pfrZAI\L GREY r
AUTHOR OF
"THE LIGHT OF WESTERN
STARS" i
"RIDERS OF THE PURPLE
SAGE", ETC.
COPYRIGHT. BY HARP01 and brothers _
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I-—In Whilst on, Texas, ft
becomes with Bin kley Duane a eas* of
fi-iht or run from Cal Bain. Duane kiUs
nis man and becomes an outlaw.
CHAPTER II—He meets Duke Stev
ens. an outlaw.
CHAPTER TTT—Stevens poes into the
town of Mercer to buy supplies and is
shot by a rancher. Duane buries him
CH \PTER IV—Dunne poes to Bland’:
stropphold in the Kim Rock an.'
yi sliootinp liosomer. who cjuarrep
v^ith him over Stevens’ death, decid.
»o stay there. Euchre takes Duam f«.
i partner and tells him about Blarui
Die outlaw chief nd his band.
CHAPTER V—Duane practices pun
throwi < and hears more about Blan*
ind his gang.
CH \PTER VT—Euehre and Duanr
call on .Kate. Bland’s wife, and Jennie
a plrl whom Benson kidnaped and sob
to Bland.
CH'PTER VII—Euchre and Duan.
conspire to take Jennie away. Duarn !
prevents a wanton muinier.
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 band
He is jealous of Duane and abuses Kate
and Jennie.
CHAPTER TX—Euchre kills Benson.
Is killed by Alloway, Duane kills Allo
way and Bland and escapes, wounded,
with Jennie. In a desert* d hut in the
tnesquite Jennie nurses him.
CHAPTER X—When Duane is strong
enouph they travel opt of the Rim IUh 1:
to a rancher’s house, where Duane r«
covers. On their way to ShHbyvilb
Jennie Is carried off by outlaws while
Duane is away looking for a strayed
horse.
CHAPTER XT—After vain search for
Jennie whose abductor he kills Duan
leads the lone-wolf life for more than
three years, finally getting n mes-i'c
from Captain McVelly of the ranger
asklner him to come to the captain'
camp after dark.
CHAPTER XTT—The message is sev
eral times repented. Duane is chased by
a lynching1 party.
CHAPTER XTTI—A price on his head
and accused of murdering a woman.
Duane ride* into Shirley to deny the
murder. After a narrow escape from
lynching, he proves his Innocence and is
allowed to go _
““—CtTAPTER XTV—He goes to McNelly’s
ranger camp, McNelly offers him par
don and social restoration if h« will
become a ranger and dean out th»*
Cheseldine gang in the Big Bend coun
try.
PIT AFTER XV—P.unk Pliant ranger
strikes the Big Pend country and he
gins work. Cheseldine is a mystery, a
power and a horror to the country.
CHAPTER XVT—Colonel Ixmgstreth’s
daughter Ray. and her cousin. Ruth
Herbert, are held up Duane shoots
one of the robbers, but is puzzled by
the colonel's conduct.
CHAPTER XVTT—In Falrdale Dunne
makes friends with Laramie, and cap
turing a man who has held up Laramie,
t ’k's him before Longstreth. mayor of
Fnirdale. who discharges the thlyf
• hout a hearing. Duane calls l/mg
utreth’s hand before several honest men.
CHAPTER XVIII—Duane whips Law- j
son a nephew of Longstreth. He or
ganizes resistance to Longstreth's
crooked methods.
CHAPTER XIX—Laramie is found
dead, a bullet hole In his breast. Hay
meets Duane and asks for his friend
ship. She suspects her father of crook
ed practices.
CHAPTER XX—Duane, spying on
Longstreth and Lawson, knows them
for rustlers and bandits, and is nearly
trapped by them.
CHAPTER XXT—Tn escaping he blun
ders into Ray's room. They argue about
her father's crookedness. She hides
Duane in a closet while th<* houso is
searched. She unwittingly discloses to
him her father's identity with Chesel
dine. He tells Ray he loves her.
CHAPTER XXII—A train is held up
n»*ar Bradford. Duane poses as a train
rohher and. gaining the confidence <>f
Fletcher, one of Cheseldine's lieuten
ants. gets valuable information from
him.
CHAPTER XXTTT—Eletrhrr cook In a
rendezvous at the Cheseldtne gang's
secret hiding place on Mount Did
Ptiane follows and. spying, overhears a
plot to rob the Val Verde bank.
CHAPTER XXIV—Duane steals to the
telegraph office over the mountain and
sends for the rangers. He rides to Ord
and faces the outlaw gang lone-handed.
ITe is denounced by I.ongstreth's lieuten
ant who draws on him: Duane shoots first.
Fletcher forces him to flee.
CHAPTER XXV — Duane surprises
Dnngstreth and Lawson. Kills Lawson I
and Longstreth surrenders on Duane's
promise to let him go away to Ills form- |
er home In Louisiana.
CHAPTER XXVI—Duane takes Txing- '
streth and the girls to MoNelly and his
rangers at Val Verde. The rangers plan
to stop the hank robbery. Rav tries
plefidlng her love for him to stop Dunne
from openly facing Poggln. knig gun
man. The outlaw gang attempt the
hank robbery and Duane falls before
Hoggin's gun.
CHAPTER XXVII—Duane recovers to
find himself a hero, classed as a secret
ranger throughout all his outlaw years
and looks forward to a life of peace
with Ray.
“Chance? Why mnn,” exclaimed the
captuiu, “you'll get well! You'll pack
a sight of lend all your life. But you
can stand that. Duane, the whole
Southwest knows your story. ^ <>u
need never again be ashamed of the
name Buck Duane. The brand out
law Is washed out. Texas believes
you’ve been a secret ranger all the
time. You’re a hero. And now think
of home, your mother, of this uoble
girl—of your future."
The rangers took Duane home to
Wellstou, _ — -
I
A railroad had boon built sin^e
Duane li -4 gone into exile. Wells ton
had crown. A noisy crowd surround
'd the station, but it stilled as Dimly
was carried from the train.
A sea of faces pressed dose. Some
were faces lie remembered—school
mates. friends, old neighbors. I le ro
was an uplifting of many hands.
Duane was being welcomed home to
the town from which lie hud 11 si. A
leadness within him broke. This wel
•ome hurt him somehow. quicuem-d
aim: and through his e«ld being. Ids
weary mind, passed a change. liis
sight dimmed.
Then there was a white house, his
>ld home. How strange, yet how real!
'lis heart heat fast. Had so many,
many years passed? Familiar yet
fra age it was. and all seemed magni
fied.
They carried him in. these ranger
■omrad'-s. and laid him down, and |
‘ifted his head upon pillows. The
muse was still, though full of people.
Duane’s gaze sought the open door.
Someone entered—a tail girl in !
vhite. with dark wet eyes and a light
tpon iter face. Sim was leading an
dd lady, gray-haired, austere-faced,
somber and sad. Ilis mother! Site
was feeble, lint she walked erect. She
was pale, shaking, yet maintained her
iignity.
I hen someone in while uttered n
low fry and knelt by I hinue's bed.
His mother flung wide her arms with
i strange gesture.
“This man ! They’ve not brought
iark my boy. This man's his father !
Whele is in? son? ^Iy. son—oh, my
-on !“
When Duane grew strong r it wr
i pleasure to lie iiy the west window
iini vfatcli Uncle Jim whittle his stlc*
ind listen to liis talk. Tlie old • .m
vas broken now. He told many in
erecting tilings about people Duam
lad known-—people who had grown nj
md married, failed, succeeded, gom
away, and died. But it was hard to
keep Uncle Jim off the subject of
-runs, outlaws, tights. He could not
('em to divine how mention of these
things hurt Dunne. Uncle Jim wits
tiiiiiish now. and he had a great pride
In his nephew. He wanted to hen#
if all of Duane's exile. And if then
was one thing more than another tlinl
pleased him it was to talk about tie
bullets which Duane carried In his
body.
“Five bullets, ain't it?" lie asked,
for tlie hundredth time. “Five in that
last scrap! By gum' And you had
six before?”
“Yes, uncle,” replied Duane.
"Five and six. That makes eleven.
By gnin! A man's a man, to carry
all that lead. But. Buck, you would
carry more. There's that nigger lid
wards, right here in Wellstoti. He's
got a ton of bullets in him. Doesn't
seem to mind tjioni none. And there’s
Cole Miller. I’ve seen him. Been n
bad man m his day. They say he
packs twenty-titree bullets. But he’s
bigger than you—got more fl. sit. . .
Funny, wasn't it Buck, about tin
doctor only bein' able to cut one bullet
out of you—tin1 ont> in your breast
bone? It was a forty-one caliber, an
unusual cartridge. I saw it, an i i
wanted it, Imt Miss Longstreth
wouldn’t part with it. I’uck, there
was a bullet left in one of I’oggin’s
guns, and that hVillet was the same
kind as tfir one cut out of you. By
gum! Boy, tr ’d have killed you If
•t ’d stayed there.”
“It would indeed, uncle," replied
Duane, and the old, haunting, somber
mood returned.
But Duane was not often at the
mercy of childish < 1 hero-worshiping I
Unde Jim. Miss Bongstreth was the
only person who seemed to divine
Duane’s gloomy mood, and when she
was with liitn she warded off all sug
gestion.
One afternoon while she was there
at the west window, a message came
for him. They read it together.
You have saved the ranger service to
the I^one Star State.
MaeNeltv.
Ray knelt beside him at tin* window,
and he believed she meant to speak
then of the tiling they had shunned.
Her face was still white, hut sweeter
now, warm with rich life beneath the
marble; and her dark eyes were still
Intent, still haunted by shadows, hut
no longer tingle!
“I’m glad for Mae Nelly's sake ns
well as the state's." said Duane.
She made no reply to that and
seemed to he thinking deeply. Duane
shrank a little.
“The pain—is it any worse today?”
she asked, instantly.
"No; It’s the same, it wlH always
he the same. I’m full of lead, you
know. But 1 don’t mind a little mdn.”
“Then its the old mood Ihe
fear?” she whispered. “Tell me.”
“Yes. It haunts me. i’ll be well
soon—able tit go out. Then that——
HU't hell will (.apueju^ek ' ...
“Xo. m»!" she said with (‘motion.
“Som*- drunken cowboy, some fool
with u Klin, will limit me out in ev< ry
town, wherever I go,” he went our
miserably. ‘‘Hook Duane! To kill
Buck Duane!"
“Hush ! Don't spoilk so. Listen.
You remember ilmt dii.v'in Vnl Vcrth-,
wlien 1 e.,me to you—pleaded with you
not to in et Hoggin? Oh, that was a
terrible hour for me. Bat ii showed
me the truth. I saw the struggle be
tween your passion to bill anti your j
love for me. 1 could have saved you
hen had 1 known w hir 1 know now.
Xow 1 understi ad tin:t—that thing
Inch haunts you. But you'll never
: ve to kiil another man, thank Hod!”
Like a drowning man he would have
grasp'd at straws, htit he could not
voice his passionate query.
She put tender arms round his neck.
"Because you’ll have me with you al
ways." she replied. "Because always
I shall he between you and that—
that terrible thing.”
It seemed with the spoken thought
absolute assurance of her power came
;o her. Duane realized Instill; ty •hat
lie was in the arms of a jumper
woman than she who had pleaded with
him that fatal day.
“We'll—we'll lie married and leave
Texas,” she said, softly, with the r d
blood rising rich and dark in her
checks.
“Bay
“Yes we will, though'you're laggard
in asking me, sir."
“But. dear—suppose.” he replied,
huskily, "suppose there might be he
children—n hoy. A boy with his
fa t tier's bloc I !”
“i pray (. id there will he. 1 do
not Oar what you fear. But even so—•
lie’ll h« half my blood.”
I Plane felt: the storm rise and break
in him And his terror was that of
joy quelling fear. The shining glory
of love in this woman's eyes made hint
weak as a child. How could .-he
love him—how could she so bravely
face a future with him? Yet she held
him in her firms, twining her hands
round lie neck, 'and pressing close
to him. Her faith and love and fecauty
—these she meant to throw lielween
him and all that terrible past. They
were Icr power, and she meant to
use them all. He dared not think of
accept ire; her saefifiee.
•Tin Kay you dear, noble girl —
I’m poor. I have nothing. And I'm
a cripp e.”
•a *h. yo i'll lie well some day." she
replied. "And listen. 1 have money.
My mother left uie well oiT. Ail slie
had was her father’s— Ho you under
stand? Well take Unele Jim and
your mother We’ll go ' > landsiana—
to my old home. It’s far from here.
There’s n plantation to work. There
re horses and cuttle a great cypress
forest to cut. <>h. you’ll have much to
do. You’ll forget there. You’ll learn
to love my home. It’s a beautiful old
place. There art* groves where the
gray moss blows all day and the night
iugnles sing fill night.”
"My darling!" cried Duane, broken
ly. "Xu, no, no!”
Yet he knew in his heart that he
was yielding to her. that he could not
iv. isj her a ni nicnt longer. What
was (his madness of love?
“We’ll lie happy,” she whispered.
“Oh. I know. Come!—come!—-come!"
Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded*
and she lifted sweet, tremulous, wait
ing lips.
With bursting heart Iniane bent to
them. Then lie held her. close pressed
to him. while with dim eyes he looked
out over the line of low hills in the
west, down where the sun was setting
gold and red, down over the Nueces
and the wild brakes of the Uio Grande
which he was neverdo see again.
It was in tliis solemn and Vxalted
moment that Duane accepted happi
ness and faced new life, trusting this
brave and tender woman to he strong
er than (he dark and fateful passion
that had shadowed his past.
It would come back—that wind of
flame, that madness to forget, that
driving, relentless instinct for blood.
It would come back with those pale,
drifting, haunting faces and the ac
cusing fading eyes, but all his life,
always between them and him, render
ing them powerless, wouhfbe the faith
and love and beauty of this noble
woman.
(THE END.)
OCCASION FOR GOOD LAUGH
Contemporary Points Out Opportuni
ties That Are Offered at Dancing
Teachers’ Convention.
“Thorp is it dancing touchers’ con
vention on up at the Martinique. It
ought to make a good josh story.”
And so it ought. There is probably
nothing funnier than teaching dancing,
u less it lie (he domestic troubles of a
decent family. They are both essen
tially josh stories. Heaven knows
there is enough sombre stuff in the
papers nowadays, without tnis-itig a
chance to do something funny on a
convention of people who teach danc
ing in their home towns! It makes
one laugh just to think of it.
Whiti the next convention comes to
town, don't fail to drop in to see it.
In file tirst plaee, when you go up to
tile licathiuarters you will see an ag
gregation of men and women who are
rather more neatly dressed than the
average New Yorker. That in itself is
comical. Then they will proceed to
discuss what they have found to lie
the prevailing fashion in dancing in
their respective fields, and will sug
gest reforms and improvements. By
this time you will have to step outside
for a few minutes, you will lie laugh
ing so hard.
If you can stand it, yon can wr. h
' tjieiu eat at Uxejr convention dinner.
the speeches will ln> good entitle relief
from iho Insoiring but serious speeches
hoard nt other banquets. Periling with
national honor and preparedness.
In enjoying yourself ti lot depends
on know:; g jus’ where to go to get a
good laugh.—Now York World.
HAPPINESS IS EVER ELUSIVE
And Never Can Be Found Where One
Seeks Only to “Have a
Cood Time."
Many young people think of little oy
eept how they ran have a good time. If
there is work to do it is only some
thing in their way. to he got rid of as
soon as possible, no matter how. They
thin’: they can live as a butterfly doest
whet, in its glory am! sin honey every
hour from everything th • see.
To find something on •« • ;mr to
he amused, is all that they ih r; of.
This is very natural, and it is w, :! that
they ran look on the bright side of
life. But they should knew also that
life is not all a play spell.
There are duties to he performed,
and real happiness routes only after
work well done. Happiness is not
found when sought its the etiicf thing
in life. Kntertainmonts eense to en
tertain. The brilliant eonipaniott does
not please always unh -s there are
' i rling qualities of ehafactor hack of
the brilliance. Work is the blessing
of mankind. Play is relished more
after work is done.
Tin "r ought to he some earnest pur
pose. some worthy aim in tl heart of
everyone. Live not for the pres- nt mo
ment. Live to he and do. There are
conseqiienees to all our nets. Polly
sown brings a hitter harvest whiii, no
one ran esrape reaping. There .are in
nocent joys to which all. especially ihe
yi ting, arc entil'd. But it siemid he
leant’d that M ■in" to some vj; ihy
purpose brings the truest enjoyment.—
Milwaukee Journal.
HRemarks.
“T met a man today «):;> knew you
intimately in your olrl home town."
stated old Festus Pester.
"All! what did lie have to say about
me?" asked tin- Hon. Rr.iy Powder,
evidently expecting a comollmeni.
"1 stopped him too soon to loam
mu eh. 1 told him 1 didn't care to
listen to such language.”—Kan-ulu City
St a r.
High Standards.
Bhiek—Has Pinks i vi- paid you
that ten dollars lie borrowed two \ -nr>
ago?
White—V«. I ottered to c ,1] it
square for five Imt lie sal i he e.xjid
not lower ids business stau mrus l>j b
60 per cent settlement
SCENE CF FAMOUS STGKY
Shell-Torn Lorgueval Will Be Re
membered by Many Readers for
“L’Abba Constantin."
From Lonfrueval. at present ?t sheil
torn biitlhdield ot France, the apex of
the British offensive north of the
Somme, to the rnueh-lovt i and uni
versally read novel, “Ahhe Constan
tin,” of I.udovic Halevy, with its al
most absolute peace, is a very long
step.
In comparison with the Longuevul
of today one thinks of the vicarage
of Longueval of the book, with its
well-eared-for pear and peach trees,
and tiie simple churchyard, wiiere Ah
he Constantin so tenderly cared for
the graves of Ids friends.
Fntold hosts of renders of the hook
will vainly try to picture the cure,
.lean Keynaud lieutenant in the Ninth
regiment of artillery, Mine. Susie
Scott, her sister. Miss Bettiija I'erci
val and Paul de I.avnrdens. as part
of the countryside that lias been hope
lessly wrecked by a few weeks’ of
present-day warfare.
The hook is to France a perfect de
fense against a certain radical school
of writers, its family life upheld in
its praise of Jean Reynaud and his
forbears, with “There are f»>uiiiel
like that in France, and many of them,
more than one, one ventures to say. Or •
poor country is in many respects cru
elly calumniated by certain novelists,
who draw exaggerated and distorted
pictures of it.”
<*ne recalls the story of tlio sale of
the estate of the Marquis de Leugue
Yal, tlie cure, in his simple fear of
h< reties, horror-stricken on being told
that the castle and its lands had been
bought at auction by an Immensely
wealthy American, Mine. Scott. His
fear grows on being told that she bad
been a circus rider, and on Paul do T.av
arden’s telling him that be "admired
hoi shoulders, those dazzling shoul
ders, on which undulated a necklace
of diamonds as big as the stopper of
a decanter."
Many will remember the vicarage,
where the cure lirst received the un
conventional Americans, anij his linp
liinoss at being told that they were
to be bis parishioners and were not
heretics, the scene of the simple meal
where Jean first met lie.tina and
where the cure again heard his beloved
organ played, or the terraces or gar
dens where Jean and liettlna met so
often and where their friendship grew.
And that Ninth regiment of artil
lery! One thinks of its departure for
camp and lietMna running out to see
it pass, of Iwiiig shocked by the pelt
ing rain while standing clothed in a
filmy ball dress, one piece of foot
gear gone, caught in the mud some
distance hack. Also the Church of
l.otigueval. where .Pain and liettlna
were married in spite of Ills simple ob
jections because of licttiiiu’s wealth.
At its first appearance, “The Abb ■
Constantin" was received gratefully
by tin- French academy and brought
about the author's election to
body, -- —_
w'wmmMxrxmMK* »***»«*«****««
The Abuss
es
&
| By VICTOR REDCLIFFE
(Copyright. J918, by W. O. Chapman.)
.Ttitle*- .Tulin Hampden. portly, pleas
j.nt-fuc ■!, great-hearted, pointed his
I uger at a select corner of the cigar
“Fish out those three for fifty,” he
ordered In his genial expansive way.
' i’o up a couple of dozen.”
“I’.irrhda.v anniversary. Judge?” in
simiatod a legal acquaintance.
“Nothing of the sort—just going to
meet, an old friend.”
“Must he a favored one.”
“lit is, 1 never married and he
did. Sorry for him, hut he's true blue.
i'hat‘s why 1 love him. Nothing too
good for him. Twenty years square
i.s a sentry to a faded, dictatorial
scold. 1 fancy my twenty on the
bench has been less irksome. Ah. me!
so it goes, but I respect him for his
fidelity.”
Judge Hampden was speaking of
an old and dear friend, Indeed—Murtin
Overton. They had been schoolboys
together. Both had fallen in love with
I lie same girl. Neither had got her.
The Judge had never married. Over
ion had wedded a spoiled beauty.
'.Vithin a year he had learned his mis
take. Hers was a cross, crabbed na
ture. Slie became a tyro. For five
years regularly Overton had come to
the Judge to relate his troubles. Dur
ing fifteen years, however, they had
drifted apart. Now a telegram had
come from n distant city where Over
J
Sat Bolt Upright.
ton lived. It ran: “Must see you
on urgent business. Will be with you
at 8 p. in.”
And at 8 p. m., promptly in his
handsome bachelor apartments the
.lodge sat at u groaning table await
ing liis guest. Everything he could
think of from favorite cigars to odd
dishes he recalled Oveiton used to like
was on the table. There was a ring
p> the door. The Judge fairly hugged
i he thin, haggard man who was shown
into the room. Then he regarded him
more closely and his face fall n trifle.
If he had spoken out his real mind he
would have said, “Overton, you make
i.ip feel old.” for his guest seemed
b have advanced years since last he
had seen him.
He was reserved and his lips
tvPitched when the Judge asked him
about his family. The Judge did not
pursue the subject, but with n sup
pressed sigh decided that Mrs. Over
ton had not Improved in her ways
with the years. Overton threw off his
fhell of weariness as the meal pro
gressed. however. No one could be long
with jovial Judge Hampden without
f ading the influence of his bright hu
mor. •
“You spoke shout business, Over
toil.” observed the Judge finally.
“Yes.” nodded his guest. “I want
you to loan me $10.1*00.”
"Certainly.” bowed the Judge. He
was sotnewhat surprised at the lirg*1
ness of the amount, but he Instantly
drew out ids cheek book and fountain
pen. “There you are, Overton,” he
im|.Jed lightly, “Now to have an old
time friendly talk with you.”
A spasm indefinable crossed Over
ten's face. The devo'tion, the confidence
i xpressed in the act of the Judge
seemed to touch him deeply. Not a
inference did his considerate friend
make to the use intended for the
money, to security, repayment. Abso
lute trust was indicated.
“I want to arrange for your room,
Overton.” spoke Hampden, as, after
an hour's chut, he arose from the
table.
He led Overton into his little lihrnry
ami saw him ensconced in its easiest
ehaii. "I shan’t be gone long. Mi
lime, entertain yourself,
magazines and see here, did 1 ever
show you tii\ reeoid hook? Ail the
t- s.j,s on *vJilt'll 1 have parsed. There
lux- some lutnuua ones there. Sort of
•m
There's the
h tad of mine to ko**j» full particulars.”
The Judge placed a heavy thick
book on a little stand before his guest.
The latter turned over its pages in
differently at first. Then his Interest
awakened. As the Judge had said, the
hook contained the photographs, the
criminal record and the life history
of those who from time to time had
come before him on trial.
Overton turned over the pages cas
ually. Some of the cases were noted
ones and he recalled their newspaper
publicity In the past. "Suppressed’’
read a sheet lightly laid over a heavier
one. As he removed the first he sat
bolt upright as though driven thus
by some sudden electric shock.
Mis face ashen, his eyes haunted
'vitli a devastating fear and horror,
lie read of the private arrest of Cora
I’urand, twenty-five, adventuress, ar
lested for robbing an admirer, a man
of wealth, of a large sum of money
by drugging him. She had been in
an English prison and had come to
tin- I'nlted States as a new field for
further victims, llcr methods were
; Iven in detail, her description per
lectly outlined, even to a tiny scar
on the lobe of one ear.
Overton arose to ids feet rigid, his
«yes fired ou the volume lying open
vitli the photograph of a regally beau
tiful woman looking up at him. Then
lie drew from his pocket—its counter
part more recent of taking though
it was, there could be no doubt that
the portraits were of one and the
same woman.
The one he had taken from his
pocket fell ffotn his nerveless bund.
He allowed it to lie unheeded at ids
feet. A white horror was in Ids face
and he acted as though impelled by
some automatic force. He drew the
check the Judge hud given him from
his pocket, piuced it on the table,
proceeded noiselessly to the hallway
entrance to the apartments, selected
Id.-*1 overcoat and left the place.
Judge Hampden was lost In urnaze
inent when he returned. His friend
was gone. He questioned the servant,
but tile lutter had not witnessed the
departure of Overton. Then the Judge
noticed that the hat of his guest was
gone from the hall tree.
It was when the Judge discovered
the photograph which Overton had un
consciously left behind him and no
ticed the record book open at Its
counterpart, tbHt his keen Judicial skill
was called Into action. The aban
doned check, the sudden departure of
Overton showed that some vast, star
tling impulse hud swnyed him to sud
den action not anticipated.
The Judge formed a ready theory
j and It was the correct one. Overtop,
'he man of probity, had In some
mysterious way come .under the siren
like Influence of Cora Durand. Per
haps wearied of a nagging, loveless
wife he had desperately determined to
gel what money he could tin/f ^fly-av/th
fhe clever adventuress. The accidental
discovery of the real character of fhe
woman had come like a shock, causing
1 him to recoil In horror from the step
ho so nearly had taken.
The Judge was too thorough a logi
cian to Intermeddle where sure des
tiny was working out a problem for
his tempted, misguided friend. No
explanation came to him from Over
ton. none was sought. Sorrowfully
the Judge reflected over the weak
ness, almost crime, of the man he so
esteemed. With relief and hope he
Incidentally learned that Overton was
pursuing the even tenor of his way.
and one day he saw the notice of
the death of Mrs. Overton in the news
paper.
He met Overton nfter that. Just
once the latter referred to the pdat.
“Friend of the years." he sold,
clasping the hand of the Judge and
looking him straight in the eyes, “un
der your roof there came to me the
redemption of my life, I am content
when I recall that I' made the last
years of my life attentive and loyal
to the wife T never loved. I shudder
when I ttflnk of the yawning abyss tot*
nhlch I so nearly sank, bringing dis
grace and sorrow to the two children
who are now so dear to me!”
How Alcohol I* Made.
Most people when Informed of tbs
fiict that alcohol is being manufac
tured from snwdust immediately as
sume that the product la the So-called
“wood nlcohol" of commerce. This is
not the case, and a statement of the
two processes of manufacture makes
the distinction clear. True wood or
methyl alcohol Is produced by the de
structive distillation of wood. Cord
wood is placed in a retort which i*
limited until the (rase* and liquids are
driven off and only charcoal remains.
The liquid distillate is then divided in
to components, one of which !« wood
alcohol. In the production of ethyl at
coliol from sawdust the process at cer
tain stages is very similar to that
used with grain, molasses, potatoes
etc., and the product Is exactly thm
same. The sawdust Is cooked with
dilute acid to produce sugars from the
wood substance. These sugar# nr*
leached out and the liquor is ferment
ed and distilled, producing grain or
ethyl alcohol.—American Lumberman.
Big and Little Men.
The big men dare, and the bij^ mem
do; they dream great dreams which
they make eoiue true. They briifge
the rivers and link the plains, ami
gird the land with their railway
trains; they make the desert break
forth in bloom.- they send the cataract
through a flume to turn the wheel*
of a thousand mills; they bring the
coin to a nation's tills; the big mem
work and the big men plau. and. help
ing themselves, help their fellow-man..
And the cheap men yelp at their car
riage wheels, ns the small dog barks:
al the big dog’a heals.—Auou,