A ROMANCE OF THE BORDER,
fyZNSL GREY
AUTHOR OF.
“THE LIGHT OF WESTERN
STARS"
"RIDERS OF THE PURPLE
SAGE", ETC.
COmiGHT. Jr HARPER ANC JHOTHERJ
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—1» Wcllston, Texas, It
befoim-s with Buckley Duane a cast of
light or run from Cal Bain. Duane kikls
his man and becomes ail outlaw.
CHAPTER II—He meets Luke Stev
ens, an outlaw.
CHAPTER III—Stevens goes in?o the ^
town of Mercer to buy supplies and is
shot by a rancher. Duane buries him.
CHAPTER IV—Duane goes to Bland's
outlaw stronghold In the Riin Rock ami
after shooting iiosomer. who quarrels
with him over Stevens’ death, decides
to stay there. Euchre takes Duane for
a partner and tells him about Bland
the outlaw chief tnd his band.
CHAPTER V—Duane practices gun
throwing and hears more about Blartd
and his gang.
CHAPTER VI—Euchre and Duane
call on Kate. Bland’s wife, and Jennie
a girl whom Benson kidnaped and sold
to Bland.
CHAPTER VII—Euchre and Duane
Tlonspire to take Jennie away. Duano
prevents a wanton murder.
CHAPTER VIII—Mrs. Bland makes
love to Duane and he uses her to fur
ther his plans. Bland returns from a
trip. He asks Duane to Join the hand.
He Is Jealous of Duane and abuses Kate
and Jennie.
CHAPTER TX—Euchre kills Benson,
Is killed by AUoway. Duane kills Allo
way and Bland and escapes, wounded,
with Jennie. In a deserted hut in the
tnesqulte Jennie nurses him.
CHAPTER X—AVhen Duane Is strong
enough they travel out of the Rim Rock
to a rancher’s house, where Duane re
covers. On their way to Shelbyville
Jennie Is carrted off by outlaws while
Duane Is away looking for a strayed
horse.
CHAPTER XT—After vain search for
Jennie, whose abductor he kills. Duane
leads the lone-wolf life for more than
three years, finally getting a message
from Captain McN'elly of the ranger
asking him to come to the captain's
camp after dark.
CHAPTER XTT—The mfSsaRf Is sev
eral times repeated. Duane is chased hv
a lynching party.
CHAPTER X1IT—A price on his head
and accused of murdering a woman
Duane rides Into Shirley to deny the
murder. After a narrow ewoape from
lynching, he proves his Innocence and Is
allowed to go.
CHAPTER XIV—He goes to MeNelly'S
ranger camp. MeNellv offers him par
don and social restoration if ha will
become a ranger and clean out the
Cheseldlne gang In the Big Bend coun
try.
CHAPTER XV—Ruck Duane, ranger
strikes the Big Bend country and be- i
gins work. Cheseldlne Is a mystery, a i
power and a horror to the country.
CHAPTER XVI—Colonel Eongstreth’s !
daughter Ray, and her cousin. Ruth
Herbert, are held up. Duane shoots
one of the rohhers. but Is puzzled by
the colonel's conduct.
CHAPTER XVII—Tn Eatrdale Duane
makes friends with I-nramte. and cap
turing a man who has held up I .a ramie
takes him before Eongstreth. mayor of
Fairdale, who discharges the thief
without a hearing. Duane calls T-ong
streth’s hand before several honest mi n.
CHAPTER XVIII—Duane whips T.aw
snn a nephew of Longstreth. He or
ganizes resistance to Longstreth’s
crooked methods.
CHAPTER XIX—Rarnmie is found
dead, a bullet hole In his breast. Ray
meets Duane and asks for Ills friend
ship. She suspects her father of crook
ed practices.
CHAPTER XX—-Duane, spying on
Eongstreth and I.awson, knows them
for rustlers and bandits, and is nearly
trapped by them.
CHAPTER XXI—Tn eseaplng he blun
ders into Ray's room. They argue about
her father's crookedness She hides
Duane in a closet while the house Is
searched. She unwittingly discloses to
him her father's identity with Chesel
dine. He tells Ray he loves her,
CHAPTER XXTT—A train is held op
pear Bradford Duane poses as a train
robber and. gaining the confidence of
Fletcher, one of Chesoldlne's lieuten
ants. gets valuable information from
him.
CHAPTER XXTTT—Fletcher goes to a
rendezvous at the Cheseldtne gang's
secret hiding: place on Mount Ord.
puane follows and, spying, overhears a
plot to rob the Val Verde bank.
CHAPTEH XXIV—Puane stenls to the
telegraph office over the mountain and
sends for the rangers. He rides to Ord
and fates the outlaw (tans lone-handed.
He Is denounced by Longs! retli's lieuten
ant who draws on him; Puane shoots first.
Kleteher forces him to flee.
CHAPTER XXV — Puane surprises
Ixmgstreth and Lawson. Kills I-awson
and Longs troth surrenders on Duane's
promise to let him go away to his form
er home In Louisiana.
Dunne’s swooping gaze searched
faces, resteil upon a man who seemed
familiar. This fellow’s look, too. was
that of one who knew Dunne, hut was
waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane,
recognized him—MacNelly, clean-shav
en. Without mustache he appeared
different, younger.
When MacNelly saw that Dunne In
tended to greet him. hurried forward ;
to meet him. A keen light flashed
from his eyes. He was glad, eager, 1
yet suppressing himself, and the
glances he sent hack and forth from
Dunne to Longstrcth were questioning,
doubtful. Certainly Longstretli did
not look the part of an outlaw.
“Duane! Lord, I’m glad to see you,"
was the Captain's greeting. Then at
closer look Into Dunne’s face his
warmth fled—something he saw there
checked his enthusiasm, or at least its
utterance. •
"MacNelly, shake hands with Ches
eldhie.’’ said Duane, low-voiced.
T!u‘ .ranger stood dumb. molionless.
But ho saw Longstreth's instant no
tion, and awkwardly ho reached for
the outstretched bund.
"Any of your men down here?”
queried Duane, sharply.
“No. They’re up-to*vn.”
“Come. MacNelly, you walk with
him. We've ladies in the party. HI
come behind with them.”
They set off tip-town. Rnngstreth
walked its if he were with friends on
the way to dinner. The cirts were
mute. MacNelly walked like a man
in a trance. There was not a word
spoken in four blocks.
Presently Duane espied a stone
building on a corner of the broad
street. There was n big sign, “Ranch
er’s Rank."
“There's the hotel,” said MacNelly.
“Some of my men are there. We've
scattered around.”
They crossed the street, went
through office and lobby, and thun
Duane asked MacNelly to take them
to a private room. Without a word
the <*i|ita1n compiled. When they
were all inside Dunne rinsed the door,
and, drawing a deep breath as if of
relief, he faced them calmly.
“Miss Longstreth, you and Miss
Ruth try to make yourselves comfort
able now," lie said. “And don't be dis
tressed." Then he turned to his cap
tain. “MitrXellv, this girl is the
daughter of the man I've brought to
you, and this one is his niece.”
Then Duane briefly related Long-'
streth's story, and, though he did not
spare the rustler chief, he was gener
ous.
“When I went after Longstreth,”
concluded Duane, “it was either to
kill him or offer him his freedom on
conditions. So I chose the hitter for
his daughter's sake. lie lias already
disposed of all his property. I believe
he'll live up to the conditions. lie's
to leave Texas never to return, (’lies-1
oldine has been a mystery, and now it
11 fade.”
A few moments Inter Pimm' fellow
e<] MacNell.v to ti large room, like a
hall, and here were men reading and
smoking. Dunne knew them—■
rangers!
MaeNelly heekoned to his men. They ,
crowded close, eager, like hounds
ready to run. They till talked at
once, and the word most significant
and frequent in their speech was
“outlaws.”
MaeNelly clapped his fist in his
hand.
“This ’ll make the adjutant sick
with jov. Maybe he won’t have it
on the Governor! We’ll show them
about tlie ranger service. Duane!
how’d you ever do it?"
“Now, Captain, not.the half nor
the quarter of this job’s done. The
gang’s coming down the road. They'll
ride iifto town on the?lot—two-thirty.”
“How many?” asked MaeNelly.
“l’oggln, Blossom Kane, Panhandle
Smith, l’.oldt, Jim Fletcher, and an
other man 1 don’t know,” ^
“l’oggln—that’s the ‘ hard nut to
crack! I’ve heard their record since
I've been in Vnl Verde. Where’s
Knell?”
“Knell’s dead.”
“Alt!” exclaimed MaeNelly, softly.
Then he grew businesslike, cool, and
of harder aspect. "Duane, it’s your
game to-day. We’re all undei» your
orders."
“You understand there's no sense in
trying to arrest Poggin, Kane and that
lot?” queried Duane.
“No, 1 don't understand that," re
plied MaeNelly, bluu __
“Ft can't he done. The drop enn’t
he got on such men. Poggin! That
outlaw 1ms no equal with a gun—un
less— lie’s got to he killed quick.
They’ll ull have to he killed. They’re
all had, desperate, know no fear, are
lightning In action.”
“Very well, Duane; then it’s a light.
That 'll he easier, perhaps. Tin* hoys
are spoiling for a light. Out with your
plan, now.”
i’l’ut one man at each end of this
street, just tit the edge of town. Put 1
lour men up in Hint room over the
hank—two at each open window. Let
them hide till the game begins^ The
rest of your men put inside behind
the counters, where they’ll hide. Now
go over to the bank, spring the tiling j
on the bank officials, send your men
over one by one. No hurry, no ex
citement, no unusual tiling to attract
notice in the bank.”
“All right. That’s great.* Tell me,
where do you intend, to wait?”
Duane hoard MacXclly’s question,
and it struck him peculiarly, lie had
-eemed to be planning and speaking
mechanically. As be was confronted
by the fact it nonplused him some-1
what, anj lie became thoughtfui J
with lowered head.
“Where 'll you wait. Duane?” in
sisted MncNelly, with keen eyes
speculating.
“I'll wait In front—just inside the
door,” replied Duane, with an effort.
“But will you hide?” asked Mac
Nelly.
Duane was silent.
MncNelly stared, and then a strange,!
comprehending light seemed to Hit
over ills face.
“Dunne, I can give you no orders
to-day,” he said, distinctly. “I’m only
offering advice. Need you take any
more risks? You've redeemed your
self. The governor, the adjutant-gen
eral—the whole state will rise up and
honor you. 1 say, as a ranger, need
you take more risk than your cup
tain?”
S'ill Dunne remained silent. He
wits locked between two forces. And
one, a tide that was bursting sit its
bounds, seemed about to overwhelm
him. Finally that side of him, the
retreating self, the weaker, found a
voice.
“Captain, .just what I'll do or where
I'll be I can’t say yet. In meetings
like ibis the moment decides. Hut
I'll be there!”
MaeNelly spread wide his hands,
looked helplessly at ids curious and
sympathetic rangers, and shook his
heads
“Now you’ve done your work—laid
the trap—is this strange move of yours
going to lie fair to Miss LongstretliV”.
asked Mnofs'clly, in signiticaut low
voice.
Like a great tree chopped at the
roots Duane vibrated to llmL lie
looked up as if he had seen a ghost.
Mercilessly the ranger captain went
on: “You can win her, Duane! Oh,
you can’t fool me. I was wise in a
minute. Fight with us from cover.
You'll he free, honored, happy. That
girl loves you ! 1 saw it iu her eyes.
She's—”
Hut Duane cut him short with a
tierce gesture. He lunged up to his
feet, and the rangers fed back. DarkT,
silent, grim as lie had been, still there
was a transformation singularly more
sinister, stranger.
“Enough. I'm done,” lie said, som
berly. “I've planned.. Do we agree—
or shall 1 meet Hoggin and his gang
alone'/"
MaeNelly cursed and again threw
up his hands, tiiis time in bullied
chagrin. There was deep regret iu
his dark eyes^is they rested upon
Duane.
Duane was left alone.
Never laid his mind been so quick, so
clear, so wonderful in its understanding
of what had heretofore been intricate
and elusive Impulses of his strange
nature, llis determination was to meet
Hoggin ; meet him before anyone else
had a chance—Hoggin first—and then
the others! He was ns unalterable
in that decision «s if on the instant
of its ae»i)tanee lie had become stone.
Why? Then came realization. He
was not a ranger now. He eared noth
ing for the state. He had no thought
of freeing the. "Community of a danger
ous outlaw, of ridding the country of
un obstacle to its progress and pros
perity. He wanted to kill Hoggin. It
was significant now that he forgot the
other outlaws, lie was the gunman,
(lie gun-thrower, the gun fighter, pas
sionate and terrible. His father's
bipod, that dark and fierce strain, his
mother’s spirit, that strong and fln
quenehuhle spirit of the surviving pio
neer -these I tad been in him; and the
killings, one after another, the wild
and haunted years, lmd ^tade him, ab
solutely (n spite* of liis will, the gun
man. lie realized it now, bitterly,
hopelessly.
The tiling he had intelligence
enough to hate he had become. At
last lie shuddered under th _• driving,
ruthless, inhuman blond lust of the
gunman. Actual pride of his record!
Actual vanity in Ids speed with a
gun! Actual jealousy of any rival!
Duane oo -’d not believe it. But
there lie was, without a choice. What
he had feared for years had become
n monstrous reality. He stood strip
ped hare, his soul naked—the soul of
Cain. And at the utter abasement
the soul he dospisml suddenly leaped
and quivered with the thought of llay
Longstreth.
Then etuiic agony. He loved the
girl. He wanted her. All her sweet
ness, her lire, and pleading returned
to torture him.
At that moment the door opened, and
Ra.v Longstreth entered,
i “Dunne.” she said, softly, “Captain
MiieNeily sent me to you.”
“But you shouldn't have come,” re
plied Duane. __
“As soon ns he told me T would
have come whether he wished it or
not. You left me—nil of us—stunned.
I had no time to thank you. Oh, I do
—with »ill my soul. Jt was nolrfe of
you. Father is overcome. He didn’t
expect so much. And he’ll he true.
Bur. Dunne. I was told to hurry, and
here I'm selfishly using time.’’
“Go, then—and leave me. You
mustn’t unnerve me now, when there’s
a desperate game to finish.”
“Need it he desperate?’ she whisp
ered, coming close to him.
“Yes; it can’t he else.”
Her eyes were dark, strained, beau
tiful, and they shed a light upon
Duane he had never seen before.
“You're going to take some mad
risk,” she said. "Let me persuade
you not to. You said you cared for
me—and I—oh, Duane don't you
—know—?”
Tlie low voice, deep, sweet as an
old chord, faltered and broke and
failed.
Duane sustained a sudden shock
and an instant of paralyzed confusion
of thought,
She moved, she swept out her hands,
ano tin; wonder of her eyes dimmed
in a flood of tears.
“My God! You can’t care for me?
he cried, hoarsely.
Then she met him, hands outstretch
ed.
“But I do—I do !”
Swift as light Duane caught her atvi
held her to iiis breast. lie stood hold
ing her tight, with the feel of iier
warm, throbbing breast ami the clasp
of her arms and flesh and blood reali
ties to fight a terrible fear. He felt
her, and for the moment the might
of it was stronger than all the demons
that possessed him. And he held her
as If siie had been his soul, his
strength on earth, his hope of heaven,
against His lips.'
The strife of doubt all passed. Tie
found Ids sight again. And there
rushed over him n tide of emotion un
utterably sweet and full, strong like
an intoxicating wine, deep as his na
ture, something glorious and terrild"
as the blaze of the sun to one long in
darkness. He had become an outcast:
a wanderer, a gunman, a victim of
circumstances; he had lost and suf
fered worse than death in that loss:
he had gone down the endless, bloody
trail, a killer of men. a fugitive whose
mind slowly and inevitably closed to
all except the instinct to survive and
a Mack despair; and now, with this
woman in his arms, her swelling breast
against iiis, in tliis moment almost o:c
resurrection, lie bent under the storm
of passion and joy possible only to
him who hud endured so much.
“Do you care—u little?” he whis
pered unsteadily.
He bent over her, looking deep into
the dark, wet eyes.
Khe offered a low laugh that was
half sob, and her arms slipped up
to his neck.
“A little! Oh, Duane—Duane—a
great deal!”
Their lips met in their first kiss.
Tin1 sweetness, the lire of her mouth
seemed so new, so strange, so irresist
ible to Duane. Iiis sore and hungry
heart throbbed with thick and heavy
beats. He felt'the outcast’s need of
love. And she gave up to the enthral
ling moment. She met him half-way,
returned kiss for kiss, clasp for clasp,
her face scarlet, her eyes closed, till
her emotion overcame her and she fell
buck upon his shoulder.
Dunne suddenly thought she was
going to faint. He divined then that
she had understood him, would have
denied him nothing, not even .her life,
in that moment. But she was over
come, and lie suffered a pang of regret
at Ids unrestraint.
Presently she recovered, and she
drew only the closer, and leaned upon
him with her face upturned.
He felt her hands on Ids, and they
were soft, clinging, strong, like steel
under velvet. He felt the rise and
® * c
“My God! You Can't Care for Me!"
fall, the warmth of her breast. A tre
mor can over him. He tried to draw
back, and if lie snoreeded a little her
form swayed with him, pressing closer.
She held her face up, and he was com
pelled to look. It was wonderful now:
white, yet glowing, with tin- red lips
parted, and dark eyes alluring. 15ut
that was not all. There was passion,
unquenchable spirit, woman’s resolve,
deep and mighty.
"I love you, Duane 1” shejtaid. "7or
>
Miy sake don't go out to meet this out
law face to face. It’s something wild
in you. Conquer it if you love me.”
Duane became suddenly weak, and
when he did take her into his arms
again he scarcely had strength to lift
her to a seat beside him. She seemed
more than a dead weight. Her calm
ness hud tied. She was throbbing, pal
pitating, quivering, with hot, wet
cheeks and arms that clung to him
like vines. She lifted her mouth to
hint, whispering,, “Kiss me!” She
meant to change him, hold him.
Dunne bent down, and her arms
went round tiis neck and drew him
close. With his lips on hers he seemed
to float away. That kiss closed his
eyes, and lie could not lift his head.
He sat motionless, holding her, blind
and helpless, wrapped in a sweet, dark
glory. She kissed him—one long, end
less kiss—or else a thousand times.
Her lips, her wet cheeks, her hair, the
softness, the fragrance of her. the ten
der clasp of her arms, the swell of
her breast—all these seemed to inclose
him.
Duane could not put her from him.
He yielded to her lips and anna,
watching her, involuntarily returning
her caresses, sure now of her intent,
fascinated by the sweetness of her,
bewildered, almost lost. That was
what it was to be loved by a woman.
His years of outlawry had blotted cut
any boyish love he might have known.
This was what he had to give up—
all this wonder of her sweet person,
this strange fire he feared yet
loved, this mate his deep and tortured
soul recognized. Never until that
moment had he divined the meaning
of a woman to a man. That meaning
was spiritual in that he saw there
might have been for him, under hap
pier circumstances, a life of noble
deeds lived for such a woman.
“Don't go! Don’t go!” she cried,
as he started violently.
“I must. Dear, good-by. Remember
I loved you!”
He pulled her hands loose from his,
stepped back. »
“Ray, dearest—I believe—I’ll come
back!” he whispered.
These last words were falsehood.
He reached the door, gave one last
piercing glance to fix forever in mem
ory that white face with its dark,
staring, tragic eyes.
“Dunne!”
He fled with that moan like thunder,
death, hell in his ears. To forget her,
to get back his nerve, he forced into
mind the image of Poggin—Poggin had
sent the cold sickness of fear to his
marrow. There was a horrible thrill
in his sudden remembrance that
Poggin likewise had been taunted with
fear of him. The dark tide over
whelmed Duane, and when he left
the room he was fierce, implacable,
steeled to any outcome, quick like a
: panther, somber as death, In the thrall
of tins strange passion.
There was no excitement In the
street. He crossed to the bank corner.
A clock inside pointed the hour of
two. He went through the door into
the vestibule, looked around, passed
up the steps into the bank. The clerks
were at their desks, apparently busy.
But they showed nervousness. The
cashier paled at sight of Duane. There
were men—the rangers—crouching
down behind the low partition. All
the windows had been removed from
tlie iron grating before the desks.
The safe was closed. There was no
money in sight. A customer came lu,
spoke to the cashier, and was told to
come to-morrow.
Duane returned to the door. He
coidd see far down the street, out
into tlie country. There he waited,
and minutes were eternities. He saw
no person near him; lie heard no
sound. He was Insulated in his un
natural strain.
At a row minutes before half past
two a dark, compact body of horsemen
appeared far down, turning into the
road. They came at a sharp trot—
a group that would have attracted
attention anywhere at any time. They
came a little faster ns they entered
town; then faster still; now they were
four blocks away, now three, now two.
Duane backed down the middle of the
vestibule, up the steps, and halted
in til*' center of the wide doorway.
There seemed to lie a rustling in his
enrs through which pierced sharp,
ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He
could see only the corner of the street.
Hut suddenly Into that shot lean
limbed dusty bay horses. There whs
a clattering of nervous hoofs pulled
to a halt.
IUiane saw the tawny Hoggin speak to
Ids companions. He dismounted quickly.
They followed suit. They had the man
ner of ranchers about to conduct some
business. No guns showed. Poggin
started leisurely for the bank door,
quickening step a little. The others,
close together, came behind him.
Blossom Kane had a bag in his left
hand. Jim Fletcher was left at the
curb, and he had already gathered up
the bridles.
Poggin entered the vestibule first,
with Kane on one side, Boldt on the
other, a little in the rear.
As he strode in he saw Duane.
“Hell’s Fire!" he cried.
Something Inside Duane burst, pierc- 1
ing all of him with cold. Was it that j
fear?
“Buck Duane!” echoed Kane.
One pistnnt Poggin looked up and
Duane looked down.
Like a striking Jaguar Poggin mov
ed. Almost ns quickly Duane threw
his arm.
The guns boomed almost together.
Duane felt a blow just before he
pulled trigger, llis thoughts came
fust, like the strange dots before his
eyes, llis raising gun hud loosened
in his hand. Poggin laid drawn quick
er! A tearing agony encompassed Ids
breast. lie pulled—pulled—at ran
dom. Thunder of booming shots all
about him! Red flashes, Jets of
smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking.
The end: yes, the end! With fading
sight be saw Kane go down, then
Boldt. But supreme torture, bitterer
than death, Poggln stood, mane like a
lion’s, hack to the wall, bloody-faced,
grand, with his guns spouting red!
All faded, darkened. The thunder
deadened. Duane fell, seemed float
ing. There It drifted—Ray Long
streth's sweet face, white, with dark,
tragic eyes, fading from his sight
. . . fading . . . fading . . ,
CHAPTER XXVII.
Light shone before Duane’s eyes—
thick, strange light that catne and
went. For a long time dull hemming
sounds rushed by, filling nil. It was a
dream In which there was nothing;
a drifting under a burden; darkness,
light, sound, movement; and vague,
obscure sense of time—time that’was
very long. There was tire—creeping,
consuming fire. A dark cloiid of flame
enveloped him, rolled him away.
He saw then, dimly, a room that was
strange, strange people moving ubout
over him, with faint voices, far away,
things in a dream. He saw again,
clearly, and consciousness returned,
still unreal, still strange, full of those
vague and far-away things. Then he
was not dead. He lay stiff, like a
stone, with a weight ponderous as a
mountain upon him and all his hound
body rucked in slow, duil-beutlug
agony.
A woman's face hovered over him,
white and tragic-eyed, like one of his
old haunting phantoms, yet sweet
and eloquent. Then a man’s face bent
over him. looked deep into his eyes,
and seemed to whisper from a dis
tance : “Duane—Duane! Ah, he
knew me!’’
After that there w'ns another long
Interval of durkness. When the light
came again, clearer this time, the
same earnest-faced man bent over him.
It was MacNelly. And with recogni
tion the past flooded back.
Duane tried to speak. His Ups were
weak, and he could scarcely move
them.
“Poggln!” he whispered. His first
real conscious thought was for Poggln.
Ruling passion—eternal Instinct!
“Poggln Is dead, Duane; shot to
pieces,” replied MacNelly, solemnly.
“What a fight he made! He killed two
of my men, wounded otheiw. God! he
was a tiger. He used up three guns
before we downed him.” ^
“Who—got—away ?”
“Fletcher, the man with the horses.
We downed nil the others. Duane, the
job's done—it’s done! Why, man,
you’re—” ,
“What of—of—her.”
“Miss Longstretli has been almost
constantly at your bedside. She belli
ed the doctor. She watched your
wounds. And, Duane, the. other night,
when you sank low—so low—I think
it was her spirit that held .vouch
back. Oh, she's h wonderful girl.
Duane, she never gave up. never lose
her nerve for u moment. Well, we’re
going to take you home, mid she’ll gis
with -us, Colonel Longstreth left for
Louisiana right after the fight. I
advised It. * There was great excite
ment. It was best for him to leave,'"
“Have I—a—chance—to recover?-’
Next VVa»fe4
Pockati.
The Amiable Imbecile who Id always,
springing something on the unwary
has a new one. He rushes uh to you,
and cackles: *‘How many pockets you*
got? Answer quick.” You answer^
“six.” or “seventeen,” according to>
your conservative or radical Impulses*.
The Amiable Imbecile grins broadly
and tells you to “count ’em." Tom
count them and find that you huve
missed It by anywhere from two to>
ten, if you are wearing a three-piece?
suit. The Amiable Imbecile says he?
knew you couldn't tell how ninny pock
ets you had, and goes away ami tiles
It on someone else. The mind ot man
does not seem equal to the task of
computing man's pockets on short no
tice. He is stampeded by an abrupt
Inquiry pn the subject and makes the
most outlandish estimates. A woman
Is different—a married woman, any
way. 1/ you really want to know how
many pockets a man has, don't bolter
with him. tek his wUsa __