FrfaUtM I89S OI<U»t D»;b ia AUA»
OFFICIAL CITY PAPER
L> S> Keller, Publisher.
Admitted u wcood claet nail
matter Julj X, 1393, at tb« Ska*
**J P. o,
Tbe Daily Alukaa c7TarK«a for
•!1 pnbllcatlan® not aollclted. whleb
include* ail notice®, other than
eburoke* or charltabU iodetle*.
Snbariptta Rate*
One mouth by mail t *76
moatl t>y earrle 100
I'hrree montXj by mail 2-26
s\i molt* &7 *"Q 4 60
:>n# year by maii 9-00
S itxurlptJonj And Advertisements
Bcceited By
Henaett New* Oo., Wbiteborse, T. T
K. B. Uldeoa Carcro». Y. T.
Bj. L. Pliiman Atlla» B. C.
SILCIIIIET COUNTRY HIS POSSIBILITIES
uie gprinfftime the Alaska sour
uouyh proa*** wr s tancy invariably
i-rus lo thouguts or tae eiu&ive pay
atix'at— lua lift begin to itch and,
iuds • x by tti.0 quiet, businesslike
pi eparutioua which have been going
tu around town the past couple of
»tek$ ainoug which, could be noted
innuy sLi;as, ia&catious and, activ
itfS which '"-rw peculiar to Fairbanks
at :us: about Uiia tune of the year,
when old Sol be®inj> to dimb and
thaw everything and everybcdy out,
such as getting together of dog teai
outfits lu which picks, shovels, wind
i-»vs ropes. etc., were ia evidence, aal
ol which, taken ia connection with
irequeue trips of dog t'-anip to and
iro between nertj and the fc>*'li'haket
would oblige an old1-timer to fe.l eer
taiu that the near-by and accessible
i'.ld-l>earu:jj district «a& surely mkiu
due ior considerable prospecting, no
t» aieuiwn all of the i<jveiopmeut
which ha* buen steadily prtgressing
ui! there under the hands o< the old
tuners who have stayui with liie
section. , .
Evidently this renewed activity is
lb*, result of the recent stampede to
tna section. Of course the returning
»t'*:uueders reported that nothing
uu;j been found to justify a gtam
pe-le. ior when the first statupeders
^rrntd on the scene of the suppos
e 4 "s'riKe which waa going to make
a camp" ail they found' wag three
u.u-timer^ — L«arSOu, Herschber
g--r and Williams—quietly and in
uustrially digging, and the surprise
waa mutual. But evidently many of
tti ■ staiiapfiiurs were muoh impresse
i>_. the possibilities of the countless
tint looking crviks. practically ajl o
«iilch are known to be gold-bearing
as viewtii by their, experienced eyes,
Jivm Hie low riilKtis which di
vide th0 .-akhaket an<l the Shaw
• ivers.
'Ihe old S^lchaket country has a
far better showing, as fa«r as a gold
camp making in Alaska goeg than
hu«i Fairbanks or the Tolova.na or
several other camps of the north
which have made good by stampedes
aii«i It also has many advantages,
oriucpal among whiun aj-^its nearby
supply noints and its shallow groua
itj pretty safe to say* that its a poor
stampede that bodes no good. Ob
viously the latest one to this Proiuis
In r field, though small in compar
ison to the other stampedes which
took t»iace from Fairbanks to that
section since the early days, it nev
ertheless has "started 60m«thln"—
arcusec liuertgt ana renewed in
terest in many old:
timers at present here and) wlsewhei
1q Alaska who took part ia soma of
t> i aforesaid stampedes •when only
rli-h like dear}* creek, wt^hi' r
ceiva attention and when only §6-per
tfcial trospectiag waa done. Th.a
systematic maimer in which those
thre» typical Alaska sourdoughs are
xoiuy about their prospecting at the
head of the Salchaket and the Shaw
livers is surely deserving of a pay
streak. Anyway, such co-opera-tioin
and thoroughness# ip bound to get
definite results one way or the oth
er. So tUcen all ia all,though dis
tant pasture^ always! look green,
th»t section ia about as good a pros
pecting bet as can be found any
whee it the North. It would occ&s
Ion no surprise" among old-timers.
If this same ol<i "Salchaket country"
ia the near future attains the digni
ty of a camp. You never can tell.—
Fairoanks Citizen. i
_ . *£L
THE UGtlT
INTHE BLEARING"
A TALE OF THE NORTH COUNTRY
? IN THE TIME OF SILAS WIGHT
IRVING. BACHELLEFw
Aim** of
- v: v' . (SEN HOLDER D1H AND U CARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLE*,
.OBN) W VITH UZZJE, ETC. ETC
• . comiaHi xiwTroWT.TMnx nvma uattim
synopsis. ,
CHAPTER I—Etarton Baylies, orphan,
Is taken to live ivlth hla uncle, Peabody
Baynes, and his .Aunt Deel on a farm on
Rattleroad in a neighborhood called Llck
ltyaptlt, about the year 1824. Barton meets
Sally Dunkelberg, about his own age, but
socially of a cluj'S above the Bayneaes,
and Is fascinated by the pretty face
and fine clothes.
CHAPTER IJ.-Barton meets Roving
Kate, known la 1,19 neighborhood as the
"Silent Woman.'' Amos Grlmshaw, young
son of the richest man In the township, i
Is a visitor at the Baynes home, and
Roving Kate tells the, fortunes of the two [
boys, predicting » bright future for Bar- |
ton and death Cn the gallows for Amos. I
Reproved for a'1 act of boyish mischief |
Barton runs aw<lV' intending to make his i
home with the Dunkelbergs. He reaches
the village of Canton and falls into a
sleep of exhaut tl°n o?, a porch. There
he Is found by Silas W right, Jr.. promi
nent man In put1'"-' affair, who, knowing
Peabody Baynej1- takes Barton home af
ter buying him new clothes.
CHAPTER IXI-—Barton and his uncle
and aunt visit Canton and hear Silas i
Wright read a sermon.
CHAPTFR J V—SI'as Wright evinces j
much Interest lr1 Bar<on. and ?®nds a box I
of books and n'^pzln«3 t° ,B£;n?5
hornet The elo-tlon ot 8 Iaa Wright to
tha United States senate Is announced.
CHAPTER v.—Wien Barton Is twelve I
years' old he b*omes awar? ot the ex- I
lstence of a w^cd?Jjul and mysterious
power known "3 'Money." and learns
now through hi* 'i0836?31?,? of that won
derful thing Grt"sha" 's the most power
ful and greatly dreaded man In the com
munity, most of. |i® settlers being In his
debt. After a vlslt t0 the Baynes ^ome
Mr. Wright leav*8 » note in a seal en
velope. which Bar„ton. 19 t0 ;ead tha
first night when he leave» honi at"
tend school.
CHAPTER vn~Now 'n sixteenth
year Barton acct'mp4-11'68 "Mr. Purvis,"
the hired man. to'.'"0 Postofflce at Can
ton. On the way they meet a rider, and
the thres Journe? .together. They are
held up by a man ,wlt° a P1"- w^° makes
the highwayman.3,, demand of Your
money or your lile' Purvis runs away,
while the stranger drawB a pistol, but be
fore he can use il the robber shoots and ,
kills him. Baru"8 horse throws him
and runs away. the murderer bends !
over the stranger Barton throws a stone
which he observe* wounds the thief, who
makes ofT at one" hut not until Barton
had noted that hi8 KUn 8,°<* was broken
in a peculiar mi."ner-.. Search of the
neighborhood for the robber Is unavailing
and the stranger ^ hurled.
CHAPTER VIII—Barton leaves home to
attend Michael Hacket's school. Amos
Or!mshaw is arrJsted charged with the
murder of the stranger.
CHAPTER IX—Grlmshaw seeks to
bribe Barton to he Bllent about his
wounding the mu.'derer of the man killed
on the road. The offer Is spurned.
criAr-TER X-Z-'mUsuries of Ben Grlm
shaw seek to kidnap Barton, or do worse.
He Is warned by "Silent Kate." and es
capes.
CHAPTER XI—Uncle Peabody, Aunt
Deel and the neighbors celebrated Christ- .
mas. "Old Kate" Is one of the^party. I
CHAPTER XII- -Barton and Sally Dun
kelberg formally pledge their troth.
CHAPTER XIII—Old Kate's silent but
unrelenting pursuit of Old Ben Grlmshaw
has Its effect, ard goaded beyond endur
ance, Grlmshaw dies as the "Silent Wom
an" points at him.
CHAPTER XIV— Barton gets a letter
from "Roving Kate" which heartens him
Immensely, although at the time he
doesn't understand It.
The shadows were long when I got
! to Canterbury. At the head of Its
I tnain street I looked down upon a vil
lage green and some fine old elms. It
was a singularly quiet place. I stopped
In front of a big white meeting house.
An old man was mowing In its grave
yard near the highway. Slowly he
swung his scythe.
"Do you know where Kate Fullerton
lives?" I asked.
"Well, It's purty likely that I do," he
answered as he stood resting on his
scath. "I've lived seventy-two years
on this hill come the fourteenth day o'
June, an* if I didn't know where she
lived I'd be 'shamed of It. Do you see
that big house down there In the
trees?"
I could see the place at which he
pointed far back from the village street
in the valley below us, the house near
ly hidden by tall evergreens.
"Yes," I answered.
"Wul, that's the Squire Fullerton
place—he's Kate's father."
"Does the squire live there?"
"No, sir—not eggzac'ly. He's dyln'
there—been dyln' there for two year
er more. By gosh! It's wonderful how
hard 'tis fer some folks to quit breath
In'. Say, be you any o' his family?"
"No."
"Nor no friend o'his?" "T~j
"No r
"Course not. He never had a friend
in his life—too meant He's too mean
to die, mister—too mean fer hell an' I
wouldn't wonder—honest, I wouldn't—
mebbe that's why God Is keepin' him
here—Jest to meller him up a little,
j Say. mister, be you In a hurry?"
| "No."
I "Say, hitch yer hoss an' come in
here. I want to show ye suthin'."
I dismounted and hitched my horse
tcr the fence and followed him Into the
old churchyard, between weather
stained mossy headstones and graves
overgrown with wild roses. Near the
far end of these thick-sown acres he
stopped.
"Here's where the buryln* begun."
said my guide. "The first hole In the
j bill was dug for a Fullerton."
| There were many small monuments
and slabs of marble—some spotted
^ith lichens and all in commemoration
01 departed x uneriuus. _ , i
"Say, look a' that," said my guide as
he pulled aside the stem of a leafy
brier red with roses. "Jest read that,
mister."
My keen eyes slowly spelled out the
time-worn words on a slab of stained
marble:
Sacred to the memory of
Katherlne Fullerton
17S7-1806
"Proclaim his Word In every place
That they are dead who fall from grace."
A dark shadow fell upon the house
of my soul and I heard a loud rapping
at Its door which confused me until,
looking out, I saw the strange truth of
the matter. Rose leaves and blossoms
seamed to be trying to hide It with
their beauty, but in vain.
"I understand." I said.
"No ye don't. Leastways I don't be
lieve ye do—not correct. Squire Ful
lerton dug a grave here an' had an
empty coffin put Into It away back in
1806. It means that he wanted every
body to understan" that his girl was
Jest the same as dead to him an' to
God. Say, he knew all about God's
wishes—that man. Gosh! He has
sent more folks to bell than there are
In it. I guess. Say. mister, do ye know
why he sent her there?"
I shook my bead.
"Yis ye do, too. It's the same ol'
thing that's been sendin* women to
hell ever since the world begun. Ye
know hell must 'a' been the invention
of a man—that's sartln—an' it was
mostly fer women an' children—that's
sartiuer—an* fer all the men that
didn't agree with him. Set down here
an I'll tell ye the hull story. My day's
work is done."
We sat down together and he went
on as follows:
"Pld ye ever see Kate Fullerton?"
"Yes."
"So ye didn't, nuther. Yer too young.
Mebbe ye seen her when she was old
an' broke down, but that wa'n't Kate
—no more'u I'm Bill Tweedy, which 1
ain't. Kate was as handsome us a
golden robin. Huir yeller as his breast
an' feet as spry as his wings an' a
voice as sweet as his song, an' eyes as
bright as his'n—yis, sir—ye couldn't
beat her fer looks. That was years
and years ago. Her mother died when
KiKe was ten year old—there's her
grave In there with the sickle an' the
sheaf an' the portry on it. That was j
unfort'nit an' no mistake. Course the j
squire married ag'In but the new wife |
wa'n't no kind of a mother to the girl, j
an' you know, mister, mere was a
young scoundrel here by the name o'
Grimshaw. His father was a rich man
—owned the cooper shop an' the saw
mill an' the tannery an' a lot o' cleared
land down In the valley. He kep' com
p'ny with her fer two or three year.
Then all of a sudden folks began to
talk—the women in partlc'lar. Ye
know men invented hell an' women
keep up the fire. Kate didn't look right
to 'em. Fust we knew, young Grlm
shuw had dropped her an' was keepin'
comp'ny with another gal—yis, sir. Do
ye know why?"
Before I could answer he went on:
"No ve don't—leastways I don't be
lieve ye do. It was 'cause her father
was rlcher'n the squire an' had prom
ised his gnl ten thousan' dollars the
day she was married. All of a sud
den Kate disappeared. We didn't know
fhut had happened fer a long time.
"One day the oi' squire got me to dig
tiiis grave an' put up the headstone an'
then he toi' me the story. He turned
the poor gai out o' doors. God o'
Israel! It was in the night—yis, sir
It was in the night that he sent her
away. Goldarn him! He didn't have
no more heart than a grasshopper—no,
sir—not a bit. I could 'a' brained him
with my shovel, but I didn't.
"I found out where the gal had gone
an' I follered her—yis I did—found
her in the poorhouse way over on
Pussley Hill—uh huh! She jes' put
her arms 'round my neck an' cried an'
cried. I guess 'twas 'cause I looked
kind o' friendly—uh huh! I toi' hef
she should come right over to our
house an' stay Jest as long as she
wanted to as soon as she got well—
yis, sir, I did.
"She was sick all summer long—
kind o' out o' her head, ye know, an' I
used to go over hossback an' take
things fer her to eat. An' one day
when I was over there tliey was won
derin' what they was goin' to do with
her little baby. I took it in my arms
an' I'll be gol dummed if it didn't grab
hold o' my nose an' hang on like a
puppy to a root. When they tried to
take it away it grabbed Its fingers Into
my whiskers an' hollered like a pan
ther—yis, sir. Wal. ye know I Jes*
fetched that little baby boy home in
my arms, ay uh! My wife scolded me
like Sam Hill—yis, sir—she had five
of her own. I toi' her t was goln' to
take it back in a day er two but after
it had been in the house three days ye
couldn't 'a' pulled it away from her
with a windlass.
"We brought him up an' he was al
WB33 a good boy. We called him '
I Took It in My Arms.
Enoch—Enoch Kone—did ye ever hear
the name?"
" 'No.'
"I didn't think 'twas likely but I'm
alwuss hopln'.
"Early that fall Kate pat better an'
left the poorhouse afoot. Went away
sotnewlieres—nobody knew where.
Some said she'd crossed the lake an'
gone away over Into York state, some
said she'd drowned herself. By'm by
we heard that she'd gone way over
Into St. Lawrence county where Silas
Wright lives an' where young Grim
shaw had settled down after he got
married.
"Wal, 'bout Ave year ago the squire
burled his second wife—there 'tis over
in there back o' Kate's with the little
speckled angel on it. Xobody had seen
the squire outside o' his house for
years until the funeral—he was crip
pled so with rheumatic. After that he
lived all 'lone in the big house with ol'
Tom Linuey an' his wile, who've
worked there for 'bout forty year, I
guess.
"Wal, sir, fust we knew Kate was
there in the house livin' with her fa
ther. We wouldn't 'a' 'mowed It, then,
if it hadn't been that Tom Linney
come over one day an' said lie guessed
the ol' squirt' wanted to see me—no,
sir, we wouldn't—fer the squire ain't
sociable an' the neighbors never dark
en his dour. Shi* must 'a' come in the
night. Jest as she went—nobody see
her go an' nobody see her cotue, an'
that's a fact. Wal. one day las' fall
after the leaves was off an' they could
see a corner o' my house through the
bushes, Tom was walkin' the ol' man
'round the room. All to once he
stopped an' p'iuted at my house
through the winder an' kip' p'lntln'.
Tom come over an' said he ca'llated
the squire wanted to see me. So I
went there. Kate met me at the door.
Gosh! llow old an' kind o' broke down
she looked! But 1 knew her the min
ute I set my eyes on her—uh huh—an'
she knew me—yis, sir—she smiled an'
tears come to her eyes an' she patted
my hand like she wanted to tell me
that she hadn't forgot, but she never
said a word—not a word. The ol'
squire had the palsy, so 't he couldn't
use his hands an' his throat was para
lyzed—couldn't speak nor nothln'.
Where do ye suppose he* was when I
found him?"
"in Dea: • i asKeu.
"No, sir—no, slree! lie was !u hell
—that's where he was—reg'lar ol' fash
ioned, down-en-! hell, hurt.In' with Are
an' brimstun, that he'd had the agency
tor an' had recommended to every sin
•or In the neighborhood. He was set
■>' In bis room. Goii u' Isr'el 1 Yon
orto 'a' seen the motions he made wltH
his hands au' the way he tried to
speak when I Went In there, but ail I
could hear was Jest a long yell an' a
kind of a rattle In his throat. Heavens
an' airth! how desperlt he tried to
spit out the thins that was gnawin'
his vital*. Ag'ln an' ag'in he'd try to
tell me. Lord God! how he did work!"
"All to once it come acrost mp what
he wanted—quick as ye could say scat.
He wanted to have Kate's headstun
took down an' put away—that's what
he wanted. The stun was kind o' lay
in' on his stuminlck an' palniu' of him
c'.ay an' night. He couldn't stan' it.
He knew that he was guin' to die purty
soon an' that Kate would come here
an' see It an' that everybody would
see her standin' here by her own grave,
an' It worried him. It was kind o' like
a Are in his belly.
"I guess, too, he couldn't bear the
Idee of layin' down fer his las' sleep
beside that hell hole he'd dug fer Kate
—no, sir!
"Wal, ye know, mister, I jes' shook
my head an' never let on that I knew
what lie meant an' let him wiggle an'
twist like i\ worm on a hot griddle, an'
beller like a cut bull 'til he fell back in
a swoon.
"Damn him! It don't give him no
rest. He tries to tell everybody he
sees—that's what they say. He bel
Iers day an' night an' if you go down
there he'll beller to you an' you'll know
what it's about, but the others don't.
"You an' me are the only ones that
knows the secret, I guess. Some day,
'fore he dies, I'm goin' to take up that
headstun an' hide It, but he'll never
know It's done—no, sir—not 'til he
gits to the judgment seat, anyway."
The old man rose and straightened
himself and blew out his breath and
brushed his hands upon bis trousers
by way of stepping down into this
world again out of the clcse and dusty
loft of his memory. But I called him
back.
"What has become of Enoch?" I
asked.
"Wal, sir, Enoch started off West
'bout three year ago an' we ain't heard
a word from him since that day—nary
a word, mister. I suppose we will some
t'me. He grew into a good man, but
there was a kind of a queer streak in
the blood, as ye might say, on both
sides kind o\ We're wrote letters out
to Wisconsin, where he was p'lntin'
for, an' to places fin the way, but we
can't git no news 'bout him. Mebbe
he was killed by the Injuns."
We walked out of the graveyard to
gether in silence.
I could see a glimmer of a light in
the thicket of pines down the valley. I
unhitched and mounted my horse.
"Take the first turn to the right,"
said the old man as he picked up his
scythe.
"I'm very much obliged to you," I
said.
"No ye ain't, nuther," he answered.
"Leastways there ain't no reason why
ye should be."
My horse, Impatient as ever to find
the end of the road, hurried me along
and in a moment or two we were down
under the pine grove that surrounded
the house of old Squire Fullerton—a
big, stone house with a graveled road
around It. A great black dog came
barking and growling at me from the
front porch. I rode around the house
and he followed. Beyond the windows
I could see the gleam of candlelight
and moving figures. A man came out
of the back door as I neared it.
"Who's there?" he demanded.
"My name is Barton Baynes from
St. Lawrence county. Kate Fullerton
Is my friend and I wish to see her."
| "Come up to the steps, sor. Don't
git off yer horse—'til I've chained the
dog. Kate'll be out In a minute."
He chained the dog to the hitching
post and as he did so a loud, long,
walling cry broke the silence of the
house. It put me In mind of the com
plaint of the damned which I remein
berod hearing the minister describe
years before at the little schoolhouse
In Llcfeltysplit. How It harrowed me!
The man went into the house. Soon
he came out of the door with a lighted
candle In his hand, a woman following.
How vividly I remember the little mur
mur of delight that carne from her lips
when he held the candle so that its
light fell upon my face! I jumped off
my horse and gave the reins to the
man and put my arms around the poor
woman, whom I loved for her sorrows
and for my debt to her, and rained
kisses upon her withered cheek. Oh
God! what a moment it was for both
of us!
(Continued o» Thursday)
No hill ia so ihigh that it has no
top.**—P. Wiseman.
Many Skagway People Knot*; the
IniportAnc© of Healthy Kidneys.
Tho kidneys filter tho Hood.
They work night an(i day.
WeK kidneys remove impurities.
Weatr kidneys allow Impurities to
multiply.
No kidney 111 snould be neglected.
There is possible danger in delay.
If you have backache or urinary
troubles,
If you are nervous, dizzy or worn
out, '
Benin treating your kidneys at
once;
Use a proven kidney remedy.
None endorsed like Doan's Kidney
PUIS.
Recommended by thousands.
Mrs. Gus Andreas, 243 W. Fifty
eighth St., Seattle, Wash., says:
"Wnat caused my kidneys to get out
of order, I don't know. Across
the small of my back and over my
Kianeys, sharp paws caugnt me an
tlio time. Dizzy spell? annoyed ma
a lot, too, and' I always felt tired
anil languid. I used different kid
ney remedies but wasn't helped
until I used) Doan's Kidney Pills.
In a short time Doan's had re
moved the trouble and I hav«
fine ever since."
Price 60c, at all dealers. Don't
simply ask or a kidney remedy —
get Doan'a Kidney Pills—thQ earns
that Airs. Andreag had'. Foster*
Alilburn Co., Mfgrs., Buffalo, N. Y.
Only One "BIIOMO QUININE"
To ?et the genuine, call for the
full name LAXATIVE BROMO
QUIXINE. Look,for signature of
E. W. GROVE. Cures a Cold in
One Day. 30c. Thu
A remedy for i nfections
23m of the urinary tract.
I 'iunii PainleaB, non-poisonoua
Vzkft' Vj.pT c?d will not stricture
ReUevelin 1 to 5 days.
pn.CE $1.20 Sold By Drnggiots
'i .e . Wi L e-cb botile or mailed on rc*,a««t.
THE EVANS CHEMlCALCo!^ CINCINNATI, 0.
~ — i
White Pass & Yukon Rduts
No. 1. N. Bound
1st Class
9:00 a. m. Leaves
11:25 a. m. K
12:15 p. m. "
1:10 p. m. «•
2:50 p. m. "
5:20 p. m. Arrives
TIME TABLE NO. 42
Thursday and Friday
8KAGWAY Arrives
WHITE PASS Leaves
LOG CABIN "
BENNETT
CAKCROSS "
WHITJEHOItSE "
Passenger# must be at dejwrf In time to have Baggage In
spected and checked. Inspection Is gtopjtod 80 Minutes before
leaving time of trains.
150 pounds of baggage will b? checked free with ©acb full
fare ticket and 75 pounds wltil each half fare ticket.
No. 2. 8. Bound
i st Class
4:20 p. m.
2:50 p. m.
2:00 p. m.
1:20 p. m.
11:18 a. m.
8:30 a. m.
IN THE COfUMNS OF
The Daily Alaskan
V OU will find advertising that bring results
Ask Skagway Merchants
I ut your offerings before the public in a
way that will bring 100 per cent, re
turns.
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