve one s soul? 
 An orchestra leader in a melodrama theater, I, 
 who ten years ago had a future no less than he ! 
 But for him help, money for me, my fingers 
 and a bauble of wood and catgut. Even a genius 
 cannot make music on an old shoe! 
 
 "Friebel, it rent me in a thousand pieces to 
 tell him. But he was kind! He shook me by 
 the shoulders. He berated me for not letting him 
 know, cursed my miserable pride, demanded 
 what right I had to deny him a chance to serve 
 his art. And I I laughed. I could not have 
 borne his pity. 
 
 "And so I have this to tell you: to-morrow 
 I go away to study, to work, to live. He will 
 help me, and one day I will make him glad. But 
 to-morrow I go to Vienna." 
 
 On the last word he stammered a little, and 
 his hands took to fumbling, in his awkwardness, 
 with a bit of shaving picked up from the chest 
 where Friebel sat. In the silence that followed, 
 the two friends avoided each other s eyes. 
 
 It was Friebel who bridged the gap. "To 
 have found a friend," he mused, softly, after a 
 
 194 
 
A Maker of Violins. 
 
 moment, "and to have played a Cremona! It is 
 enough for a life-time." Leaning forward, he 
 stretched out his hand, and the two gripped in a 
 silent sympathy. 
 
 Outside, the desolate tooting of fog-whistles 
 from isolated boats in the harbor was borne up 
 the heights with the coughing of engines in the 
 railroad yards, the clang of street-car bells, the 
 rattle of the passing cable in its socket, the clat 
 ter of feet on the pavement and the raucous 
 shouts of voices below. Just without the win 
 dow, a garishly gilded violin swung creakily 
 from the casement, the only sign to an indifferent 
 world of the humble violin-maker within, drudg 
 ing alone, day by day, in his gloomy little 
 cell, where now the flickering saffron light from 
 the oil-lamp cast weird, incongruous shadows--- 
 a pitiably lonely, joyless place to bury a life in 
 life that held so many possibilities, so many 
 beautiful compensations! 
 
 All at once, Kulik burst out, protestingly. 
 
 "The whole long day and late at night dc 
 you sit here in your musty tower like an owl, 
 Friebel. Always these horrible noises about you 
 the clash, shriek, rattle, clang of the city 
 none but ugly sounds to hear. How can you 
 bear it?" 
 
 "I do not hear it, Kulik. I am too busy." 
 
 "That is it! Too busy always too busy 
 and all around you hammers and files, chisels 
 and glue, strings and skeletons of fiddles never 
 a beautiful thing to look upon!" 
 
 195 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 The violin-maker smiled to himself, and bent 
 over to close the window, shutting out the blare 
 of noises. 
 
 "Tell me about the Cremona," he said, tent 
 atively. "How does she look? Like what is her 
 voice?" 
 
 "Ah, Friebel, a fairy, a sylph! She is ex 
 quisite as a sea-shell, with the voice of a Lore 
 lei! If you could but see her, hear her!" 
 
 "Yes," murmured Friebel, softly, "yes!" And 
 his busy hands fell inert once more. Over his 
 mind flashed a thought of the prohibitive fee for 
 the recital to-morrow night prohibitive even for 
 a remote gallery seat where the sound is all but 
 inaudible the sound that he yearned to hear 
 the tone of a Cremona. 
 
 Kulik looked up quickly at the inarticulate 
 whisper and caught the eager, wistful smile. 
 For a moment he gazed upon the bent figure, 
 the grizzled head, the dream-set eyes then he 
 was on his feet, pacing feverishly the limits of 
 the crowded room. When he presently stood be 
 fore the little man it was with the air of hav 
 ing made a great discovery. 
 
 "Look, Friebel," he cried, eagerly, "I have 
 a plan. To-night, as you know, my poor melo 
 drama theatre over the way is to see the appear 
 ance of a great actress, all the better houses 
 being taken. For the occasion we have been 
 practicing the music these many days Wilhelm 
 Telly a Beethoven Sonata, a Mozart Caprice, COA> 
 alleria a rare feast for ragtime ballad-players! 
 
 196 
 
A Maker of Violins. 
 
 "Now, this night you shall come to the theatre 
 with me you shall sit near where you can hear 
 the Cremona for I will ask the Virtuoso to lend 
 it to me. For once you shall know what it is 
 to look upon a beautiful thing, to hear a siren 
 song. For once you shall feast your soul." 
 
 Already he was at the door, but Friebal 
 caught him by the arm. "Kulik!" he command 
 ed the other, as he would a child, " come back. 
 You must not ask so much." 
 
 But he was shaken off. "I ask not for my 
 self I ask for you and it is nothing, this last 
 night. He will trust me with it, and you shall 
 hear the Cremona." 
 
 Without further parleying, he dashed away 
 through the gaping hall, leaving the old man in 
 the doorway, helpless, in a storm of protest. 
 Only Friebel knew what it w r ould cost the pride 
 of his friend to ask so much ; only Friebel knew 
 how to repay it. 
 
 Shuffling back into the room, he bent over 
 the chest and lifted the hidden violin from its 
 case. Mechanically he stroked it s throat. To 
 be so near to see, to hear, perhaps to touch a 
 Cremona after all these years at last to be 
 able to prove with a sudden emotion he stared 
 down at the object in his hands. An impulse 
 had seized him. 
 
 "Liebchen," he muttered, under his breath, 
 "you shall hear, too ! We will go together, you 
 and I. You shall see what it is to be a Cremona, 
 klein<e, for the good of your soul. You would 
 like to go yes?" The question was put mis- 
 
 197 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 chievously as to a child whose delight were un 
 questionable. 
 
 "But you are not in proper dress, liebchen*/ 
 he protested, whimsically. "You must be per 
 fectly adorned for the theatre. Let us see let 
 us see " 
 
 From a drawer he took out a bundle of strings 
 and infinite pains were exercised in the selection 
 of four. These fastened in place, adjusted to 
 the bridge and thrummed into tune, he took from 
 its hook a slender bow, lifted the instrument to 
 his breast, and touched it into life. 
 
 "You would like to go, little Crema?" he 
 teased. "Then tell me how much." 
 
 Softly, quaveringly, the spirit of the violin 
 murmured in his ear; plaintively, appealingly, 
 it besought the heart of its maker. And while 
 it spoke, the gray head drooped toward the trem 
 bling form, lower and lower, until the furrowed 
 cheek rested against the satiny body. Then with 
 tears on his lashes, little Friebel pressed tremu 
 lous lips to his treasure. "Twenty years," he 
 whispered, brokenly, "twenty years !" 
 
 When, later, Friebel took his chair near Ku- 
 lik, in the shadow of the footlights, there was all 
 about him the bewilderment of unwonted things. 
 Dazzle of myriad light bulbs, flare of lavish 
 gilding and gaudy trappings, glare of exit signs 
 above narrow doorways, rustle of skirts, thump 
 of lowered seats, murmur of babbling voices and 
 a sea of faces billowing above him he was en 
 gulfed in a flood of light, and color, and sound. 
 
 198 
 
A Maker of Violins. 
 
 But to him it was all as nothing. Every 
 sense of sight and hearing was focused upon the 
 chestnut-hued, slenderly graceful thing that the 
 leader w r as holding reverently in the full glare of 
 light, 
 
 Kulik flashed him a radiant look. "Is she not 
 a beauty, a sprite?" it seemed to say, and the 
 violin-maker, after a hungry, absorbing gaze, 
 took a deep breath, and smiled. 
 
 "Beautiful, yes," he answered to himself, 
 "elfin, yes. But so is " 
 
 A wave of sound drowned his half-spoken 
 words, and the orchestra was launched upon the 
 full tide of the overture to Wilhelm Tell. It 
 had been long since the old German had had an 
 opportunity to disport himself in such a flood 
 of harmony as poured about him now, and yet 
 he was unconscious at first of anything but the 
 nearness of a life-long yearning about to be grati 
 fied. 
 
 Eager with expectancy for the first note, his 
 keen ear caught it as it trembled from the Cre 
 mona a note whose ravishing, mellow richness, 
 whose throbbing resonance he had heard equaled 
 once; a note in whose depths were lost in a 
 moment all the doubts of twenty years. At the 
 moment of his greatest pain little Friebel was 
 triumphantly happy. His Crema was vindi 
 cated ! 
 
 This was what he had waited for what he 
 had longed for what he had prayed for to hear 
 the tone of a Cremona, that he might compare 
 with it the tone of his Crema that he might 
 
 199 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 vindicate his own. Now, he could listen sanely- 
 could drink in thirstily the limpid ripples of ex 
 quisite melody that flowed around him. But al 
 ways, as he listened, his fingers stroked the curv 
 ed throat of the violin lying in its open case 
 upon his knee. "You are hearing a Cremona, 
 liebchen," he whispered once, "but thou hast a 
 voice as sweet thou hast a voice as sweet!" 
 
 It was in an interval between the acts, when 
 Kulik rested the Cremona on the rack for a mo 
 ment, that the idea came to him, and then with 
 the force of a blow. For an instant he seemed 
 to become deaf and dumb and blind. But with 
 the clearing of his senses, the thought lost its 
 stunning power. To be sure to prove by 
 some one else to make the test a perfect one 
 there could be no wrong? Even as he weighed 
 it the opportunity seemed strangely to favor 
 him ; the lights in the house went out for the rise 
 of the curtain. On the impulse Friebel acted. 
 
 A stoop, a click, a turn of the wrist, and the 
 Cremona slept in the box beneath his hand. A 
 slide, and the Crema lay on the rack. When 
 the lights from the stage flashed out on them, 
 Friebel sat quietly as before, but he was con 
 scious that his hands twitched nervously. 
 
 In an ache of suspense, he watched the prep 
 aration for the next number. His music arrang 
 ed, the leader took up the violin, picking the 
 strings tentatively. A little matter of tuning 
 seemed to annoy him, and for the moment Frie 
 bel hardly dared to breathe. But in harmony 
 again at once, Kulik looked up for a compan- 
 
 200 
 
A Maker of Violins. 
 
 ionable sinile, raised the instrument and gave 
 the signal to play. At the movement, Friebel 
 relaxed in his chair, and his lips moved noise 
 lessly. 
 
 It was the Beethoven Sonata now, and the 
 first violin was given every opportunity in the 
 complicated movements that followed. As if in 
 spired by an unseen presence, Kulik seemed to 
 lose himself in a kind of communion. He kissed 
 the strings with his bow, he caressed the swan- 
 throat with trembling fingers, he seemed intoxi 
 cated with the instrument s very nearness. On 
 and on he played, ecstatically, rapturously, and 
 when the sonata came to a close with the stately 
 tread of a minuet, Kulik bore the look of one who 
 had trod the measure with Saint Cecilia herself. 
 
 And hungrily FriebePs eyes devoured him, 
 losing not a single evidence of the delight in 
 which the player reveled, gloating over the joy 
 of his victory. For the great, beautiful truth 
 that loomed up before Friebel was this: that 
 through it all Kulik did not know it was not the 
 Cremona he held to his cheek. The violin-maker 
 hugged himself in the triumph of it Kulik did 
 not know ! 
 
 At the end of the play, Friebel groped out 
 through the gloom of the passage ahead of the 
 violinist, and led the way across through the 
 haze of the street. Once within the work-shop, 
 and the flickering lamp lighted, he turned to his 
 companion. 
 
 "Now you may give me my violin, Kulik," 
 he observed. 
 
 201 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 The young man stared, then smiled, lenient 
 ly. "You have it in your hand," he said. 
 
 "Ah, so? I am not so sure," mused the little 
 man, "but look and see." 
 
 "I have the Cremona, Friebel, as you know," 
 expostulated Kulik, but he began fumbling in 
 dulgently at the catch while he spoke. Stoop 
 ing to lift the violin from its case, he held it up 
 convincingly to the feeble light, as he added: 
 "See! Of course I have not yours. This is 
 the " Suddenly bending closer, he turned the 
 instrument about, uttered a low cry, and grew 
 white. 
 
 "The Cremona where is it? This is not it! 
 Where is it?" and he stared wildly about him. 
 
 "It is here," Friebel hastened to assure him. 
 "I have it." 
 
 "You! How did you come by it? Have I 
 been out of my senses?" 
 
 The violin-maker explained in a word the 
 substitution. "And you knew it not, Kulik," 
 he exclaimed, fairly gurgling in his glee, "you 
 knew it not!" 
 
 His victim regarded him ruefully, half an 
 grily. "It was a poor joke to play upon me, 
 Friebel," was his comment. "But," with sud 
 den recollection, "what, then, is this one that I 
 have played all evening, this with the marvelous 
 tone, this that has gripped my very soul to 
 night?" 
 
 "It is mine, Kulik. I made it. It has taken 
 me twenty years, but it is worth the while. You 
 knew it not from the Cremona." 
 
 202 
 
A Maker of VioUns. 
 
 The player seized him, almost roughly, by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "You tell me that you have made a violin 
 that one cannot tell from a Cremona? It is im 
 possible !" 
 
 "Nothing is impossible to patience and faith, 
 boy," said the other, in gentle reproof. "Of a 
 labor of love it came. When Elspeth died, and 
 the child, it was all that was left me. Into it 
 have gone the joys of twenty years. The trick- 
 it was but to prove my little Crema, Kulik! For 
 her sake, you will forgive?" 
 
 Impulsively the younger man took the hand 
 of the older in both his own. "Forgive? I re 
 joice for you ! Now you need not work so hard. 
 Your fortune is made. The instrument will bring 
 you hundreds perhaps a thousand dollars." 
 
 Friebel sprang to his feet. "What?" he cried, 
 in indignation, "sell her, my beautiful Crema, I, 
 who have watched her grow for twenty years? 
 Could I be so cruel to the liebchen.?" In a pas 
 sion of jealousy, he snatched the violin to him. 
 
 "But a rest, Friebel" 
 
 "Rest? And give up the joy of my work? 
 Can you say this, Kulik?" 
 
 "Ah, no, no!" the other hastened in his peni 
 tence to protest. "You see what this life-strug 
 gle has done to me ! No, I understand. It is all 
 we have the work !" As he spoke, he was gazing 
 admiringly, thoughtfully at the instrument in 
 the maker s hands. "Twenty years!" he mar 
 veled. "It is not too long! To create a perfect, 
 
 203 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 a beautiful thing can there be a greater joy 
 than that?" 
 
 The maker of violins took an eager step to 
 ward him, and held out his hands, his face illum 
 ined. 
 
 "But yes one greater thing, Kulik," he said, 
 "to share the joy. Take the little Crema, boy 
 she is yours. Long have I meant her for you. 
 Take her with you to Vienna, and give old 
 Friebel a little part in the fullness of the future 
 years." 
 
 For a moment Kulik stood there, speechless. 
 Then with an inarticulate cry, he flung his arms 
 about the old man. 
 
 And so it was in the moment of their first 
 perfect nearness that the two friends said their 
 last farewell, but it is was not little Friebel who 
 wept. 
 
 204 
 
An Extenuating 
 Circumstance 
 
 BY 
 E. ADELIA LOW 
 
An Extenuating 
 Circumstance 
 
 (JSP HE business day of Mr. Hayward had 
 il/ been long and trying, but at its close, 
 seated comfortably before an open fire, 
 his wife beside him, an interesting book in his 
 hand, life seemed very much worth while to this 
 blase man of the world. 
 
 "Married two months, Dorothy, dear here 
 we are you with your work and I with my book, 
 settled down as cosily as if it had always been," 
 he remarked, lazily stretching himself. 
 
 "How foolish of us not to have been married 
 long ago," he continued, looking up into his 
 wife s sensitive face. In his present contentment 
 he had obviously lost sight of the real reason for 
 their long delay his own indifference. 
 
 Mrs. Hayward glanced up from her flimsy 
 bit of work, and smiled sympathetically. "Here 
 is a letter which I meant to give you before din 
 ner," she said, as she handed it to him across 
 the table. 
 
 He held her hand in his a moment, giving it 
 a little squeeze before releasing it, to open his 
 letter. 
 
 207 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Is there any bad news, dear?" she said as 
 she caught his look of distress. 
 
 "Yes rather. It tells me of the death of an 
 old friend Mildred Shaw. You never knew her, 
 though, did you?" 
 
 "No; she was here the winter that I was 
 East. Was she a very dear friend?" 
 
 "She did me a great favor once, for which I 
 can never be too grateful," he replied, thought 
 fully, as he folded the letter and slowly put it 
 back into its envelope. "We drove together on 
 the desert a good deal that winter and I found 
 her very witty and amusing, though somewhat 
 irresponsible at times. She always said and did 
 the unexpected, and often that unexpected was 
 extremely sensible. Ah, well!" (putting the let 
 ter in his pocket) "that s over she has solved 
 her mysteries." 
 
 He sat, reminiscently silent, looking into the 
 fire. "Not your kind of a woman at all," he re 
 sumed. "You were so shy and reserved before 
 we were married, Dorothy, I hardly knew you, 
 and at times I am not sure that I do now alto 
 gether. You are so unlike any other woman 
 therein lies your charm," smiling and reaching 
 his hand across the table for hers. 
 
 "How am I different?" she asked, laying her 
 hand in his outstretched one. 
 
 "I can t explain, exactly. Sometimes you are 
 as warm and sunny and intimate as this fasci 
 nating Southern climate; then I catch glimpses 
 of heights and depths as mysterious and unfath 
 omable as the canons, and again I come upon 
 
 208 
 
An Extenuating Circumstance 
 
 such stretches of reserve that I feel like a trav 
 eler lost in the desert, but I have the intrepidity 
 of the born explorer. I shall find you some day." 
 
 Mrs. Hayward rose from her seat beside the 
 table, leaned over the back of her husband s 
 chair, kissed him, and lightly stroked his cheek. 
 
 "So you find me rather of a puzzle?" she 
 laughed. "Love is the magic key to most women 
 puzzles if held by the right person," she added 
 archly, as she sat down on the arm of his chair. 
 
 Without replying, he put one arm around her, 
 and with the other hand turned low the lamp. 
 The magical firelight played over everything, 
 throwing their faces now into light, now into 
 shadow, while there stole over them a blissful si 
 lence. Absorbed in thought, they sat, silent as 
 the great desert. Its majestic stillness had taught 
 Dorothy Hayward the futility of speech, and 
 given her an acquired calmness and strength for 
 eign to many women. It was^this poise, gained 
 by her long life in the desert country, that baf 
 fled her husband. 
 
 A knock aroused them. Mr. Hayward turned 
 up the light and went to the door. 
 
 "A message, sir." 
 
 He took the note from the servant s hand, 
 rapidly scanned its contents, and turning to his 
 wife, said : "A line from Sumner wants me to 
 meet him at the club to talk over that mining 
 scheme. It s important, and I m afraid I ll have 
 to go. I ll be home as early as possible, but if 
 I m late don t wait up for me. There are some 
 new books in my den that may interest you. 
 
 209 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 What a nuisance this going out again is !" he ex 
 claimed, as he put on his coat and hat in the hall. 
 A moment he held his wife in his arms, kissed 
 her, and was gone. 
 
 Returning to the sitting room, Mrs. Hay- 
 ward rang her bell. "Betty, please ask the cook 
 to prepare a light supper for Mr. Hayward, as 
 he has gone out and will not be home until late. 
 I think I shall not need you to-night. If I do 
 I will ring. Good-night." 
 
 Left alone, Mrs. Hayward seated herself in 
 her husband s chair, before the fire, and began 
 to read, but nothing interested her; her book 
 dropped, unnoticed, to her lap, while she sat gaz 
 ing into the fire, exulting and gloating over her 
 happiness. A delicious thrill went through her 
 as she pictured the long, delightful years ahead 
 of her as "George s wife." To satisfy herself 
 that it was real and not a dream she suddenly 
 arose and went into the next room his den. 
 
 What a man s odor there was all about, and 
 how she loved this room, filled, as it was, with 
 his personality! She dropped into a chair, be 
 side the desk, laid her cheek lovingly for a mo 
 ment on his writing pad, impulsively took up his 
 pen and kissed it, and laughing foolishly to her 
 self, buried her face in his house-coat, which he 
 had carelessly left on a chair. So completely did 
 he possess her that she loved even the odor of his 
 clothes, his books everything belonging to him. 
 A gentle, masterful man she found him, and she 
 gloried in his power over her. 
 
 210 
 
An Extenuating Circumstance 
 
 She looked aimlessly about, until her eyes 
 fell upon the new books which he had mentioned. 
 She picked up one after another, and finding 
 none of them attractive, went to the book-case 
 and selected an old favorite, and, returning again 
 to the sitting room, settled herself to read. Idly 
 she turned the leaves, stopping occasionally to 
 note some marked passage or recall the tones of 
 her husband s voice, while he had read them to 
 her. As she held the book to the light for n. 
 closer inspection, a paper fell out. There was 
 no address, and absently she opened the paper 
 and read: 
 "Dear George : 
 
 "You ask my advice about your marriage. I 
 should say it is the only honorable thing to do 
 after so long an engagement. You may not love 
 her now, but you will in time. She is worth 
 a hundred such women as I am. Take my advice 
 and don t delay. Yours sincerely, 
 
 M . 
 
 "How came this letter in this book?" she 
 queried. "Who wrote it and to whom was it 
 written* 01 
 
 "Dear George" might mean her husband. 
 Could it? Was she the person George was ad 
 vised to marry? The thought was unbearable. 
 All the poise acquired with her maturer years 
 deserted her, and she became again the passion 
 ate, impulsive girl of her early youth. She could 
 not sit still, but paced about the room, her brain 
 in a whirl, running her fingers through her hair, 
 as if to collect her thoughts, and then beating 
 
 211 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 the palm of one hand with the closed fingers of 
 the other. She stopped suddenly in her walk, 
 with a half-frightened look. She remembered the 
 long engagement and subsequent hasty marriage. 
 Gould it be possible she had given herself to a 
 man who did not love her? Rapidly she reviewed 
 many unconscious acts of her husband s, and as 
 she did so, there came to her calmer thoughts 
 and greater trust. As she sank back into the 
 depths of his easy-chair, she asked herself why 
 she had been so foolish. "Why should I hold 
 George responsible for this note !" she exclaimed. 
 "He may not know any more about it than I do 
 and, yet " She resolved to ask him about it 
 when he returned, certain that he would tell her 
 the truth but what was the truth? 
 
 She almost hoped, if the letter were his, that 
 he would tell her a falsehood rather than such a 
 ghastly truth. The desolation of the years to 
 come without his love would be unbearable. 
 
 The minutes went by, and with them some 
 of her distrust and agony. She gradually became 
 calmer, and as she did so, she hated herself for 
 her loss of self-control and injustice to her hus 
 band. 
 
 At last the sound of carriage wheels aroused 
 her, and by the time Mr. Hayward came up the 
 steps and put his key in the latch, she had com 
 pletely mastered herself. 
 
 "Why, Dorothy," he exclaimed with pleased 
 surprise, as she opened the door for him, "how 
 good of you to wait up for me!" Quietly dis 
 posing of his hat and coat, and putting his arm 
 
 212 
 
An Extenuating Circumstance 
 
 around her, they passed into the sitting-room. 
 "How have you spent the evening? Did you find 
 the new books interesting?" he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Hay ward returned only a faint smile in 
 answer, but noticing the tired look about his 
 eyes rang the bell for the supper she had ordered. 
 
 "Jove, but it seems good to be home again," 
 he said, as he wearily sat down before the fire, 
 and put on his slippers. 
 
 The shaded light, the bright fire and the cosy 
 supper, together with his wife s companionship 
 rested and soothed him. "How do you suppose 
 I ever managed so long without you, girlie?" 
 he said, gaily, as he passed her the sugar. "His 
 gray eyes darkened and glowed as he looked at 
 her; his heart was so full of the joy of her fra 
 grant presence that it was not until late when 
 they were seated together on the couch that he 
 noticed her abstraction. 
 
 "You look a little pale, my dear headache 
 again?" 
 
 "No, I haven t a headache," she replied ab 
 sently, as she arose and crossed the room to the 
 table. She picked up a paper, and looking at 
 him question ingly, continued, as she held it to 
 ward him. "This fell out of a book I was read 
 ing this evening, but I am sure it cannot be ad 
 dressed to you is it?" 
 
 Mr. Hayward started. As she held it in her 
 hand, he recognized it instantly. He knew it to be 
 from Mildred Shaw, and the one which he must 
 have carelessly thrust into that book. Was it the 
 one which might destroy his happiness and wreck 
 
 213 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 both their lives? Had he not burned it after all? 
 Fool! He never knew until this moment how 
 much he loved his wife, nor how dear her love 
 and trust was to him. Mildred Shaw was dead. 
 His determination was, therefore, quickly reach 
 ed. Dorothy s love Dorothy s absolute trust 
 was too precious to be risked for a moment s 
 weakness, to be lost for a paltry note which 
 should have been burned months before. 
 
 With no sign of surprise or other emotion 
 in his face, with every muscle under absolute 
 control, he rose, and going toward her, he said, 
 quietly : "Let me see it, Dorothy." 
 
 "Oh, George," she cried, passionately, as she 
 handed it to him: "It wasn t written to you, 
 was it? Say it wasn t! I love you I trust 
 you but oh, say it! Tell me it is not your 
 letter, and that you do love me!" 
 
 Striving bravely to keep back the tears and to 
 still her quivering lips, she watched every flicker 
 of his face as he read the letter. Keenly con* 
 scious of her intense gaze, conscious also of what 
 absolute self-mastery meant at that moment, he 
 finished reading, and then quietly threw it into 
 the open fire. Without a word he held out his 
 arms, and as she buried her face on his breast, 
 and he crushed her passionately to him, he mur 
 mured: "No, Dorothy, dear, the letter is not 
 mine, and I do love you. Harris borrowed the 
 book and returned it only yesterday; but if it 
 were could you love and trust me still?" 
 
 She raised her tearful eyes to his, and in them 
 he read his answer. 
 
 214 
 
An Extenuating Circumstance 
 
 Worshipfully, reverently, he kissed her brow 
 her eyes her hair. "God!" he exclaimed, 
 brokenly, "I m not worthy of so great a love 
 
 no man is." 
 
 215 
 
Ye Tithe Mint and Rue 
 
 BY 
 EMMA B. EDWARDS 
 
Ye Tithe Mint 
 and Rue 
 
 T was their last walk together be 
 fore Jean left. They stopped 
 once at Margaret McDonald s 
 cottage, where Jean went in to 
 say goodbye to her friend. 
 
 "God bless yon and keep you, 
 dearie, until you come back to 
 us," the gentle old voice said, 
 tremulously. "It almost seems to 
 us here that you know enough 
 now, but you have worked hard 
 to go only come home to us the 
 same sweet, leal lassie we all 
 love, and I guess the extra book- 
 learning won t hurt you much. 
 You ll be a splendid minister s 
 wife, my child." 
 "I want to be worthy of Donald, Mother 
 Margaret, and worthy of the beautiful, 
 helpful life I can live here among you. 
 It will be only tw r o years away, you know, 
 and Donald will be gone, too, then we ll 
 come home together, stronger and wiser 
 to consecrate ourselves to our work the 
 Lord s work," she added reverently. 
 
 As Jean came from the cottage Donald 
 drew her arm within his, turning her 
 footsteps backward. 
 
 "Just a little longer, Jean, girl, this 
 last evening is so short. I won t see you 
 for two years, Jean." 
 
 219 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Jean s lashes were wet, but she tried to com 
 fort. "The time will pass, wonderfully fast, 
 Donald boy. You will be absorbed in your the 
 ological study, and then, of course, very soon 
 you will be assigned a charge for the Sabbath 
 services. You must write me long, long letters, 
 dear, telling me about every bit of your work 
 and about every bit of your heart, too, Donald. " 
 
 "And you, Jean, do you feel timid about go 
 ing East to the big college? Does your heart 
 fail you?" 
 
 Jean clung closer to his arm as she answered, 
 "I fee a wee bit timid, Donald. But mother al 
 ways wanted me to go home to her own college 
 it was her dearest wish for me. Because of that 
 I am the more glad to be able to take my post 
 graduate course there. Then, too, I want the 
 training and culture for myself. I shall be more 
 worthy of our work, and not a bit spoiled, boy, 
 really not a bit spoiled." 
 
 For the first months the new life into which 
 Jean went, was bewildering in its multiplicity 
 of interests, and unpleasantly strange in its nerv 
 ous tension. She often longed for the serene 
 ways, and simple duties of her home village. 
 Gradually, as the weeks went, she lost her tim 
 idity and self-consciousness, and began to ad 
 just herself to the new conditions, and to enjoy 
 the sparkle and excitement of college life. 
 
 It was precisely her entire unconsciousness 
 of her charm, that made her so irresistibly 
 charming to everyone. She was natural, sweet 
 and direct in manner, with a sincere courtesy 
 
 220 
 
Ye Tithe Mint ami Rue 
 
 and tranquil womanly poise. There was no 
 shadow of apathy about her despite her serenity. 
 She was very keenly alive, but alive without 
 nervous fussiness, or a straining after conscious 
 approval. Her mind was fine and clear, with 
 an analytical faculty rare among young women. 
 Her delight in her work, and her enthusiasm 
 unvacillating, made her sure friends among the 
 faculty members. 
 
 Between Donald and Jean passed long, newsy, 
 confidential letters. Jean wrote without reserve 
 of her life, her new friends, her new thoughts, 
 and of her happy anticipation of their life serv 
 ice together when Donald should be ordained. 
 Donald drew sketches of his university life and 
 parish work, and wrote of the deepening and 
 strengthening of his conviction that the old 
 church s dogmas were wisest and best suited to 
 the needs of men. 
 
 "Instead of any painful upheaval of doubt 
 and skepticism, Jean, my research work has but 
 made me the more convinced that the staunch old 
 church doctrines are the safest for all. They 
 made rugged Christians of our fathers, men un 
 afraid of obstacle or tribulation, in awe only of 
 the just wrath of God." 
 
 Jean s eyes glowed as she read, and she ex 
 ulted in the steadfast faith of her lover. 
 
 At the end of the first year she was conscious 
 of no change in herself. Her attitude toward 
 her girlish ideals was unaltered, her faith in her 
 child s faith unswerving. She began her last 
 year s work buoyantly, eager to snatch all the 
 
 221 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 priceless boons of wisdom, "for the garnering, 
 by and by," she said happily to herself. 
 
 In the winter term she began more extensive 
 studies in philosophy and psychology. With her 
 habitual thoroughness she spent many hours in 
 collateral reading and research. The study soon 
 grew fascinating for its own sake. 
 
 Encouraged and stimulated by the head of the 
 department she studied with him the philosophies 
 of the ancient peoples, the development of their 
 symbols and languages, their beliefs and tradi 
 tions. With her unusually mature judgment 
 she balanced and weighed conclusions, selected 
 and rejected. Tracing to their sources many of 
 the simple unquestioned traditions of her child 
 hood, she discovered that they were not barri 
 caded by the walls of authenticity, and divine 
 origin, but rather built on the uncertain sands of 
 folklore or mythology. 
 
 Although hurt and baffled and blinded by the 
 new light she was too honest to discard without 
 reflection. In her trouble she wrote to Donald 
 in simple candor, of what she found in her study, 
 and asked for help, confident that he would point 
 out the true values, and give her back her old 
 faith. 
 
 "I have become confused by voluminous read 
 ing," she comforted herself, "confused and un 
 able to reason and adjust. Donald will straight 
 en it all out as if by magic. He is too fair not 
 to be honest, but wise enough to lift me from this 
 miserable chaos into stronger, saner faith." 
 
 222 
 
Ye Tithe Mint and Rue 
 
 Donald s answer came promptly. "My dear 
 est Jean, your letter grieved me inexpressibly. 
 I never associated religious unrest with my sta 
 ble Jean. To have you confess that doubts from 
 you have assailed our impregnable tenets, 
 shocked me terribly. Your reading, dear girl, 
 has been indiscriminate and dangerous. 
 
 "Can prehistoric myths assail the word of 
 God given through his chosen people, the He 
 brews? Can our belief in miracles crumble when 
 their story is recorded by the men who walked 
 and talked with the One who performed them? 
 Are we wiser than our fathers? Are we pre 
 sumptuous enough to think that we dare discard 
 those beliefs which were the bulwarks of their 
 faith? Put away these ungodly doubts, Jean, 
 I implore, and be my own sensible, loyal girl. A 
 clergyman s wife must never waver in her allegi 
 ance to the teachings of the church." 
 
 In like vein the letter ran. Jean read on to 
 the end, searching for the something for which 
 her heart ached, but did not find. She put it 
 down at last, miserably conscious that somehow 
 Donald had failed her. 
 
 "He does not answer me. He does not tell me 
 why I must believe, he only chides and admon 
 ishes. O Donald, love, I thought you of all the 
 world could help." 
 
 With harassing insistence ran in her mind 
 this extract from his letter: "A clergyman s 
 wife must never waver in her allegiance to the 
 teachings of the church." 
 
 223 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 For the first time in her life she asked herself 
 what were the teachings of her church, and to 
 Jean the question was inevitably the beginning 
 of conscientious investigation. She went to the 
 college library, and searched for references on 
 church doctrine. She read closely, and long; 
 then put aside the book, to think but longer. 
 
 In a few days she sent another appeal to the 
 man she loved. "O, Donald, help me. I am 
 bruised and sore, and all astray. Don t reproach 
 me, but explain to me as you would to a little 
 child, slowly and patiently, but, oh, explain ! 
 
 "Do you believe in damnation for all men 
 alike? Do you believe that a man is never to 
 have a chance anywhere who never has had a 
 chance here? Do you believe that everyone, 
 everyone, Donald, must be converted and sancti 
 fied in the regular channels, to be saved? Do 
 you believe that all the good are to go to Heaven, 
 and all the bad to Hell? And who are all the 
 good, and who are all the bad, Donald? I have 
 never been converted, dear, I know it now. I 
 have always tried to be good, but I can t remem 
 ber the time when I was "born again." Do you 
 wish me to believe these things, beloved? Must 
 I believe these things to be your wife? Do you 
 believe them, yourself? Don t evade me, but tell 
 me the truth." 
 
 Jean gave herself no time to think or brood 
 until the next letter came. She was dully con 
 scious that if that failed, she would not reveal 
 herself again, that although they might not think 
 alike in this, yet their love should not be em- 
 
 224 
 
Ye Tithe Mint and Rwe 
 
 bittered by caustic argument or reproaches. In 
 all things vital, she told herself, they would al 
 ways be together, their love was too deep for bit 
 terness or condemnation. 
 
 "Do I believe in regeneration, and redemp 
 tion, in sanctification, and ultimate reward or 
 punishment?" Donald asked : "All these are to 
 me impregnable foundation stones. I shall be 
 lieve in them, and preach them with all my 
 heart s strength, and Jean, you must believe 
 them, too. You must let me teach you the old 
 way of salvation. 
 
 "I could never be true to myself, or my people, 
 or to you, if I took you for my wife when you 
 were in heart an alien, when we could not work 
 together with one purpose, one passion the sal 
 vation of lost souls. Let me come to you, Jean, 
 and plead with you, before it is too late, and 
 your heart is hardened." 
 
 Much more he wrote, but the same inflexible 
 ultimatum was dominant from first until the very 
 last. She must believe as he believed, else she 
 could not be his wife. He would give her time, 
 he would come to her himself, but still she knew 
 that if she did not yield, he would break their 
 betrothal, upheld by the conviction that he was 
 doing a holy thing. 
 
 SI 10 put her head down on the open pages, 
 too stunned and hopeless to cry. She felt she 
 could not bear the inevitable painful conflict, if 
 he came. He loved her as he could never love 
 another woman, that she knew, but she was sure, 
 too, that he would tear her from his heart if she 
 
 225 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 came between him and his faith. And because 
 she knew that he was suffering as sorely as her 
 self, she humbled herself to him. 
 
 "Never mind if I can t believe all that I once 
 did, Donald dearest, I believe in all the big, vital 
 truths, the love of God, the purity and match 
 less teachings of Jesus Christ, and the need of 
 all men for redemption, whether it be by your 
 way, or by my way. I can work with you, and 
 love our people with you. Don t send me from 
 you, Donald. Say that I may come to you when 
 the year is over. Don t break both our hearts, 
 dear. No, don t come to me, I could not bear it, 
 but say that I may come to you." 
 
 She felt that his reply could bring no deeper 
 misery, yet when it was due, and did not come, 
 she could scarcely bear the suspense. The letter 
 was a week late. For a week had the man 
 wrestled with himself. 
 
 "I have put off, from hour to hour, from day 
 to day, the supreme agony. I have opened the 
 Book day and night for guidance. I have cried 
 out in my misery that it could not be for me 
 this trial. There never was so beautiful a wom 
 an as you Jean, nor so bonny, nor so good. 
 
 " If thine eye causeth thee to stumble, pluck 
 it out and cast it from thee; it is good for thee 
 to enter into life with one eye, rather than hav 
 ing two eyes to be cast into the hell of fire. 
 
 "I would not wince at the hell of fire, Jean. 
 It is much more than that. I have consecrated 
 my life to the service of my Lord. I have become 
 sanctified by laying myself on the altar a volun- 
 
 226 
 
Ye Tithe Mint and Rue 
 
 tary sacrifice. Dare I, dare I, Jean, violate my 
 holy vows by taking to my heart a woman outside 
 of salvation, even one who does not doom my sal 
 vation as necessary to peace with God? O, my 
 beloved, my beloved." 
 
 Dry-eyed Jean read, and read again, as if 
 she would not miss one word, or perchance that 
 she might find one new word somewhere which 
 would erase all the others from her heart. 
 
 The letter came in the Sunday morning mail. 
 Late in the afternoon Jean w r alked over to the 
 home of Dr. Malcolm, who had been a dear friend 
 of her mother s. She felt that she could talk 
 to him as she could not bear to talk to any other. 
 
 His old housekeeper, Martha, showed her in, 
 and took her to the library where the clergyman 
 sat before the fire, in relaxed and tranquil Sab 
 bath mood. 
 
 Jean hastened to apologize, "Forgive me for 
 intruding, today, Dr. Malcolm, but I was selfish 
 enough to come. You are wise and good, and 
 loving. You will be kind, but you will tell me 
 where I am wrong, I know." 
 
 "Sit down, my child, and tell me all about 
 it." 
 
 Dr. Malcolm s voice was mellow and low, with 
 a cadence of rich brotherly sympathy. "Rest a 
 bit and then we ll talk. I am glad that you 
 thought me worthy." 
 
 He put Jean into his own spacious chair, as 
 he spoke, giving no sign that he noticed how 
 worn she looked. 
 
 227 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Soon she began to talk. She did not spare 
 herself. She told of her reading, her subsequent 
 unrest of mind, her final conclusions, and her 
 confession to her lover, and his decision. 
 
 "I am not quite a heretic, Dr. Malcolm, I 
 truly am not. I am not defending myself to 
 you against Donald s decision. He must be true 
 to himself and the church he serves. I know I 
 am paining you by my confession, but I am hon 
 est, and so willing to be persuaded/ 7 she finished 
 appealingly. 
 
 Dr. Malcolm s keen gray eyes watched Jean s 
 face as she talked. They were sometimes stern, 
 and sometimes soft, but understanding, always. 
 
 After a silence, he began to speak, and Jean 
 listened eagerly. He did not attempt to refute 
 her arguments directly. He only explained the 
 origin and growth and virtues of the church s 
 doctrines. Then clearly and patiently, he 
 pointed out the dangers arising from indiscrimi 
 nate reading by untutored minds; their hasty, 
 irrational conclusions, which often corroded their 
 morals; and the instability of action resulting 
 from these erroneous judgments. 
 
 "I would not attempt to dissuade you, Jean, 
 or force you to believe as I believe in all respects. 
 You are an intelligent woman and should be left 
 perfectly free to think as you must. Your mor 
 als are safe, and your faith in your Creator sure. 
 You would never wreck the usefulness of your 
 husband s life. You would be a tower of strength 
 and sweetness always. Does he say, in his arro- 
 
 228 
 
Ye Tithe Mint and Rue 
 
 gant self-assurance that he will not marry you 
 if you do not recant?" 
 
 Dr. Malcolm had arisen, and was pacing up 
 and down, sorely grieved for Jean s distress, and 
 in hot wrath against the man who was casting 
 her from him. 
 
 "Don t blame Donald, Dr. Malcolm," Jane 
 begged. "He is only doing what he thinks is 
 right. Could you as a clergyman of an ortho 
 dox church marry me, thinking as I do? Could 
 you marry me?" Jean asked earnestly. 
 
 Dr. Malcolm stopped abruptly at the ques 
 tion, and looked at Jean. Could he marry her, 
 would he marry her this girl with the beautiful 
 mouth, and beautiful woman s soul looking from 
 the hazel eyes, this girl whose mouth drooped 
 now so sorrowingly, and whose eyes were tired 
 and sad ; would he marry her? He almost lost 
 his staid, elderly balance at the question. Oh 
 to be young again, and to have the right to win 
 this woman, and to hold her, against the world! 
 
 He renewed his walk, and answered gravely, 
 although his heart was still pounding against his 
 clerical waistcoat. 
 
 "Yes, Jean, I think I could marry you, and 
 do no violence to my duty, my church, or my 
 God. Youth is cruelly harsh in her judgments. 
 The shading of the blacks and whites into the 
 kinder, softer grays, only comes with years, and 
 bruised hearts. Poor child, poor child, I wish 
 I could help you." 
 
 When Jean had gone, and he sat alone, his 
 heart was very heavy, because he could not bear 
 
 229 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 the burden for her. He looked where she had 
 sat, and sighed wistfully. 
 
 He could hear Martha s heavy footsteps as 
 she came and went, setting his evening tea, his 
 lonely evening tea. 
 
 "And she asked me if I could marry her, I an 
 orthodox clergyman! I d marry her if I lost 
 my own soul, and I wouldn t care a damn 
 whether she believed in damnation or not," he 
 finished aggressively and quite aloud, but only 
 the white Angora ball on the hearthstone rug 
 heard the profanation, and she was no mischief- 
 maker. 
 
 Jean went home and wrote her last letter, and 
 because she knew that it was her last that after 
 it was sent she would send no more her heart 
 ache seemed more poignant. 
 
 Commencement was but a few months away. 
 The pressure of work proved a blessing to Jean. 
 She spared herself nothing, finding actual relief 
 in weariness. She had quite decided what she 
 would do, when it was all over. In the autumn 
 Donald would be ordained, and would assume the 
 parish charge in their home village. To return 
 there would be to embarrass his work, and wound 
 them both afresh. She had been offered an as- 
 sistantship in the history department of her Alma 
 Mater and had accepted it. The summer months 
 she would spend with her mother s kinsfolk, 
 as she had promised. 
 
 When she went to say goodbye to Dr. Mal 
 colm he chided her gently : "You look very tired, 
 my child. Your eyes are too big, and your cheeks 
 
 230 
 
Ye Tithe Mint and Rue 
 
 too white. You must do nothing but rest this 
 summer and hang that ecclesiastical saint," he 
 said to himself. 
 
 A letter came from Margaret McDonald the 
 day Jean went away. The tears which she had 
 been keeping back for months flowed in unre 
 strained abandon. 
 
 "You re not coming back to us, dearie? 
 You re not coming home? Margaret s old heart 
 is sore over what you have told her. Yes, I ll 
 keep your secret, child. I ll tell no one why you 
 are not to be Donald McGregor s wife, but for 
 myself I canna sit under his preaching again. I 
 canna pretend to receive the message from his 
 lips. You say that he is only doing what he 
 thinks is right; and when, Jean bairn, did the 
 good Lord give him the right to judge men s 
 souls? He has only to do with the message. 
 May the Lord forgive me, but my heart is bitter 
 and sore, and I canna help it My poor bairn, 
 my poor bairn!" 
 
 Jean had letters from Margaret during the 
 fall and winter which followed. She heard of 
 Donald s unremitting devotion to his charge, that 
 he spared himself neither day or night, that no 
 sacrifice seemed too hard for him to make, no 
 service too irksome. 
 
 Late in the spring of that year he succumbed 
 to an attack of typhoid fever, which left him an 
 invalid for months. When he was able to take 
 up his work again, Margaret wrote that he had 
 resigned his pastorate to his substitute, and had 
 gone to the city, as a missionary to the slums. 
 
 231 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Jean s love followed him everywhere. She 
 knew that he was struggling still to worship only 
 duty, and not yet had peace come, that not yet 
 had he been able to put her image from him. 
 
 In the second summer after she was gradu 
 ated she went home on a visit to Margaret. Old 
 places and associations hurt her, naturally, but 
 she did not brood. She found that a new heri 
 tage of peace had come to her out of the way of 
 rebellion and pain. 
 
 One evening toward the close of her visit, 
 Jean left the cottage after tea, for a walk alone. 
 Margaret was sitting without the house reading. 
 Feeling, rather than seeing some one near her, 
 she looked up from her meditation of John s Gos 
 pel to find Donald McGregor standing by her 
 side. 
 
 "Where is Jean, Margaret?" he asked. 
 "Please tell me where I may find Jean," as 
 though it were not strange to ask for Jean. 
 
 Margaret s stern eyes searched his face. The 
 lines she saw there softened her heart, but she 
 gave no sign. 
 
 "And what do you want of Jean, Donald Mc 
 Gregor? What right have you to ask for Jean? 
 You re naught but a stranger to her. Your ways 
 are parted now." 
 
 "I know," the man said humbly, his voice keen 
 with pain. "I was the one to part Jean s way 
 and mine. In my colossal blindness I put her 
 from me because she could not believe in all my 
 
 232 
 
Ye Tithe Mint and Rue 
 
 narrow, stubborn faith. I crucified her for a 
 dead creed. My eyes have been opened for a long 
 time. I have lived with men and women, Mar 
 garet, and learned to know their hearts. My ar 
 rogant pride has been humbled by coming close to 
 the real issues of life. Through these months of 
 work among my people, I have come to realize 
 the loveliness of the treasure I crushed in my 
 conceit. The beauty, Margaret, the beauty of the 
 vision has been with me always, but I have not 
 dared to come to her my transgression has been 
 too great for any human forgiveness. 
 
 "When I heard that she was here, I came with 
 out volition of my own. I came to ask her for 
 giveness and then I shall go back. O, Mar 
 garet, I have suffered too I count that nothing 
 but I shall want her all my life, and be bereft." 
 
 Margaret turned her head away. She could 
 not look upon his face and her own eyes were 
 full of tears, but she could not forgive him yet. 
 
 "You little deserve that she should forgive 
 you, man, you little deserve it, but a woman s 
 heart a woman s heart . The lassie is at the 
 gate now; go bring her in." 
 
 Jean showed no surprise as Donald came to 
 meet her in the twilight, she only searched his 
 face. 
 
 He did not touch her, he stood a little apart. 
 Once he stretched out his arms, then let them 
 fall. There was no need for speech. All that 
 he had told Margaret, Jean saw on the brow, in 
 
 233 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 the softened eyes, and around the tired, grave 
 mouth, and after she had looked and looked, and 
 was satisfied, her face was lighted with a smile 
 so deep, so tender, and so glad, that once again, 
 as though he knew it not, Donald opened his arms 
 and Jean came into them, and rested there. 
 
 234 
 
On the Edge of Death 
 Valley 
 
 BY 
 A. M. WALDEN 
 
Sf 
 
 "I beheld Old Charlie." 
 
On the Edge of 
 Death Valley 
 
 HILE I was a reporter for a San 
 Francisco paper a few years ago, I 
 had occasion to make a trip to the 
 edge of Death Valley to look at a mine. It was 
 my intention also to write up the trip. 
 
 From San Francisco we went by rail to Ca- 
 liente, thence by stage up Kern River Valley to 
 Walker s Pass through which we crossed the Si 
 erra Nevada Mountains. As we climbed the 
 western slope of the range through live-oak and 
 pine woods, imagine my surprise when on de 
 scending the eastern side we were precipitated, 
 as it were, into a forest of yucca and cactus. 
 Fifteen miles below we came to a lone cabin oc 
 cupying a space within certain degrees of lati 
 tude and longtitude called Coyote Holes un 
 musical, it is true, but a characteristically west 
 ern name derived from the numerous holes dug 
 in its vicinity by the coyotes in search of water. 
 
 Here we got out and stretched our legs and 
 had another smoke, of course. Old Charlie and 
 Woodard, who had been pulling at their pipes 
 constantly, refilled them with gusto, remarking 
 
 237 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 for the hundrdth time that "a smoke was pretty 
 near the best thing on God s earth." 
 
 We were now at the eastern edge of Mojave 
 desert at the base of the Sierras. We drove 
 along the foothills to Indian Wells, where we 
 struck due east across the desert. It was so hot 
 that we began sleeping during the day and trav 
 eling by night. Finally after a long dusty drive 
 through sand and gravel and a vegetation of 
 cactus and greasewood, we stopped at the well 
 which Old Charlie had dug. After resting we 
 made the last drive across the sandy expanse to 
 the Argus range. As we neared the canyon the 
 sight of a stone cabin was mighty restful to the 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes; that s my cabin," said Charlie. 
 " Twouldn t pass a Masonic test, but it s com 
 fortable all right. Just built it out of the rough 
 rock I found around here. Come in, gentlemen, 
 and have a drink." 
 
 At that each man of us felt like falling 
 through that cabin door, but Woodard said to go 
 slow; that having come from the West into the 
 effete East we should not be as unconventional 
 as was our wont. While we tried to slow up 
 from our sudden start before Woodard put a 
 damper on our spirits, we heard the most out 
 landish swearing inside that modest abode that 
 I ever heard before in my life and I ve lived 
 West some too. 
 
 "Smells real smoky, don t it?" said Wood 
 ard, slapping his leg. "Listen, boys. By thun 
 der, that s real artistic, ain t it? That ain t none 
 
 238 
 
On the Edge of Death Valley 
 
 of your plain low-down cussin ; it s poetic, I tell 
 you. "Just listen." The oaths swarmed, puffed 
 and streamed out to beat the band. They made 
 the atmosphere shimmer like the sun does on a, 
 hot day. They even scorched the grass; and as 
 Woodard said : "It smelled smoky." 
 
 "That would do for Wagner s opera," contin 
 ued Woodard delightedly, for he had traveled 
 some and seen some notwithstanding his careless 
 sling of the English language. Indeed, if the 
 notes of that deep voice inside might have been 
 caught, minus the profanity they were fairly 
 weighted w r ith the anger, the scorn, the derision, 
 the disgust well, people wouldn t have to hear it 
 twice to know what it meant, that s all. 
 
 We soon found what was the matter. Some 
 traveler for the latchstring always hung on the 
 outside had been in. "Stayed two weeks," said 
 Charlie, examining the larder, "and then, by 
 thunder, didn t wash the dishes, get a supply of 
 wood nor clean up. I meant they should have 
 the grub that s what it is here for but the idea 
 of their not cleaning up their trash after em." 
 Old Charlie muttered considerably. A good 
 drink of whiskey, however, soon put him in a bet 
 ter humor. 
 
 "A drink apiece, that s the old man s limit, 
 said Woodard after we had filed out of the door 
 to look about us again. 
 
 "Holy Mother! I wisht-to-morrow-hurry," 
 murmured the Mexican helper so disconsolately 
 that it set us all to laughing; but let me tell you 
 
 239 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 there was more than one made the wish "Mex" 
 did. 
 
 "That s a mighty good oP cuss," said Wood- 
 ard, jerking his thumb toward the cabin where 
 Charlie was preparing a meal. It was evident 
 these two old fellows loved each other. Long 
 association, together with the loneliness of camp 
 life, had bound them together as nothing else 
 could have done. 
 
 "A queer cuss, too," ruminated Woodard. 
 "Know what he does? Well, he gets down off 
 the wagon during our trips and plants the seeds 
 of the fruit he eats. Says maybe somebody will 
 be glad of it some day." He thoughfully knocked 
 the ashes from his pipe and remained silent un 
 til I asked a question. "No ; he ain t got no reg 
 ular way of makin a livin , except occasional 
 teamin . Just goes around helpin those who 
 need him. Never asks for no money. Nobody d 
 think of offerin him any for fear of startin that 
 profanity-machine of his n. Goes around nursin 
 the sick and helpin to build the settlers houses. 
 Don t need much to live on in this country. The 
 streams hold your fish, the woods your game." 
 I thought I saw him wink at the boys but I was 
 not sure. "Old Charlie is pretty nigh seventy, 
 but he s young yet. Close to that figger my 
 self." 
 
 I could not restrain my look of amazement. 
 He was rugged and weather-beaten, to be sure; 
 beseamed with many wrinkles, but they appeared 
 to be those of hardship rather than age, for he 
 was wiry and strong and looked no more than 
 
 240 
 
On the Edge of Death Valley 
 
 fifty. And there was Old Charlie in the cabin 
 hopping around in his leather apron (so slick 
 he might have greased the skillet with it) as agile 
 as a sparrow. 
 
 I pulled out my note-book. Ever since I had 
 first seen Old Charlie and Woodard, who met us 
 at Kern River to take us by team the rest of the 
 one hundred and fifty miles, my curiosity had 
 been aroused concerning these two men. As I 
 looked at them in their rough clothes and high- 
 laced boots, with their slouched hats pulled over 
 their eyes, my inclination to pull out my note 
 book and ask : "Legitimate or illegitimate ; mar 
 ried or single; name back East; father hung or 
 died a natural death?" had been hard to restrain. 
 I realized, though, by the appearance of their 
 frank, yet. inscrutable faces that this would not 
 go with these men. I might ask those imperti 
 nent questions in the city, but here no siree. 
 Seeing my book Woodard grew suspicious. 
 
 "Prof. ?" he inquired screwing up his eyes. 
 
 "Nope." 
 
 "Glad you re not. Had one of them things 
 traveling with us once and he didn t know how 
 to lead a cayuse along a trail." Woodard s lips 
 were pursed contemptuously. "Told Old Charlie 
 then that these professors didn t know every 
 thing. What you got that dinky little red book 
 for?" 
 
 "Well, Woodard, to tell you the truth," I 
 said, "you know when one goes home, folks ex 
 pect him to take back some information. Now 
 I am going to tell a lot of lies about mountain 
 
 241 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 lions, of course, but I thought I would like to put 
 just a drop of truth in about what a wonderful 
 old man Charlie is, for instance. I wanted to 
 get the age correct." 
 
 "You bet he is wonderful," returned Wood- 
 ard, his eyes lighting up. "You know what he 
 done? Went clean over that Death Valley." 
 One scrubby finger indicated the direction of the 
 valley of many songs and stories. "Found a 
 whole village of ragged outlaws over on t other 
 side of the clump called Funeral Mountains. 
 This is between you and me. Dug a well in the 
 desert. Never expected to go that way again 
 himself, but said some day a tenderfoot who 
 didn t know enough to take water with him 
 might get thirsty. Them outlaws treated him 
 like a king. Of course he had along a lot of old 
 magazines that he got at the end of the railroad, 
 for Old Charlie always goes prepared; thought 
 ful as a woman. Says he never expected to find 
 humans over there, but took along something 
 anyway. Says he is never surprised at anything. 
 Says when he goes to hell he s goin to take some 
 fire. Mought be all fake stories about fire down 
 there and it mought be as cold as Christmas 
 so he s goin to take some matches." Woodard 
 chuckled delightedly. "Say," he continued, "you 
 remember when we met you at Kern Kiver? 
 Well, if all the kids followed our team for a long 
 way towards the mountains, you d oughter seen 
 them when we came in. Why all of em, Mexican 
 half-breeds, Indians, every kid of em secretly 
 loves Old Charlie. He could hardly shake em 
 
 242 
 
On the Edge of Death "Fa //<// 
 
 off. Yes; come from old Kentucky when four 
 teen; ran away. That s all I know. He s so 
 close-mouthed he won t tell even me." Woodard 
 looked unhappy but presently went on: "Every 
 man who asks about his past gets a different 
 story. To one he tells he s an outlaw ; to another 
 that he s a widower murdered his wife and ran 
 away to keep from hangin , though I know for 
 sure that ain t so; to another that he shot a man 
 desribes it hair-raisingly too. At first they 
 was all mad, but by and by when one of em 
 caught him bustin with laughter, he realized it 
 was one of Charlie s jokes. He hates curiosity; 
 never asks nobody nothin and expects the same 
 in return. Would take any kind of a cuss in 
 and feed him and let him stay as long as he 
 wanted." 
 
 Looking through the doorway we saw our host 
 and the Mexican helper quickly clearing the 
 cabin. The dirt floor was swept and the table 
 was wiped off with water heated in the big fire 
 place. As the odor of bacon came to us on the 
 breeze a strong voice thundered "Dinner !" 
 
 I look back in my past and forward in my 
 future and soo that it was the best dinner I ever 
 did or ever will taste. We seated ourselves at 
 the cloan olothloss table and drank our tin cups 
 of coffee and ato our biscuits and bacon. The 
 men filed out, but out of curiosity I lingered, 
 taking in all the cabin arrangements. 
 
 Fooling a pull at my sloovo, I beheld Old 
 Charlio. He gave mo a vory astute wink and 
 laying a knotty finger on his lips, whispered: 
 
 243 
 
TilUcum Tales 
 
 "Follow me." In my imagination I had begun 
 to call the figure that stood in the doorway the 
 "Mighty Man of the Mountains." What wonder 
 then that I, a tenderfoot, meekly followed my 
 hero? He appeared to encompass everything 
 with his eagle eyes, to pause, weigh quickly, cal 
 culate ; then beckoning me, he led the way around 
 the cabin where we sat down behind a huge rock. 
 
 "Think anyone saw us coming?" 
 
 As he leaned toward me I was appalled by 
 the wickedness of his eyes. 
 
 "N-n-no," I stammered. "I am sure no one 
 saw us." 
 
 "So much the better." He took me roughly 
 by the shoulder and gazed deeply into my eyes 
 as if he would see my very soul. 
 
 "Well," he said after his scrutiny, "you may 
 be a tenderfoot, but I believe you are a brave one 
 all right." I don t suppose I entirely hid my 
 satisfaction at this remark, for I noticed an 
 amused glint in the dark gray eyes opposite. 
 
 "Well, now, listen, son. The distance be 
 tween you and my gun ain t very fur, is it? And 
 even if it was, I am a mighty good shot. I kin 
 knock the tip off that pine tree." He fingered 
 his pistol lovingly and seemed for a moment lost 
 in memories of his gun-prowess, while I, not hav 
 ing much of the detective instinct, was complete 
 ly in the dark. By and by I saw one glimmer 
 but it served only to confuse me the more. 
 
 Did Woodard really believe all he said about 
 this man at my side, or was it a cracked-up job 
 between them, I pondered. I ll admit my mind 
 
 244 
 
On tlie Edge of Death Valley 
 
 wasn t very steady as I wildly cast about, seeking 
 the threads of this mystery that I might weave 
 them into whole cloth. I ll admit, also, that I 
 was trembling just a little. 
 
 "I wisht I had a Bible." Old Charlie s voice 
 startled me. 
 
 "W-w-why?" I gasped. 
 
 "For you to swear on." 
 
 "Why, I have one." I was immensely re 
 lieved but felt very silly as I pulled the little 
 Bible from my pocket. 
 
 "I did it to please my mother," I remarked, 
 handing it over. 
 
 Charlie took it gingerly. 
 
 "Lay your hand on it, son. Now say after 
 me : I solemnly swear that I will not breathe a 
 word of what Charlie tells me. I give my word 
 as a man of honor." 
 
 This certainly seemed well-clinched. I sol 
 emnly swore. 
 
 "I am a man of honor also. I give you my 
 word of honor that I won t shoot you if you keep 
 my secret" 
 
 "What is it?" I was gaining courage for he 
 had stopped fingering his gun. 
 
 "Well, see that clump of willows to the west 
 ward? I ve got about twenty men in hiding 
 there more n two to one, you see, son. All I 
 have to do is to give the signal. All the men 
 in this camp have got some coin on them and 
 they re all bad men but you. Know why I m 
 tellin you all this? Feel sorry for you, son; 
 
 245 
 
TiUwum Tales 
 
 and when you hear guns, I want you to cut for 
 the mountains." 
 
 I have confessed to being a tenderfoot and I 
 must admit that my knees sought each other s 
 society, as I replied: "Yes; I ll lay low." My 
 reserved thought was: "We couldn t do any 
 thing with so many against us so there s no use 
 trying to warn the others." 
 
 "There s not going to be any killing?" ques 
 tioned I. 
 
 "Well, no ; not if I kin help it." Again there 
 came the amused glint in his eyes. 
 
 After a long twilight, for it was in the early 
 part of July, the night hovered darkly down. 
 Needless to say I went supperless to bunk and 
 lay sleepless for many weary hours. A breeze 
 whistled through the alders and buzzed through 
 the brush. It was my first experience at night 
 in a tent in wild western wastes. The howl of 
 the coyotes and the strange night noises lulla- 
 bys for the other fellows kept my eyes propped 
 firmly open. Great wings seemed to brush 
 against the frail white walls and I felt that God 
 was pretty far away. I vowed then and there if 
 I had a whole hide after this escapade, never to 
 buy another mine from a smooth talker when it 
 would mean a trip across the mountains to look 
 at a hole in the ground. 
 
 Old Charlie had been watching me furtively 
 after our exciting chat, and how did I know that 
 he did not lie in the bunk across from mine with 
 one eye open? Was Old Charlie asleep? That 
 snore was natural Old Charlie those men 
 
 246 
 
On the Edge of Death Valley 
 
 why somehow I was in a big city and then there 
 were girls coming along a wooded path and carry 
 ing buckets full of blackberries. My thoughts 
 were wandering. As I tried to keep from drift 
 ing into sleep there was a loud report. Yes; of 
 a revolver! More and more! Those must be 
 the reserve men and I had brought no pistol. 
 Silly fool, to believe all the bad men of the West 
 were dead. 
 
 I jumped from my bunk with the wild idea 
 of running for the hills. I stared about in 
 amazement It was broad daylight and all the 
 bunks were empty. In a spasm of alarm mingled 
 with curiosity I rushed from the tent only to 
 discover Old Charlie with a peculiar grin on his 
 face and a lighted fire-cracker in his hand. All 
 the other men were having fits of laughter. As 
 the manager of the fireworks pitched a lighted 
 fuse in my direction he drawled: 
 
 "Why son, laying abed ain t very patriotic. 
 Don t you know this is the glorious Fourth, the 
 day we were sot free from Britain?" 
 
 247 
 
The Recoil of 
 
 Circumstance 
 
 BY 
 FLORENCE MAUDE FARRER 
 
"Under one umbrella they turned the corner and disappeared." 
 
The Recoil of 
 Circumstance 
 
 T is inexpressibly good of you to coine and 
 help me to kill time while I am shut up 
 in these rooms, Katydid. Do come in 
 every time you have half an hour to give me; 
 but for the love of the saints, don t let anyone 
 get an inkling of my hiding place ! Nobody must 
 know but you and Jack. I can trust nobody 
 else not to give me away." 
 
 She surveyed her fine figure in the mirror, in 
 passing, gave her splendid hair a touch, and 
 beamed her welcome on the petite Kit tie, who, 
 true to her name, was making herself comfortable 
 among the cushions of the couch. 
 
 "Yes," she continued, "Pm a prisoner here, 
 while the editor of The Sunrise is on trial for 
 criminal libel. You know I am wanted for a 
 witness, and I don t dare go on the stand with 
 out incriminating myself. They have spotters 
 out everywhere looking for me, and I can t show 
 my red head out of doors for fear some bailiff 
 will put a hand on my shoulder and read a bench 
 warrant to me. And it is death to live inside 
 the walls of this little flat death to one who is 
 in love with the outside world, as I am." 
 
 251 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "You seem to be comfortable enough. Can t 
 you entertain yourself? Read something; write 
 something." 
 
 "Never! I don t read. Don t read anything 
 but reference books. I don t take my impres 
 sions of life at second hand. I leave that to the 
 decadent and the dilettante. I want life itself 
 and more and more of it. I want experience ; ac 
 tion; contact with the world. I want to live 
 through events and take part in them. For the 
 same reason it does not satisfy me to sit tamely 
 at the theatre and watch the play from a box; 
 I want to go onto the boards and play a part my 
 self. No, I won t accept life at second-hand, 
 Katydid, Katie dear." 
 
 "Then why don t you write something? You 
 certainly have had experience enough with life 
 to write about it." 
 
 "Yes, I can write. Wait until I get old and 
 I will write write memoirs. But I must live 
 life to the uttermost, first; and just now I am too 
 busy at the game itself to stop to explain how it 
 is played." 
 
 "Since writing is your business, yours and 
 mine," returned the Katydid, "I don t know why 
 you should denounce it so savagely. It is the 
 bridge that carries us over." 
 
 "Yes, Kitten, I can write while the fever is 
 on and the blood is hot. A reporter can write 
 by the midnight oil and turn out good copy, when 
 he is just in from a tragedy in the tenderloin, 
 where women drink life s lees and aloes and leave 
 the world by the suicide road; or fresh from a 
 
 252 
 
Tlie Recoil of Circumstance 
 
 ceremony at the altar where a pistol shot in the 
 hands of a jealous lover answers the chime of the 
 wedding bells. Then, we can write; then we 
 must write to work off emotion and clear the men 
 tal atmosphere. But sustained writing, from re 
 flection and contemplation, never ! It is intoler 
 able to me. I want to drink the draught from 
 the fountain head. I must find it in the street; 
 at the roulette table; at political headquarters; 
 anywhere where men and women meet and meas 
 ure skill in the game of life. All I know I 
 have gotten by contact, observation, experience; 
 and I have lived more life than half the people 
 who number twice my years. 
 
 "And now, Kittie, I simply must do some 
 thing to kill time and I have a plot that will 
 shock you and Jack only Jack shall not know 
 of it until it has gone into history ; but you shall 
 see it through with me. It is too good to keep 
 all to myself; I must share it with somebody. 
 Here, in this corner room, I can see the world 
 go by and cannot mingle in it; but it shall feel 
 my influence before I go. I shall make that 
 strenuous street corner my stage while this trial 
 lasts, and I shall manage it, myself, and make 
 those people furnish me with entertainment, I 
 must live in the world of action or die; I must 
 soe human forces at work. This corner of 
 Twelfth and Firloch streets shall be my theatre 
 of action and you shall watch the world do my 
 bidding. We are going to have some fun while 
 we wait here, my Ratio, while wo wait, my Katy 
 did! Next time you come to call on the tenant 
 
 253 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 in flat 25, you shall see the curtain rise on my 
 melodrama. 
 
 "Here is a little preamble that will give you 
 an idea of the way the game is worked. Oh ! I 
 haven t been a detective and a police reporter 
 and a dozen other things, all for nothing ! I know 
 human life, as you say, and human nature, and 
 I can play on human feelings, if anybody can. I 
 shall at any rate strike a few discords on the 
 harp of life while we wait, Katie mine, while we 
 wait." 
 
 a You called it a game, awhile ago." 
 "Never mind, if I see fit to change my mata- 
 phor, it is not for you to question, dear. Just 
 listen to an ad. which I shall insert in the per 
 sonal columns of The Sunrise, tomorrow: 
 
 A man of the world, not yet gray, of good appearance, 
 endowed with a liberal education and a liberal supply of 
 worldly goods, would like to meet an attractive woman, 
 mature enough to be entertaining. Please wear a small 
 bow of white ribbon on your sleeve and be at the corner 
 of Twelfth and Firloch streets at 4:00 p. m., to-morrow. 
 
 "That will bring the women out. Now, we 
 want something that will catch the men. Here 
 is one that will go into The Evening Roundup 
 and this will bring the men : 
 
 A refined woman, somewhat past her first youth, 
 something of a dreamer, one who has had no particular 
 past, but who would like to have a future, would be glad 
 to meet a gentleman who can furnish some entertainment 
 and, possibly, give her a new outlook on life. Will wear 
 a white ribbon knot on her wrist for identification and be 
 at Twelfth and Firloch streets at four, to-morrow. 
 
 254 
 
The Recoil of Circumstance 
 
 "The same people will not read the same ad. ; 
 or if they do, they will think it a coincidence ; or 
 whatever they think, they may come if they want 
 to. The more the merrier was never truer than 
 in this case. They will come from all direc 
 tions and we will stand at the window in the 
 shadow and wateh the pantomime and pick the 
 winners as they come." 
 
 "It is all clever, Isobel, and amusing, but it 
 is unscrupulous. How can you! how can you!" 
 pleaded Kittie. 
 
 "Be my guest day after tomorrow at four," 
 Isobel, went on, laughingly, "and I promise you 
 some fun. Look for white ribbons on the way. 
 You are the only one in the secret, except Isobel 
 Knight, reporter, detective, woman of intrigue, 
 fugitive from justice and student of human na 
 ture. Now, let me go and call a messenger and 
 dispatch these little peace disturbers and then 
 I ll come back and talk to you." 
 
 "Do you know, Katie," she went on, returning 
 from the hallway, "do you know I am the most 
 unhappy woman alive, and I must do something 
 all the time to keep from thinking? And do you 
 know you are the dearest thing on earth to come 
 and comfort me when I am shut up here to keep 
 out of the hands of the authorities ; when I have 
 just had a row with my sweetheart and have sent 
 him away, and can do nothing but sit and sing 
 my miserere and plot confusion for maids and 
 men, to keep from thinking of my sins? Yes, 
 you are the best friend in the world, if you did 
 say Jack Dare is a flirt" 
 
 255 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Who said Jack Dare is a flirt?" 
 
 "You did. You said he flirted with Bird 
 Grimes." 
 
 "You said it yourself." 
 
 "Katherine Doyle, you can tell more whop 
 pers without blushing than any woman I ever 
 knew, except myself. But it makes no difference 
 who said it, Jack does flirt, and that is what is 
 killing me not my sins. And every time I cut 
 him or sting him for his stupidity he goes off and 
 flirts with somebody to get even; and I grow 
 furious, though I know he doesn t care a cigar 
 ette about Bird Grime^ or any of her kind. Men 
 get tired of caustic women, in time, and some 
 times I think Jack is getting tired of me." 
 
 "Yes, dear, it is hard for a woman with a 
 cutting tongue to keep friends." 
 
 "Yes, or a woman with a selfish heart, like 
 mine. Go on and preach. I knew you had 
 come to preach the minute you came in the door. 
 Say I can t keep my friends, as you have told me 
 a thousand times. Say I ve played off one 
 against another and sacrificed one after another 
 for my own selfish amusement until they have all 
 dropped me. But, oh! Kittie," dropping into 
 a softer tone, "I am not going to break with you; 
 and if I should have to give up Jack, I d turn on 
 the gas and call the game off. Poor Jack ! whom 
 I have had so long, working his life away ; work 
 ing until his beautiful head is growing gray try 
 ing to get money enough to marry me, because I 
 won t marry him without money ! If I call it all 
 
 256 
 
The Recoil of Circumstance 
 
 off and turn on the gas, some day, will you come 
 and watch with me, Katydid?" 
 
 "Isobel, stop talking that way," she com 
 manded, "he is not going to drop you and you 
 are not going to die of asphyxiation. Jack s love 
 for you has withstood so many tests, that it is not 
 going to break now. But do be good to him. 
 Now, talk about something else. You have got 
 to change the subject. Whose black-eyed baby 
 is that on the back porch making love to me 
 through the glass door?" 
 
 "But whenever I hurt him or sting him, he 
 goes off and flirts in retaliation, and it s madden 
 ing. I am afraid there will come a day when he 
 will not come back to me. I am afraid that I 
 cannot hold him always. I had a break with him 
 just before I moved into these quarters and I sent 
 him away. I have sent for him to come back, 
 too, but he hasn t come." 
 
 "Isobel, I have forbidden you to talk about 
 him. I shall leave your house, if you bring back 
 the subject again." 
 
 "Yes, I ll stop, I ll stop ! but you know he had 
 and old love, once or a young love, I mean, and 
 they had some kind of a rupture and she married 
 somebody else. I only know the bare facts and 
 I can get nothing more out of him. It s all in 
 the past and it s dead, but it s maddening to have 
 even the ghost of a woman between us. Oh ! 
 don t go, Kittle ! Don t leave me to my medi 
 tations ! I ve nothing to do but meditate and if 
 you leave me I ll eat morphine; smoke opium; 
 drink absinthe anything to keep me from think- 
 
 257 
 
Tillicnm Tales 
 
 ing about Jack! I ll tell you all about that 
 tangle-haired baby and the woman who owns her, 
 if you will only stay." 
 
 "She s trying to break your glass door with 
 a broom handle. I d like to kidnap her. Where 
 does she belong?" 
 
 "In one of the back flats across the hall. Her 
 mother paints china and starves." 
 
 "Who is her mother? W T hy don t you get ac 
 quainted with your neighbors, if you want to kill 
 time? There is no danger in it. You are here 
 under an assumed name, anyhow." 
 
 "Don t want to; am not interested in her. 
 A sorry-faced woman who paints china! Why 
 should I cultivate her acquaintance?" 
 
 "You ought to be interested; it s a reporter s 
 business to be interested in everybody." 
 
 "Oh ! yes, in a general way. When one is on 
 the trail of a good story, everyone is interesting 
 who has any connection with it, but who could 
 be interested in a woman who was silly enough 
 to permit herself to be named Penelope? Her 
 name is Penelope Webb, so the postman says, 
 and she ought to be spinning and weaving and 
 ripping and raveling all day and night to make 
 good that name. It would be a hardship to me 
 to have to live up to a name that had been made 
 and gone into history before I was born. But 
 she neither spins nor weaves nor waits for 
 Ulysses, so far as I can determine. She paints 
 china," 
 
 "Then you are interested, if you have been 
 interviewing the postman about her." 
 
 258 
 
<>f Ciroum#ta*ce 
 
 "No, he volunteered the information, he is a 
 loquacious chap ; but to be candid, I have a sort 
 of grievance against her, though I ve never 
 spoken to her. She s pretty; too pretty for her 
 surroundings. What right have impoverished 
 widows who live in back flats and paint china 
 and keep troublesome babies, to be pretty." 
 
 "Yes, that is so logical, Isobel, that I think 
 you ought to try to impress her with the import 
 ance of it and see if she can t improve the mat 
 ter. But I must go. I am overdue at the office, 
 with my story of the trouble in the Chinese quar 
 ter, and I must invent some excuse for the de- 
 
 I M ." 
 
 Isobel followed her to the door, protesting, 
 and had to set the baby out of the way to make a 
 passage for her friend down the back stairs by 
 which way she was to make a short cut to the of 
 fice. "If you break that door, I ll throw you 
 down stairs," she said to the big-ej-ed wondering 
 baby, as she closed the door. Throwing herself 
 on the couch with her hands behind her head, she 
 went on addressing the baby through the glass, 
 as if she heard and understood. 
 
 "Fd fall in love with you, you little demon, if 
 it were not for your pretty mother. I m called 
 handsome, myself, and I don t want a widow in 
 the tint across my back hall who is a close second 
 to me," she went on, her tone softening in spite 
 of herself. Then her eyes drifted to the railing 
 and she was lost in meditation. Occasionally 
 she laughed aloud. She was apparently not 
 thinking of the trial nor of Jack. She was think- 
 
 259 
 
TilUcum Tales 
 
 ing of the fun she should have when the gulli 
 ble public gathered on the corner in answer to 
 her advertisement. Would she have softened, if 
 the next day, she could have seen the picture 
 of a little woman in a back flat bending over 
 the morning paper, opened at the personal col 
 umn? Would she have recalled her plot if she 
 could have heard the words sobbed out over* 
 the printed sheet : "I cannot starve and let my 
 baby starve! I cannot work; I have never been 
 taught to work and I am so incompetent that no 
 body will have me! But I cannot starve and I 
 cannot eat painted china ; and nobody will buy it. 
 I recoil from the thought of meeting that man/ 
 she went on, breaking into fresh sobs, "but I can 
 not help it ! Let the angels be my judges and let 
 those who will throw stones, I shall pin on a 
 white ribbon and go and see what he wants." 
 Would she have softened? However, it was too 
 late, now, the game had gone beyond her control 
 and the little widow in the back flat was in the 
 hands of fate. 
 
 Kittle arranged with some difficulty to keep 
 her assignments and smuggle an hour to attend 
 IsobePs entertainment. She reached the flat a 
 little before four and found her friend arranging 
 the curtains to give the best view and yet screen 
 them from sight. 
 
 "It isn t good form," she was saying, "to 
 stand at the window and gawk out, and, just 
 now, it isn t good policy." 
 
 "It s good form for a reporter to do anything 
 within the limitations of the statutes," answered 
 
 260 
 
TJie Recoil of Circumstance 
 
 Kittle, "but I agree with you that it isn t good 
 policy, if you don t want some chance acquaint 
 ance in the street to spot you." 
 
 "The curtain doesn t rise till four, but we 
 might stand here and listen to the orchestra," 
 indicating with her hand an organ grinder on 
 the corner, bareheaded in the rain, holding his 
 hat appealingly toward the upper windows. 
 "There are so many umbrellas on the street that 
 I imagine it will be difficult for us to see white 
 ribbons. This rain is the first obstacle that has 
 come up to interfere with my little comedy, but 
 we shall have the performance just the same. I 
 know you don t more than half countenance what 
 I am doing, but you lack humor, my dearie; 
 you lack what the book reviewers call the saving 
 grace of humor. You are too serious and too 
 conscientious to ever get much fun out of life. 
 I confess I am a little low on the phrenological 
 bump of conscientiousness; but let us study hu 
 man nature from the street while we wait for 
 the curtain. It is the most fascinating of studies 
 and you don t get it from books ; you get it from 
 hoads and faces, voices, attitudes; every outward 
 expression means something so definite that he 
 who runs may read, if he can read at all. Look 
 at that old fellow paddling down the stream of 
 life. Analyze him a minute; see his thick head 
 and pugnacious nose. Watch how he plants his 
 feet widely apart. He would be invulnerable 
 from any point of attack. You couldn t argue 
 him down nor laugh him down, nor stampede 
 him; he is not of the kind to be frightened. 
 
 261 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "But here comes another interesting charac 
 ter. She was born for generalship. Look at 
 Caesar s nose. She is commander-in-chief of the 
 family, I ll warrant, three generations of it. Just 
 now she is in trouble of some kind. I think she 
 has a case of insubordination on her hands ; prob 
 ably having trouble with her daughter-in-law; 
 doesn t like the way the young woman is bring 
 ing up the baby." 
 
 "Maybe she s out after some of our white rib 
 bon girls," remarked Kittie. "Maybe she has 
 seen your ad." 
 
 "It s two minutes to four," rejoined Isobel, 
 "something ought to happen shortly." 
 
 "Oh! stand back," exclaimed Kittie in a low 
 tone, "there are some reporters coming down on 
 the other side. Tom Andrews is one and the 
 other looks like Jack ! Don t show yourself until 
 they get by." 
 
 "I wouldn t have Tom Andrews know where 
 I am for the world, Kit; I couldn t trust him 
 not to give me away ; but I am dying to see Jack. 
 I know he wouldn t tolerate what I am doing, 
 but I wish I could see him just long enough to 
 tell him how sorry I am ; but I must keep in the 
 dark. Watch every movement on the street, Kit- 
 tie." 
 
 "Never mind, Tom is going on and Jack is 
 coming across. I think he is coming up here." 
 
 "Oh! the old darling!" exclaimed Isobel, ex 
 citedly. 
 
 "Look, Isobel, he has stopped to talk to some 
 body a woman a shabby sort of a " 
 
 262 
 
The Recoil of Circumstance 
 
 Coming cautiously forward, Isobel gasped: 
 "Oh, Kit tic! it s the woman in the back flat It s 
 Penelope Webb! And saints and sinners, she s 
 got a white ribbon around her wrist! What 
 have I done! what have I done! They are both 
 here in answer to my ad! They are here on my 
 invitation ! He s flirting right under my window 
 and under my nose ! I m caught in my own trap ! 
 I am the biggest fool born since the stars were 
 liunu in heaven!" 
 
 "But they seem to recognize each other, Iso 
 bel they are not strangers. She looks as if 
 she were going to drop, and Jack is all agita 
 tion!" 
 
 "Jack Dare, if you take her arm I ll smite 
 you dead," interrupted the stage manager. The 
 drama was becoming too real for her. The wom 
 an in the street reeled. He caught her arm and 
 led her as rapidly as he could through the crowd. 
 Under one umbrella, they turned the corner and 
 disappeared. 
 
 "They are going off together! For God s 
 sake, Kittie, stop them! Go after them! Stop 
 them, or I ll brave the whole police force and go 
 myself! Go! go!" And she pushed Kittie vio 
 lently toward the door. 
 
 "Isobel, you are insane! I am not an officer; 
 I cannot arrest them, and they have a right to 
 walk down the street together, if they want to. 
 I am not going to make a scene and get myself 
 written up in the newspapers." 
 
 Isobel tramped the floor and raged. Soon, 
 through the open door, they heard voices on th 
 
 263 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 back stairs, followed by footsteps passing Iso- 
 bePs door. Then they heard Jack s voice, in soft 
 est undertone, saying : "My darling, my darling ! 
 After all these years ! I am getting gray, and I 
 haven t much money, but I can take care of you, 
 dear. Stop crying! Stop crying, darling, until 
 we get into the house, and then you may cry all 
 you want to." 
 
 Isobel sprang to the door, to see two figures 
 disappear into the hallway of the rear flats, lean 
 ing a dripping umbrella outside. She stood still 
 for a minute, clutched at the door, clutched at 
 her throat, then staggered forward and threw 
 herself, sobbing, on the couch. 
 
 264 
 
A Doubtful Nationality 
 
 BY 
 ELLIE MILLS LEE 
 
. V 
 
 "The bluffs that loomed so close and vanished into dim and 
 dimmer distance." 
 
A Doubtful 
 
 Nationality 
 
 "little matter of unfinished husi- 
 ness" disturbed Richard Abrel. He ga/e;l 
 back over the glorious perspective of 
 wooded bluffs and narrow sea as the Alaska liner 
 chugged her Avay down the homing waters of the 
 Sound. The late afternoon sun rent the curtain 
 of mist with shafts of orange and red, and their 
 reflection clothed the vessel s wake in ever-vary 
 ing splendor; but he sensed only the bluffs that 
 loomed so close and receded quickly into dim 
 and dimmer grayness they reminded him of the 
 shifting ways of the widow. 
 
 A laugh that was joy itself and a few bars 
 of song informed him that on the other side of 
 the deck he might find an opportunity to further 
 that "business." 
 
 "Fine evening, Mrs. McGuire," he said, as he 
 approached a comely woman standing beside the 
 port rail. 
 
 "An is it yourself, Richard?" she retorted, 
 without turning. 
 
 He laid a firm hand on her arm as if to com 
 pel attention. 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Mrs. McGuire, you haven t told me whether 
 you d take me or not," 
 
 "Listen to the man, will ye? Can t you take 
 yourself? Sure, an ye look able-bodied enough." 
 Her roguish eyes measured the ample height of 
 him. 
 
 "An what would I take ye in a ban -box or 
 a wheelbarrow? An then, me foine man, if ye* 
 don t moind tellin the loiks o poor me, where 
 is it ye w T ant to be taken?" 
 
 "Ah, now, stop your chaff an tell me plain 
 if ye 11 marry me?" 
 
 "Haven t I told ye that I promised me dead 
 Mike that I would niver marry anny one but an 
 Irishman?" 
 
 "I m Irish, if that s all." 
 
 "Ah, go on with ye! How can the loikes of 
 you be calling himself an Irishman? Niver a 
 bit o the brogue do ye speak." 
 
 "My parents were Irish and I was born in 
 Cork. That certainly ought to make a fellow 
 Irish." 
 
 "An there s yer name Richard Abrel. With 
 a shlight change it would be Ab ranis, an that 
 would make a Jew of ye." 
 
 Richard smiled in spite of himself. The wid- 
 ow^ s banter, though exasperating, always amused 
 him. 
 
 "McGuire," she went on. "Now that is a 
 name with the true imerald color. Blessings on 
 the head of me dead Mike, savin the bald spot. 
 I used to tell him that he had wather on the 
 brain and the hairs fell in and were dhrownded." 
 
 268 
 
A Doubtful Nationality 
 
 At the mention of the much-quoted Mike, 
 Richard ground his teeth till an ominous creak 
 warned him, and his set jaws relaxed. 
 
 "Let us forget Mike s hair and think of other 
 things. There s that fine house and all I could 
 give you, not to mention my devotion and love. 1 " 
 
 She turned slightly tow r ard him as she an 
 swered : "You re a foine man, an I won t be say- 
 in yer money d be no use to me; but tell me 
 what would a healthy Irishwoman be doin with 
 the name of A-a-brel?" The thought was so pro 
 ductive of mirth that the widow s well-formed 
 figure rippled with laughter. 
 
 "Mrs. O Brien and Mrs. Donahue come to 
 call, spreadin their dresses out grand on the 
 best parlor chairs, would ask all tinder and so 
 licitous: What is it yer new man is, Kate? 
 Is he Fr-rinch, did ye say? Or is he a bloody 
 Englishman? " 
 
 She took a step toward the rail, and leaning 
 over, shook her head in mock despair, as she 
 added: "I d be thinkin a long time before I d 
 change the good name of McGuire for one loike 
 that." 
 
 They were nearing the harbor. West Point 
 Light threw a shaft of gilded green across the 
 murky water. The modern city of the seven hills 
 gleamed in her electric jewels as she offered a 
 welcome to the returning Argonauts of the 
 North. 
 
 Civilized joys dreamed of and so long fore 
 gone were again made real as the bright-colored 
 harbor lights danced in the water. 
 
 269 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 The man moved to the side of his companion 
 and stood fascinated by the night-beauty of the 
 city. Off there in the distance the gleaming 
 sparks represented home with all the comforts 
 and the companionship the word bespoke. The 
 vision accentuated in his mind his own evaded 
 question and the necessity of getting a decisive 
 answer before the wharf was reached. 
 
 "Mrs. McGuire, you have been thinking a long 
 time." 
 
 She looked up w r ith her accustomed levity, but- 
 met a look of firm determination. With a shrug 
 she tried to free herself from his detaining gaze, 
 but his love-eagerness enveloped her and tem 
 porarily smothered her banter. 
 
 "If you have nothing against me you wouldn t 
 let the little matter of a name hinder you, would 
 you? I feel sure, dear heart, you could love me. 
 And what s in a name? One s as good as another 
 if it is honest. For, sure, the one I m offering 
 hasn t the true Hibernian flavor no Mc s nor O s 
 in it. It came from Ireland just the same, and 
 if you ll only take " 
 
 He ceased abruptly and drew back. Some 
 thing seemed to fill his mouth and choke further 
 utterance. Putting up his hand he offered some 
 pantomimic explanation and hastily retired to 
 his cabin. 
 
 With a surprised catch of the breath the 
 widow looked after the retreating figure of her 
 suitor. 
 
 270 
 
.1 Douhtful \tititniu lit i/ 
 
 "What ails the man, annyhow? He acts loike 
 something sthuok in liis throat. Faith, an I be- 
 lave it s his name," laughed she. 
 
 The boat was fast nearing the dock. Shorter 
 grew the bars of colored light from the red and 
 green will-o -the-wisps which were resolved into 
 wharf lanterns. Peering eyes of the returners 
 searched for half -forgotten landmarks while their 
 hands groped confusedly for baggage. 
 
 In his cabin Richard Abrel spit out the frag 
 ments of his collapsed dental structure, and 
 cursed the fate that made false teeth a neces 
 sity; or, since they were, damned the dentists 
 \\ ho lacked ingenuity to make the plate unbreak 
 able. 
 
 Here he was, with his fate undecided, and the 
 precious moments slipping away. The idea of 
 not being able to persuade the charming widow 
 to make a decision, because his teeth gave way, 
 was maddening. 
 
 In the midst of his agitation he remembered 
 that he did not know her address. She was go 
 ing to stay with her sister, she had told him. 
 But where did her sister live? He recalled the 
 myriad lights adorning the hills and wondered 
 how in i>erdition he could determine which one 
 was nearest her. While he hated to encounter 
 h<-r raillery at his changed appearance, he knew 
 he must learn the street and number before she 
 left the vessel. 
 
 The steamer no longer moved, and the noises 
 from the dock told him the passengers were dis- 
 
 271 
 
TiUicum Tales 
 
 embarking. He picked up his traps in haste, and, 
 muffling his face, made for the gang-plank. 
 
 Among those crowded around he failed to dis 
 cover the widow. Neither did he see her familiar 
 figure in the stream on the wharf. 
 
 Down dropped his heart, as does the ther 
 mometer in the land he had recently quit. If 
 she had disappeared into that labyrinth of streets 
 and houses he knew he would play at long odds 
 in finding her. With a lingering hope he kept 
 his eyes on the pier. Out of a shadow at the 
 farthest end stepped two figures, and his love- 
 quickened eyes recognized Mrs. McGuire. The 
 slight girl beside her seemed inclined to haste, 
 but the widow lingered. 
 
 "Oh, can it be for me, or is it natural per- 
 verseness?" he thought. 
 
 In desire he leaped to her side, but his physi 
 cal efforts were tied held prisoner by that mul 
 titude of other efforts a moving crowd. He 
 strained forward and the perspiration dripped 
 down his face. There was, however, no place to 
 stop. By the law of the crowd he could only 
 shuffle off the plank like a miserable card in a 
 deck, and at any moment she might make up 
 her mind to hurry. 
 
 At last his feet swung free and he raced up 
 the pier, to see the two women disappear around 
 the corner of a warehouse. 
 
 When he again caught sight of them they 
 were crossing Railroad Avenue at Yesler Way. 
 Redoubling his haste, he hoped to overtake them 
 before they reached the cable car. Up the cross 
 
 272 
 
A. Doubtful Nationality 
 
 street he turned, close in their footsteps, when a 
 train, the puffing engine of which he failed to 
 see, obstructed his path and shut them again 
 from his view. 
 
 In rage he stamped up and down, ineffect 
 ively searching some course for advance, fhe 
 train, however, soon passed and he resumed his 
 pursuit. Crossing at Pioneer Square, he saw 
 the two women step from the curb and board a 
 Yesler car. 
 
 A sigh of relief escaped him, for he felt that 
 at last he could reach her. As Richard drew 
 near he determined to board the car and, follow 
 ing unobserved, learn the address without accost 
 ing the widow. 
 
 There was still half a block to the car when 
 the conductor sounded the bell. He sprinted, 
 made a grab for the bar, missed it and took the 
 wet pavement on his elbow T 8. Futile seemed his 
 struggle when, borne back to his despairing ears, 
 came the familiar, musical brogue: 
 
 "Where was it ye said, Aggie? 217 Tinth 
 Avnoo South? Why, that s the same old place 
 you used to live." 
 
 Richard Abrel arose, bespattered but happy, 
 and without delay found a hotel. When shown 
 to his room he made some perfunctory attempts 
 to remove the evidence of his fall. Catching 
 sight of his face in the mirror and noting the 
 change effected by his dental mishap, he ex 
 claimed : 
 
 "Well, I ll be damned! If I don t look like 
 a deserted claim with the sluices half down!" 
 
 273 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Taking out his watch and observing that it 
 lacked some minutes to nine, he determined to 
 see something of the town before retiring. 
 
 After about an hour s travel along First and 
 Second Avenues and Pike Street, meeting as he 
 went many acquaintances who "celebrated" his 
 return, he found himself again at the Yesler ter 
 minus. His carriage had a military erectness, 
 although his walk was somewhat uncertain. 
 
 The "unfinished business" of the day was 
 brought to his mind when he viewed again the 
 scene of his accident. He repeated the address 
 he had overheard, "217 Tenth Avenue South." 
 
 Gazing around at the brilliantly lighted 
 streets, he concluded that it could not be very 
 late; so he determined to call that very night 
 and make her give him a decided answer. 
 
 A gleeful chuckle expressed his satisfaction at 
 the decision, but hard on its heels came the re 
 membrance of the vacant upper chamber of his 
 mouth. With a groan he realized how impossible 
 it would be under the circumstances to force the 
 jovial widow to seriousness. 
 
 Moved by a weariness born of his dashed 
 hopes and frequent libations, he sat down on 
 some steps near at hand. A showcase on the 
 opposite side of the door excited his curiosity. 
 
 He arose and gazed at the displayed articles 
 with fascinated eyes. Taking a step forward, 
 he remarked : "What comes to your hand, take, 
 says I." There was a shiver of broken glass as 
 outward shot his fist. He selected something 
 from the contents. After a few maxillary twists, 
 
 274 
 
A Doubtful Nationality 
 
 Richard Abrel found that what came to his hand 
 fitted very well in his mouth. 
 
 No one was near save the Italian peanut 
 vendor, who turned at the sound of falling glass. 
 In astonishment he viewed the shattered show 
 case and the scene enacted there. Richard, be 
 coming hazily conscious of the Italian s scrutiny, 
 jravc him a confiding wink as he went by, up 
 Yesler Way. 
 
 On up the hill with a free stride almost too 
 free at times he took his way till he reached 
 Tenth Avenue. To the south he turned with the 
 determined step of a would-be conqueror. When 
 he reached 217, he saw the house ablaze with 
 lights. Music floated out, and through the lace 
 curtains he discerned the moving figures of young 
 people. 
 
 A girl at the piano was playing a movement 
 so stirring that it made his heels uneasy. Into 
 the middle of the room whirled the widow, giv 
 ing voice and motion to the melody. Through 
 the open door came tones which had made heav 
 enly many evenings on the voyage down. 
 "Lads and lasses to your places, 
 Up the middle and down again," 
 she sang, as her sprightly figure moved in grace 
 ful pantomime. Richard cautiously ascended the 
 steps to gain a nearer view of his enchantress. 
 
 The playing stopped suddenly, as the girl at 
 the piano turned on the stool and exclaimed: 
 "Oh, Aunt Kate, do sing grandma s song! I 
 want my friends to hear you." 
 
 275 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Ah, go on wid ye, Aggie! What for would 
 an oP woman loike me be takin the floor at a 
 young folks party?" 
 
 Importunities came from all sides, and Mrs. 
 McGuire was at last prevailed upon to grant 
 her niece s request. She mounted a low chair as 
 Aggie again took her place at the piano. After 
 the opening chords, the widow began : 
 "A female auctioneer I am, 
 
 I don t come here with pelf. 
 The lot that I now have in hand 
 
 It is to sell myself. 
 I am going, going, cried she, 
 Who bids for a wife in me?" 
 
 The spirited action and alluring voice of the 
 widow thrilled her unseen listener. "Going, go 
 ing," suggested to Richard the possibility of loss. 
 He turned, and passing in at the open door, 
 quickly made his way to the parlor. Oblivious 
 of the astonished guests he strode forward until 
 he stood before his evasive charmer. 
 
 "Who bids? Why, I do. Haven t I been bid 
 ding all the way down from Alaska?" 
 
 The company caught its breath with a gasp, 
 and the widow gave a little scream on sight of 
 him. She, however, quickly recovered her com 
 posure, and said : 
 
 "Sure, an if it ain t Richard himself." She 
 covered her face with her hand in mock modesty. 
 But Richard Abrel this time was not to be put 
 off with playfulness. 
 
 "Mrs. McGuire, I have come determined to 
 have " but the remainder of his speech was 
 
 276 
 
A Doubtful Nationality 
 
 drowned in the heavy tramp of feet as a police 
 man, followed by the Italian, hurried in. 
 
 Advancing into the room he looked at Rich 
 ard, and inquired of his companion : 
 
 "Is this the man?" 
 
 "Oh-a, yes. Dat ees-a da man." 
 
 "You come with me," said the officer, laying 
 a compelling hand on Abrel s shoulder. 
 
 "I haven t time," replied Richard, with an 
 effort to shake free. "Mrs. McGuire, will you " 
 
 "Come, come, my man; none of that. Walk 
 along quietly and you ll have no trouble." He 
 tried to draw Richard peaceably to the door. 
 
 "What do you want me to come for, any 
 way?" asked Richard, turning to the policeman 
 in irritation. 
 
 Before he could reply, the little Italian 
 bobbed accusingly in front. 
 
 "You break-a da box; you steal-a da glass 
 tooth. See?" He pointed a suggestive finger 
 into his cavernous mouth. 
 
 Richard s shoulders drooped as a misty recol 
 lection came to him. He put his hand to his 
 mouth, but glancing at the widow, quickly re 
 moved it. 
 
 During the excitement Mrs. McGuire had 
 climbed down from her improvised rostrum. She 
 approached the representative of the law. 
 
 "Go on wid ye, now! Ye wouldn t be takin 
 the word of that little Dago," with a deprecatory 
 brush of her hand, "agin that of a dacint-sized 
 man, would ye? Sure, an he s done no har-rm. 
 Jist come to call on his frinds quoiet loike." 
 
 277 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Turning to her lover, she added: "Spake up, 
 Richard, an give thim the lie." 
 
 A dull-red wave of confusion mantled Rich 
 ard s face, while he remained silent. 
 
 "What would ye be wantin a set of false 
 teeth for, annyhow? Haven t ye a foine " 
 
 She stopped, and her expression changed as 
 if by recollection. Smilingly nodding her head, 
 she continued, addressing herself: 
 
 "Faith, thin, it was something more than the 
 name that sthuck in his throat." 
 
 Sitting down, Mrs. McGuire laughed. When 
 she had finished a good measure, she laughed 
 again. Every time she looked at Richard, her 
 risibilities were excited anew. 
 
 The greater the widow s merriment, the more 
 indignant became Abrel. Exasperated, he rush 
 ed from the house, closely pursued by the police 
 man and the Italian. 
 
 With ease they took him to the City Hall. 
 In the office he discovered that his trip "down 
 the line" had so decimated his cash in hand that 
 he had not sufficient bail. There was nothing to 
 do but spend the remainder of the night in jail. 
 
 Wearily he sank down against the wall of his 
 cell. With frowning brow r s he brooded over the 
 disastrous outcome of his nocturnal escapade. 
 The widow s laughter was a hornet that wounded 
 his vanity at numberless points. For the time 
 being she seemed unworthy of pursuit. 
 
 He was roused from his reverie, as along the 
 corridor hurried a flood of feminine invective. 
 
 278 
 
A Doubtful Nationality 
 
 "Aw ! the dir-ity place. That murderin rap 
 scallion of a policeman to bring anny one here. 
 If iver I get me two hands on him !" 
 
 The voice stopped as the jailer swung open 
 the door of AbreFs cell. In bounded a familiar 
 figure. 
 
 "Richard, Richard," came in rolling accents 
 as Mrs. McGuire peered into the darkness. 
 
 Richard, however, felt abused and did not 
 rise with the wonted haste that cry begot. See 
 ing that he sat unmoved against the wall, she 
 crossed and knelt beside him. Tender solicitude 
 was woven in her question. 
 
 "Richard, darlint, are ye hurt?" 
 
 She paused, but receiving no answer, contin 
 ued : "If iver I get a chance at that ongracious 
 spalpeen that dhragged ye here, I ll take a bit 
 iv the concait out of im." And the widow shook 
 her shapely fist at an imaginary bluecoat. 
 
 "I followed ye jist as soon as I got a bit of 
 money, for I was afeared you d have none by 
 ye, an I couldn t have ye shtay in jail the night. 
 Come, now," and she coaxingly attempted to as 
 sist him. 
 
 He made no attempt to uprise, but settling 
 back, fronted her determinedly. Inarticulate 
 was his voice, but his tone was firm : "Mrs. Mc 
 Guire, you haven t answered my question." 
 
 For a moment there was no reply, while the 
 widow repressed a gurgle; but when it came 
 Richard recognized a love-softened bit of the old 
 scintillation. 
 
 279 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 "Faith, Richard, me own, I ll forgive ye your 
 name, for it s mesilf knows no one but an Irish 
 man would be shtealin a set of false teeth." 
 
 280 
 
Old Bill s Awkward 
 Squad 
 
 BY 
 ALICE HARRIMAN-BROWNE 
 
 Author of 
 Songs o* the Sound," "Chaperoning Adrienne," etc. 
 
Taps blowcd! Bill exclaimed feebly." 
 
Old Bill s Awkward 
 Squad 
 
 LD BILL rose to go. The drummer no- 
 ticed that he carried himself with mili- 
 tary precision, although his head shook 
 slightly, as with palsy. 
 
 "Better stay in town to-night, Bill," suggest 
 ed the station agent, with kindly inflection. 
 "It s bitter cold." 
 
 The drummer shivered as he turned from the 
 window to the warmth of the big stove. Would 
 his belated train never come? A man came into 
 the waiting-room, cold air entering with him. 
 He walked noisily to the ticket window, spoke 
 to the agent, then sat on a tool-box, idly. From 
 a door opening into the room back of the tele 
 graph office a glimpse of a woman rocking a 
 child could be seen. Her soft lullaby crooned 
 its sleepiness, which the rhythmic creak of her 
 chair helped to induce. Bill listened to the song. 
 The agent s advice and the other men were un 
 heeded. 
 
 "She sings like the Colonel s lady," Bill mut 
 tered, nodding in the direction of the agent s 
 wife. "Our Colonel s lady s bringin Bobbie up 
 
 283 
 
Old Bill s Awkward Squad 
 
 jes right, an " his voice trailed off into incer 
 titude. He passed his shaking hand over his 
 forehead, dreamily. The agent and telegraph 
 operator, a man of few words and many duties, 
 turned his eyes in the direction that Bill was 
 gazing, and they softened at the sight of what 
 made the whole world to him. 
 
 "Where you going, Bill?" inquired the drum 
 mer. The old man made no reply, but pulled on 
 his mittens, worn to ravelled thumbs. As the 
 drummer had left the west-bound train, the early 
 winter twilight had revealed nothing but this 
 tiny, dull-red depot, a one-story store with a 
 rough board nailed on the unpainted door, with 
 "Post-Office" rudely printed on it; three or four 
 board-front and log-sided saloons, with dirt 
 roofs, and the unending prairie. The train, as 
 it sped on its way, dipped below the horizon 
 as does a ship at sea. The steel rails became as 
 one in western and eastern converging perspect 
 ive. The world seemed empty of life except this 
 meager settlement huddled close to the railroad 
 track. Far to the south a dark strip against the 
 snow showed where the leafless cottonwoods bor 
 dered the melancholy Missouri. The loneliness 
 was like a pall. 
 
 "Better stay, Bill," repeated the agent, busy 
 with his reports. "We ll make a shakedown for 
 you, if you don t want to go over to the store." 
 
 "Ye re welcome to come," put in the man on 
 the tool-box, to whom the traveling man had 
 nodded as his customer of the hour previous. 
 
 284 
 
Old Bill s Awkwwd Squad 
 
 "Where you going, anyway?" persisted the 
 stranger, shaking down the stove. "I shouldn t 
 think that there was a house within a hundred 
 miles of here." 
 
 With his hand on the door-latch Old Bill 
 looked in surprise at the drummer. 
 
 "W y, I m goin to the post. Where d ye 
 s pose? There s a hop over to the gym to-night, 
 an the Colonel s lady ll be spectin me to look 
 after the awkward squad. That s what me n 
 the Colonel s lady calls em. They s Bobbie, an 
 Clara, an John Hancock, an Angel ChiF a 
 hull raft of em. Bobbie an Clara s sweetheart s 
 a ready the little tikes! And they ain t more n 
 eight think o that!" The old man laughed, in 
 loving glee. He squared his shoulders conscious 
 ly, proudly, feeling the responsibility of his 
 trust ; but he looked pitifully thin, and too light 
 ly clad. "I can t stay, reely," he added, turning 
 to the other men, "thank ye kindly." 
 
 "Well, f ye re boun to go, Bill "the store 
 keeper rose unexpectedly and ripped off his big 
 buffalo coat, "ye wear this! I shan t need it 
 to-night." He thrust Bill s arms into the sleeves, 
 buttoned the coat hastily, turned up the collar 
 with a jerk, and avoided the men s eyes. "There," 
 he said, heartily, "that s better! Ye c n bring 
 it back when ye come in agin." 
 
 Gratitude beamed from the veteran s eyes as 
 he rubbed the thick fur. "I los my buffeler coat 
 w en the Injuns was out, las fall," he said. Then 
 he went out and the creak-craunch of his foot- 
 
 285 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 steps on the frozen platform was audible until 
 he took the ill-defined trail. 
 
 "The post!" ejaculated the drummer, giving 
 his chair a hitch nearer the fire. "What s the 
 man talking about? And Indians! Were they 
 on the warpath last fall? I didn t see anything 
 in the papers. I thought " he moistened his 
 lips, "I thought the Indians were civilized!" 
 He glanced furtively at the window, half expect 
 ing to see gleaming, cruel eyes peering. It was 
 his first trip West. 
 
 The trader tapped his forehead. "Cracked," 
 he explained. "Old Bill s never been right in his 
 mind since 78. Injuns scalped his kids right 
 before his eyes, an took his wife bound to a 
 cayuse s back. Bill ud a killed her himself fore 
 he d let her be took; but he was shot mos to 
 pieces, an couldn t git to her. The Tenth came 
 up, jes too late. Saved him; but the woman " 
 He sighed, and puffed furiously at his cob pipe. 
 The drummer shuddered at the picture thrown 
 on the canvas of his imagination. 
 
 "Bill stayed with the Tenth," went on the 
 storekeeper, presently, "an finally listed. He 
 was mad to kill. I was post-trader when the 
 Tenth was here. The fort was right in this bend 
 of the Missoury then. After a while Old Bill 
 got queer, an took to shakin . The Colonel s 
 wife pitied him ; an , as he was gentle, an always 
 gittin the kids roun him, she had him take 
 care of em , odd times; mos ly w en there was 
 any doin s at the gymnasium dances an sich. 
 Twas the putties sight ye ever seen w en he 
 
 286 
 
Old Bill s Awkward Squad 
 
 drilled the officer s chil un! Lord!" The old- 
 timer looked with reminiscent eye toward the 
 smoke-grimed ceiling. " Twas surely great !" he 
 added, dreamily. 
 
 "Queer I didn t see any fort," commented the 
 drummer, making way for the agent, who brought 
 a scuttle of coal and banked the stove for the 
 night. "Where is it? And how many companies 
 are here?" 
 
 "Oh, the post s been abandoned this twenty 
 year," replied the trader, surprised. "Didn t ye 
 know? What s lef o the buildin s are clost to 
 them cottonwoods south o town." 
 
 "Why was Old Bill left?" The drummer 
 showed his disapproval. 
 
 "Why?" repeated the agent, his work over, 
 and inclined to join in the conversation. "It s 
 just this way. Old Bill wouldn t go. After the 
 troops went, some of the buildings were sold and 
 moved away. Of the rest, most anyone who 
 wants boards or brick goes over there (it s only 
 two miles), and helps himself. But the hospital 
 and gymnasium, and part of officer s row, are 
 standing; though they re pretty well gone to 
 pieces. Old Bill lives in the hospital." 
 
 "What on?" asked the drummer, bluntly. 
 
 "God knows!" was the equally blunt reply. 
 "His eight per his pension, I suppose. We ve 
 tried to persuade him to go to the Soldiers Home. 
 But he won t listen to it" 
 
 "Bill thinks they re all here yit," added the 
 trader, glad to gossip through the long evening. 
 "He ll come to my store, like w en I was post- 
 287 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 trader, an buy little things fer the kids, an tell 
 how the Colonel s wife trusts him, Twould 
 break yer heart ! One c n slip in things that one 
 knows he needs, he s so muddled-like," he con 
 cluded, with a guilty air. 
 
 The telegraph operator went to the outer 
 door, opened it, and gazed over the vague white 
 ness of the plain, lighted by a crescent moon. 
 "I can just see him," he called back. "I wish 
 that we hadn t let him go. Like s not he hasn t 
 a stick of wood or coal in when he gets home 
 and he s old. Poor devil !" A sharp call, rapidly 
 repeated, of his office, came insistently, and he 
 hastened to the key. 
 
 "It s a shame those army officers who knew 
 Old Bill couldn t look after him!" The drum 
 mer was indignant. 
 
 "Oh, you know how tis with army folks!" 
 excused the trader, easily. "I seen in some paper 
 that the Colonel died soon after he left here ; an 
 the res jes nachally scattered. The kids were 
 too small to remember a doty private, o course." 
 
 "You re out of luck," interrupted the tele 
 graph operator, again coming to the waiting- 
 room. "A special s out, and everything s side 
 tracked for it regular No. 4, and all. Some 
 high mucky-mucks evidently. The wire isn t 
 working very well, and I couldn t make out ex 
 actly ; but I understood that they re to stop here." 
 
 "For water, perhaps," suggested the trader. 
 
 "Likely," was the noncommittal reply. 
 
 "I m a little late a little late," Old Bill 
 muttered as he neared the dark line of trees and 
 
 288 
 
Old Bill s Aickutird Squad 
 
 the still darker shadows of the abandoned post 
 He breathed heavily as he tried to hasten, and 
 his shadow wavered grotesquely in the waning 
 moonlight, as he walked against the wind. The 
 big fur coat made his thin legs look even more 
 thin. "Taps blowed !" he exclaimed, feebly. "But 
 how the lights are shinin over on officers row !" 
 The moonlight struck glancingly on the broken 
 window-panes of the buildings, as he continued : 
 "An look at the gym lighted from suller to gar 
 ret! There ll be dancin there til mornin , I m 
 thinkin !" 
 
 After Old Bill entered what had once been 
 the general ward of the hospital, he built a rous 
 ing fire of driftwood, and the rusty stove glowed 
 red. He seated himself contentedly and began 
 to arrange sundry small packages on the pine 
 table. "I m not late, after all," he said, as he 
 glanced around. "No one here yit!" 
 
 The walk and the keen air had made him 
 sleepy. He drowsed, and the fire burned low. 
 The door opening into the hall, hanging loosely 
 on its creaking hinges, swung open in the draught 
 and the noise aroused him. 
 
 "I m right here, ma am!" he said, apologeti 
 cally, as he rose hastily and saluted. "I didn t 
 hear yer knock. Sweet s a picter ye look, J f ye ll 
 scuse me sayin so. An here s Bobbie! Grows 
 more like his pa every day he lives the breath- 
 in image!" He bustled around, straightening 
 the ragged table cover, and setting his solitary 
 chair near the stove for his imaginary visitors. 
 "The Colonel s waitin fer ye outside, d ye say? 
 
 289 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Very well. Don t worry bout Bobbie. Wy, 
 he s mos nine, ain t ye, Bobbie? Ye ll be safe 
 with Old Bill, won t ye? We ll have a drill, d ye 
 say? Sure! I ll put ye through yer steps, never 
 ye fear!" Then Old Bill held the door as wide 
 as in the days when he escorted his colonel s wife 
 to the steps, and he bowed as low. Returning 
 to the room he smiled at the vision of a curly- 
 haired boy, and stirred up the dying embers in 
 the stove, a few sparks responding brightly. 
 There was no more wood. 
 
 "Look what a gran fire we ve got to-night, 
 Bobbie!" said the old soldier, briskly. "The 
 striker didn t bring in much wood, but this ll do. 
 It s drefful cold w en all that blaze don t warm 
 the ward, ain t it, eh?" He shivered, uncontrolla 
 bly. "Run, lad! Open the door! There s a 
 knock!" The door swung open once more, for 
 the wind was increasing, and a swirl of dust 
 from unswept halls rushed in. "There ye re, 
 chil en a hull raft of ye! Come in! come in! 
 Clara, yer ma s fixed ye up like ye was goin 
 to the hop, stid o comin to stay with Old Bill ! 
 Henry, stop lookin an peekin into them pack 
 ages! John Hancock, git off n the cot! Come 
 here, Angel Child! An f I live, f here ain t 
 baby! Never come to see me before! Don t be 
 scared of Old Bill! I won t hurt ye!" 
 
 Tire old soldier walked to one of the high, 
 UP. curtained windows, his arms bent as though 
 holding an infant. "Look, baby! yer ma s right 
 over there, a-dancin ! Ye ll be there fore many 
 years, breakin all the young officers hearts, 
 
 290 
 
Old />/// * .\irkirnnl X 
 
 same s nut did fore she married pa!" The de 
 serted gymnasium loomed dark ami forbidding 
 across the bleak road, except where the Hashing 
 star! iuli i struck the few remaining window- 
 panes. A lonely coyote howled mournfully, his 
 nose uplifted to the heavens. "Hear the fiddles, 
 chil en?" Hill inquired. Crowd up clost to me 
 an ye ll hear an see. Money Musk! as I m 
 alive!" He jigged rheumatically, and pressed 
 Ills face eagerly to the window. "See yer pa, 
 Bobbie? Ain t he grand! Now scamper back 
 to the fire, all o ye!" 
 
 The old man rambled on. Now he lifted one 
 visionary form to his knee as he sat in his rick 
 ety chair, then another. He told stories; he 
 (hided one for crowding and stroked the curls 
 of a shadowy form as his fancies prompted. He 
 folded the buffalo coat, and, thinking that it was 
 the baby, laid it on his narrow bed and tucked 
 the worn army blanket tenderly around it. He 
 wandered restlessly from the stove to the win 
 dow ; from the door to the cot, and, as the night 
 \\nre on, he again slept, with hands stretched 
 toward the empty stove. A timber wolfs cry 
 woke him, and he rose stiffly. 
 
 "I know, Bobbie, I know ! Yes, it s cold. 1 
 mus liven ye up. Henry, tuck in the baby. 
 Hark! How plain we c n hear them fiddles! 
 They re plavin //o/y/r N//v r/ Home! That s al 
 ways the las wait/ hear it? There s no-o place 
 like ho-o-me!" He sung the line with quaver 
 ing, broken tones. "Now, les have our drill! 
 We ve been dre ffly slow. Don t make much 
 
 201 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 noise, boys, or ye ll wake the baby!" The wind 
 shrieked as it swept around the corner of the 
 building, and Old Bill frowned.. "There, you ve 
 woke her! Quit yer cryin , baby, an I ll hoi ye 
 while the res drill; an ye can be a part o the 
 awkward squad." He straightened himself with 
 painful effort. 
 
 "Squad!" he said, in a clear, full voice, "At 
 tention ! Fours right ! March !" The order was 
 given commandingly. The numbness of cold, the 
 stiffness of age, the quaver of palsy, were gone. 
 Once more Old Bill was young, drilling his lit 
 tle company of children long since grown to 
 man-and womanhood. 
 
 "Squad, halt ! About face ! Forward, march! 
 Bobbie, the guide is right! Squad, halt! Yer 
 feet s cold, d ye say, Henry? So s mine! John 
 Hancock, don t ye step on Clara s heels agin! 
 Eight, dress! Front, right face! You, Angel 
 Child, ye ve faced wrong ! P raps ye re too young 
 to know right from left. I ll show ye." 
 
 Sleighbells sounded ; but he did not heed. A 
 rap came, but he heard it not. The door opened, 
 this time by human hands, and a man in a long 
 military cloak looked expectantly into the ward, 
 lighted only by the star and frost-gleam. The 
 moon had set. The candle had burned out, The 
 fire was long dead. 
 
 "And this is Old Bill !" began the new-comer, 
 heartily, as he saw the dim outline of the lonely 
 figure. But the storekeeper, behind, pulled him 
 back, hastily. He whispered, cautiously: 
 
 292 
 
Old Bill s Awkward Squad 
 
 "Hadn t we best not be too abrupt, Captain? 
 The old man s imaginin somethin . I m feared 
 f we speak too sudden, an he sees who ye are 
 (to think little Bobbie s grown to this so like 
 his father!) he ll not only be doty, but he ll sta/y 
 so, which he ain t all the time now." 
 
 "You re right!" assented the captain, taking 
 the hand of a small boy in his and stepping just 
 inside the door. The child, with wide eyes, look 
 ed around, curious and not a little afraid of the 
 gloom. 
 
 "Yes, that s Old Bill, Bobbie," the Captain 
 answered his son s whispered question, "of whom 
 mama and grandma have told you so often. By 
 jove!" he turned to the trader, "Bill thinks that 
 he s drilling his old awkward squad! Listen to 
 his commands! Poor old fellow! I don t see 
 how we got the notion that he was dead. Clara 
 heard something of this, somehow; and nothing 
 would do but we should stop to-night to inquire, 
 although we re hurrying on special orders to 
 Washington. I ve just returned from five years 
 in the Philippines, you know," he explained, 
 parenthetically. 
 
 "Yer wife ain t changed a mite, sense she 
 was here," put in the storekeeper. 
 
 "Clara wanted to come in the sleigh, too, but 
 I persuaded her fo stay in the car while the regu 
 lar passed us here." 
 
 In the meantime, Old Bill had been going on 
 with his drill. The whole scene had taken but 
 a few seconds. The Captain felt that he could 
 
 293 
 
TiUicuni Tales 
 
 look no longer. Action ! He was too much like 
 his father to await events. 
 
 "I ve got to do something!" he exclaimed, 
 his eyes moist. "It s too pitiful. I m so glad 
 that we inquired! I ll see that he s looked 
 after Say ! I know how we ll rouse him with 
 out danger. Bobbie, old boy, Old Bill s playing 
 that he s drilling mama and me, just as he used 
 to. Don t you want to fall in and do as he says, 
 as you have so often played with me?" 
 
 The upright little figure took a step forward, 
 as Old Bill called out to his shadowy awkward 
 squad : 
 
 "Mark time, march!" Bobbie fell in as a 
 dancer catches the swing of a waltz. Bill s foot 
 beat time heavily. With the gravity of half-fear, 
 little Bobbie held his form erect, rigid. 
 
 "It s tragic !" whispered the captain. "Just 
 so we followed Bill s every move ! How gray his 
 face is! Bobbie," he whispered, "tell Old Bill 
 you re tired." 
 
 "I m sure a-goin to stop this torn-foolish 
 ness!" broke out the trader, forgetting his pre 
 vious caution. "I can t stand for it no longer! 
 I had no idee he was a-freezin down here! I 
 can t never forgive myself!" He spoke louder 
 than lie thought. 
 
 "I m tired, Bill," said little Bobbie. 
 
 "Tired? All right, we ll stop. Why!" he 
 looked at the men in the door, "there s yer pa. 
 So the hop s over, Colonel? Jes watch em drill 
 a minute it ll s prise ye, how well they do! No\v 
 chiPen, fall in, fer the las time! Squad, atten- 
 
 294 
 
Old 7>//r.v Airlciriinl S 
 
 tion! Forward, nutrrli! < Juide right! To the 
 rear, march! Squad, halt! About face! Rest!" 
 As the closing order was given Old Hill stag 
 gered and rubbed his chilled hands. "The squad s 
 improvin , Colonel:" Captain Bobbie nodded. 
 Words came hard just then. "Tell Old Hill, Bob 
 bie, that he s to come with us/ he whispered. 
 "Tell him that mama and grandma waul him to 
 come." The lad stepped to the veteran s side. 
 
 "Hill," he be^an, timidly. Bill looked at 
 small Bobbie and around the room. His head 
 began to shake, and memory revived. He was 
 dazed, irresolute. 
 
 "Where s the res o the awkward squad, Bob 
 bie? I thought I thought 
 
 The child s soft voice interrupted, and he 
 pluckily repeated what his father had suggested. 
 
 "What s thai?" asked Old Bill, half compre 
 hending. "Ho home with you? To live? Don t 
 ye live h"i The past and the present were 
 
 irrevocably mingled. "No, I remember, ye went 
 away long ago. I can t leave. What d the 
 Colonel s lady say if I deserted?" 
 
 The* Colonel s grandchild stood at a loss for 
 word*, but nulled at the faded sleeve of blue. 
 Th" Cn onel s son, Captain Bobbie, put in per 
 suasively: 
 
 "What if the Colonel s lady sent for you?" 
 
 "Did she?" The old man was stern. 
 
 "If grandma knew that you were here, cold 
 and lonely, she d come for you herself," cried 
 little Bobbie, bursting into tears. "Oh Bill, 
 please come!" 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 Old Bill hesitated, then he lifted his head 
 feebly, shook back his thin white hair, took little 
 Bobbie s hand and walked toward the waiting 
 men. 
 
 "All right, Bobbie! >F the Colonel s lady s 
 sent fer me I ll go. Why, Colonel," he inter 
 rupted himself, with a look beyond and above his 
 hearers at a vision that made him give for the 
 last time the old salute, "have you come fer 
 me?" 
 
 296 
 
The Burglar s Dilemma 
 
 BY 
 WILLIAM DOUGLAS JOHNS 
 
The Burglar s 
 Dilemma 
 
 This satire is dedicated to the Seattle Writers Club 
 and directed toward the great reading public who view 
 and criticise literature from their individual and conven 
 tional ideas of what Life should be not as it really is. 
 
 HAT S the matter, Joe?" said I. "Out 
 with it. Maybe I can help you. You 
 fc nmv I m safe." 
 
 Joe looked around as a matter of habit before 
 lie answered ; though we were in a cozy back room 
 in a quiet part of town, that the police, even, 
 had never dropped on to. And then he said : 
 
 "I wern t goin to say anythin about it, Bill, 
 but bein as yer were a college sharp afore you 
 took to burglin and has come up from the bot 
 tom to be the envy of the perfesh, perhaps you 
 kin give me some help out n your wide experi 
 ence." 
 
 "Out with it," said I. 
 
 "Well," says Joe, "vou see I belongs to a Bur 
 glars Club." 
 
 "What!" said I, nearly jumping out of my 
 chair, "a Burglars Club!" and I looked at Joe a 
 trifle dubiously. He had been acting queer, 
 lately. 
 
 1 !)!) 
 
Tiltioum Tales 
 
 "Well, it s this way," said Joe, "it s a new 
 thing." 
 
 ("I should say so," said I) "and I was inter- 
 juiced a while back by a friend ; it s composed of 
 professionals and comin ametoors who wants to 
 increase their knowledge o burglin as a profes 
 sion and likewise the profits of the same; least 
 ways that s wot he told me; and I ve attended 
 several mee tin s. 
 
 "At each meetin which is held reglar once 
 every two weeks, ceptin when some of the leadin 
 members has pressin engagements they can t es 
 cape from, or bail ain t a-comin some member 
 tells o some job he done how he done it and, 
 if he s so minded, how much swag he got and 
 what he done with it. Then every one tells 
 what he thinks o the job how it could a been 
 done better and how they d a done it. You see 
 that s wot it s done for to make em all wise." 
 
 "Well, I m dashed," said I, "how does it 
 work?" 
 
 "That s wot s a worryin me," said Joe ; "you 
 see there s some on em that does their jobs pretty 
 much alike, and they jumps on any one as does 
 his n different. There s Reckless Tom you 
 know when he sees anythin that looks good to 
 him he ll go after it in a hurry and mostly lands 
 the stuff. 
 
 "He was going by a house not long back, in 
 the evenin an seein it had a deserted look 
 you know a feller can smell them things some 
 times gave a look around, saw nuthin alarm- 
 in , walked up to the door, tried it and walked 
 
 300 
 
The Burglar s Dilemma 
 
 right in. Takin a bit o candle he had in his 
 pocket, he lit it, shaded it with a brass bowl in 
 the brickerbrack and started exploring findin 
 the people must ha left in a rush, fur a lot o 
 close was scattered about. 
 
 "He noses aroun and finds a lot of vallyble 
 joolry hidden away and some other stuff. He 
 cleans it up and walks out. It looks queer to 
 him, but he axes no questions in the neighbor 
 hood just makes his gitaway good. 
 
 "And what do you think they jumps on him 
 hard when he tells of it. That was no profes 
 sional work at all he hadn t piped off the 
 house had no idea of it before he went in he 
 orter had a lookout to give him warnin in case 
 o trouble he hadn t no dark lantern nor a 
 jimmy. It just makes me weary to think o all 
 they said he orter a done to a done it right ; and 
 Mm a gettvn auxiy with the swag! a bunch 
 that ll keep him a-goin fur quite a time. 
 
 "Then Smooth Sam, he tells how one of the 
 housemaids who he keeps a-stringin tells him o 
 a woman that had a lot of joolry that she thought 
 so much of she kep it in her bedroom with her 
 nights; seemed like she couldn t be away from it 
 and woke up nights to look at it. Seems that 
 some of it was bought fer her by a lover who 
 went to South Ameriky to make his fortoon and 
 died afore he could come home ; this was sent her 
 cordin to his direckshuns. Her housemaid had 
 told Smooth Sam s mash all about it; and only 
 two servants in the house. O course Sam gets 
 acquainted with the maid, lets on he s goin to 
 
 301 
 
TilUcum Talcs 
 
 marry her and finds out the whole plant. He 
 makes a key to the back door, from the one his 
 mash uses stays late one night and slips into a 
 back entry, instead o goin home and arter she s 
 asleep, unlocks the door, goes up stairs and hears 
 the lady talk in to her jools, and how she loved 
 the man what bought em for her, and how the} 7 
 was such a comfort, as they showed he was dead 
 stuck on her, too. 
 
 "When she went to sleep, he jes goes in and 
 picks em up no trouble at all and makes an 
 easy gitaway; there was a good bunch o money, 
 too. Did he get the glad hand not much! They 
 ripped him up and down and sideways. Same 
 old howl twarn t according to rooles. 
 
 "But that warn t the worst. One feller that 
 has a wife and kids and goes to meetin and al 
 ways gives somethin outen every haul to the 
 church, gave it to him hard fur takin the jools 
 that \vur sent her by her dead lover, and fur 
 spendin it scandlous; for Sam, you know, gets 
 gay when he can, an he takes a pal and their 
 two girls and makes a lively trip to New Orleans 
 and takes in the Mardy Grass. Think o that 
 talk in our profesh ! 
 
 "An another guy that is gone on a girl what s 
 givin him de double cross for a bartender tho 
 he don t know it hands him a solar plexus for 
 deceivin the housemaid an play in on her affec 
 tions. Wot s the deceivin o housemaids got to 
 do with makin burglin a go, I d like to know? 
 
 "Honest, Bill, it keeps me guessin as to where 
 some o them mutts has been a hidin therselves 
 
 302 
 
Tin- Hnriitnr x /)ilrmnni 
 
 from i he world, since they cut loose from their 
 mummies. Think o em gixin that kind o talk 
 \\Vn all xv e gets out <> life is the gay times we 
 have w en we make a raise! And this, w en the 
 club is fur givin new members a straight lip as 
 ter the best way o burglin and gettin away 
 with the stuit which is the proof of a fellers 
 makin good. 
 
 "Now wot s a worryin me is what I m a-goiu 
 to do, for its my time, soon, to give em a spiel 
 you know Hill, I m a little quick act-in some 
 times, and when some one onexpectedly gets in 
 my way, they sometimes meets xvith an accident; 
 it s all in the business, you know you ve been 
 there, I m told now, I m askirf no questions 
 Mill just inentionin it to show you I feel you 
 can understand how things are. Well, if I was 
 to tell any little thing like that, they would some 
 on em have a fit, instead o pointin out how I 
 could a done a slicker job. It ain t right and I 
 don t know what to do. If I go an try to do a 
 job their way instid o my own, I m dead sure to 
 get pinched, and if I tell them my way o doin 
 they w r ill pound me up had. 
 
 "Now, you have a long head on yer shoulders, 
 Bill, and mavbe vou can tell me how to climb 
 out." 
 
 "Quit them," said I, "they are running in a 
 groove, and don t know a thing out of their spe 
 cial lines." 
 
 "Oh! but they do, some on em," said Joe. 
 "They re a bright bunch in lots o ways; but 
 you re right about their runniif in the short 
 
 303 
 
Tilllcum Tales 
 
 track an never gittin by the grand stand. Then 
 I like em," said Joe, "an I like to hear em ; it s 
 enlighten in in some ways. What I wants to 
 know is, how to play their game without gettin 
 the worst of it." 
 
 "Well, Joe," said I, "it s a hard one to crack. 
 I don t want to see you get into trouble, and I see 
 it coming both ways. You must not get pinched, 
 and about the hardest thing I know of is to edu 
 cate people out of something they are dead stuck 
 on and think they know all about. I hardly 
 know what to advise you, old man." We smoked 
 awhile in silence, drinking our beer and think 
 ing it over. 
 
 "Don t they know any better, Joe, or are they 
 just talking because they don t want to go 
 against the crowd for fear they will think they 
 don t have the right hunch?" 
 
 "Blow me, if I know," said Joe. "Some 
 times I think they don t come out and stand by 
 burglin as it is, as they ot to, an then, agin, 
 they seem too straight for anythin like that." 
 
 "Don t they know anything about the big 
 guns and the way they do their jobs," said I. 
 
 "That s it," said Joe, "they must have heard 
 ev n if they don t know em. A bright bunch 
 like that and not know wot s agoin on; sure they 
 must. And them a meetin to improve their 
 burglin an a cuttin the real thing when there s 
 somebody hurt, or a guy tumbles to a new rig, or 
 raisin a howl w en a feller spends his money 
 fer things he sure wants. Wy, there wouldn t be 
 no life er joy in the perfession at all, if some on 
 
 304 
 
The llui tlar s Dilemma 
 
 cm had their way: Wy some on em seems to 
 think thai it they gives up part of the swag to 
 the church it squares the whole thing; makes all 
 they done before O. K. ; seems to really believe it. 
 I d hate to go before the Big Judge wid that talk 
 I sure would." 
 
 "Human nature is a queer thing, Joe," said 
 I, "and its inconsistencies are like turtles tails 
 the turtle can never see them." 
 
 "Lucky thing for em," growled Joe, "some 
 on em ain t hansum." 
 
 "But they help make fine soup in the hands 
 of a good cook, Joe." 
 
 Maybe," said Joe, "but yer gettin away from 
 me; yer always do w en yer commence preach in ; 
 a lift is what I m lookin for. 
 
 "But I know what I m a-goin to do. I m a- 
 goin to give em the straight tip on some kinds 
 o burglin that they don t seem to know about, 
 or if they do, don t seem to think ought to be told 
 of. Burglin is burglin and if we are goin to 
 si mly it, we want to study it as it s done, and not 
 as some o em thinks it orter be. We ain t no 
 Sunday school." 
 
 "Stand by it, Joe," said I. "They ran t 
 more than skin you and you will know more after 
 it s over." 
 
 I am waiting with much curiosity to hear 
 from Joe after he gives them the "straight tip." 
 If I had not been advised that strict seclusion is 
 necessary at this time for my health, I would 
 like to attend. I have an idea the meeting thai 
 
 305 
 
Tillicum Tales 
 
 night will be interesting. They won t "squeal" 
 on him, because of the way he does business 
 that wouldn t be professional but after they 
 give him the hot mit for his methods they may 
 give him the marble hand and the icy stare on 
 account of his morals. This is a strange world, 
 gentlemen. I d like to be there. 
 
 306 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
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 This book is due on the last date stamped below, 
 
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 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
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 DEC -8 1958 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 58 UriS^gSU. 
 
YB 398GO 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY