a
. WHEN I HAVE TI'ME.
-When I have time so many things I'll do
'l 0 make life happier and more fair
For those whose lives are crowded now with
care.
I‘ll help to lift them from their low despair,
When I have time.
When >‘I have time, the friend I love so well
Shall know no more these weary,toiling du ys;
I'll lead her feet in pleasant paths always.
And cheer her heart with words of sweetest
praise,
When I have time. '
When you have time! The friend you hold so
dear
May be beyond the reach of all your sweet
intent;
May never know that you so kindly meant
To fill her life with sweet content.
When You had time.
Now is the time! Ah, friend, no longer wait.
To scatter loving smiles and words of 01101}?
To those around whose lives are now. so do ;1-;
They may not meet you in the coming your“
Now is the time.
-—The Indianapolis News.
LOVE IN A MINOR KEY
The inhabitants of Harplestowe had
ceased to discuss Hannah Fletcher‘s
questionable position toward her
ledger, and any interest attached to
her unconventional attitude had qui-
etly fizzled out along with her meagre
claims to beauty. then the world
had gone well with Hannah, and she
had possessed the irritable devotion of
an invalid mother and the undivided
love of a selfish father, she had worn
modestly the good looks which belong
to a middle class young woman who
enjoys excellent health and a \VhOlL-
some temperament. Now the light in
her abundant hair and her bright color
had died for want of vital sustenance,-
and her rather prominent features had
bleakencd with the um‘esting struggle
for existence. A stranger would not
trouble to question if her unsympa-
thetic manner was the result or the
cause of an unsatisfied existence.
Hannah Fletcher had spent the best
years of her youth subduing the pas-
sions and emotions which make a
beautiful woman irresistible, but she
had not studied her oyvn ugliness and
mastered it. as' some women do. A.
plain woman’s battle in life is defy-
ing her own ugliness.
Hannah's ledger was, it is true, an
“elderly party,” so the muid-of—all-
work described him, “always messing
about with them chemistry fizzicks;
’e’s wonderful clever, but it don’t
bring in no money, and if it wasn’t
that Miss Hannah was a bit sweet on
him sh’d ’avc cleared ’im out along
with his rubbishing smrell long ago.”
Hannah was a “bit sweet” on the “el-
derly party.” When her mother and
father had died, her ledger had not
given a thought to the fact that, for
the girl’s reputation in the village, it
would be advisable for him to leave
his comfortable quarters. Hannah
had grown necessary to him in his
work, and he had learned to depend on
her as a man of powerful intelltct
grows to depend on a practical wo-
man with an intelligent brain, who is
his daily and hourly companion. Habit
is stronger in men than in women.
Five or six years had passed since her
parents’ death, bringing little or no
change into Hannah’s life. She
slaved and toiled and pin-ched'for the
“elderly party,” who was too self-cen-
tred to guess at the true extent of her
poverty. He was casual about his
payments, and she would never remind
him. To brighten up her room and
bring a little pleasure into her day, he
would now and then go out and bring
her home an ex'travagantly beautiful
bunch of flowers. or a pair of palms,
and present them to her with a touch-
ing enthusiasm for his own generosity
and thoughtfulness. Her praclizal
mind would fly with a woman’s quick-
ness of thought to the four months’
rent which was still unpaid; but oniy
a feeling of tenderness for his eccen-
tricities would come over her, and she
hugged to her heart the thought that
she could help him in his work by
waiting forthc over-due rent.
He was poor, and his income would
have barely covered the modest ne-
cessities of his simple life if he had
devoted it to them, but “he spends all
his money on them messes and invent-
ing things as aren’t no use to no one,"
as Arabella remarked when he ever.
looked her tip one Christmas day: “I
ain’t got no use for the like of; his
sort.” Clothes he never bought, and
Hannah, with a beautiful regard for
the feeling of the man she loved,
stitched and mended and patched, and
bit by bit replaced his worn and shab-
by wardrobe. She was careful never
to put into his room any new garment
she had made until the ruthless laun-
dress had robbed it of its newness.
Then she would substitute it for one
which'was beyond even her clcvoi
needlecraft to mend. and the ‘.‘eldcrly
party” would put on a new snirl or
wear the new socks without the slight-
est suspicion that the familiar patches
and dams were missing. He acted as
intellectual food and nourishment it
her starved brain. and she became the
practical part of his unevenly '.)‘c:.lZl.'l,r'..‘+i-...l
character, which nature had left want-
ing.
One day the peace of Hannah’s llf'i
was broken by the coming of a cousin
an orphan like herself. who had writ-
ten and asked Hannah to give her a
home while she looked for work. Han
nah wrote and welcomed her with 'oit
ter misgivings at heart. She had. tc
toil night and day to make money tc
pay for food enough for herself and
her ledger. .
Madeline came, and like a hot win
passing over a sensitive plant she with.
ered up Hannah’s courage. She was
young, and the beauty of her animal
health was startling. ‘She stood jn
Hannah’s humble parlor in the noon
day sunlight, straight as a young
palm tree, and beautiful in symmetry
a pulsing, tingling piece of I'lE‘Sll an;
blood, colored like a pale pink peony.
Weeks passed into months, and Mad
ellne had planted herseiffirmly in th.
W l*.' l1) It L I ‘ I\ U ll.
house. Hannah could not turn her
out. and she never suggested going.
and never made any serious attempt.
to get wort-2. Her orphan and penni-
less condition served her as a useful
means of appealing to the sympathy
of the “elderly party.” As time went
on, Hannah saw less and less of her
ledger, her cousin appropriated as her
charge his study and laboratory, and
it was bitterness and gall to Hannah
to see her administer to him all the
little attentions which she had been
wont to perform.
Han-nah, with her heart smarting at
the bitter injustice of things, could not
tell her that she was day by day rob-
bing her of all that made life bearable.
And as, when a woman is particular-
ly busy, a man generally thinks she is
“fussing,” and choosing to do some-
thing totally unnecessary, the “elderly
party” came to look,upon it as quite
iatural that Madeline should be. his
hourly companion, and that she should
sit in an easy chair while Hannah, hot
and weary in mind and body, should
toil and strive for them both.
After Madaline had been with them
three months Hannah’s ledger came
into a fortune. It was not a large one,
but it Would enable him to live in case
and comfort for the rest of his life.
When Hannah heard the good news,
what she dreaded most did not happen.
He did not suggest moving into more
luxurious lodgings; he seemed to con-
sider himself a fixture in the waius—
cotcd room with its cottage window
and old oak floor; but he bought more
pretty plants and fresh hothouse flow-
ers, which Madeline now accepted
with a blush and prettiness that sent
his blood coursing through his veins.
One morning, when Hannah was
ironing, with the table piled high in
well bleached linen, the “elderly party”
came into the kitchen with Madaline.
He walked straight. up to where Han~
nah stood, with her hot face bent over
the steaming shirt, and drew Madeline
forward.
“Han-nah, your cousin has promised
to marry me. She is young and bean-
tiful, and I am only a plain scholar,
but I will do my best to make her a
good husband.”
As if it had been thrust through her
body with the point of a bayonet, each
word went to Hannah’s heart. It
ceased beating. i.i'adaline, of course,
knew why her cousin had so suddenly
fainted, and the poor little bit of tri-
umph made her heart beat quicker,
but when she looked up at her lover
his face was pale with fear. She saw
a look of agtr-ny in his eyes as he
turned them to her for help, which told
her that she did not possess the heart
of the scholar so completely as she
thought, and the devil in her was
roused.
“Oh, you need not be so alarmed;
she has fainted through sheer jeal-
ousy.”
For one moment he stood transfixed;
all that he had been blind to for years
was made plain to him now. and in
that moment he recognized the heart-
lessness of the woman he had proposad
to only ten minutes ago.
“Are you a woman to tell a woman’s
secret and make light of it?”
Madaline was frightened at the look
of scorn and contempt in his eyes,
which had always looked at her so
gently. She stood at bay, and watched
his trembling hands sprinkling Han-
nah’s face with the cold Water she had
used for sprinkling the linen. It was
kept in a small white bowl on the
ironing table.
“I’ve not said anything that the
'whole vilage does not know, Arabella
included, that Han-nah Fletcher has.
been waiting to marry her ledger for
the last ten years.”
“Then. by God,'I’ll marry her new“
I love her. I tell you.” He chafed the
pale cheeks, and rubbed the thin
hands. “I’ve always loved her. Oh,
my God, Oh. my God, what a selfish
fool I have beeni”
5 “You loved me but ten minutes ago.
For a simple scholar you are wonder-
fully quick in love.”
l “Ten minutes ago I did not know
that it was Hannah I loved as a man
ought to love the woman he marries.
Your beauty deceived me into believ-
ing that I loved you. I had not given
thought to love until you came. I ask
your forgiveness.”
1 Tears, which were always ready,
came into her blue eyes at the harsh
words he had spoken, but she knew
that they were true. She had no love
for the grave and elderly scholar; he
was to be her refuge from work, and
she loved ease. ‘he stood for a mo“
ment or two and watched returning
consciousness quiver over Hannah‘s
pale face. and then she turned to go.
“After all. Hannah is growing old.
and she has been good to me. I will
not rob her of her elderly lever."
A lever was waiting for Madaline
half a mile out of the village. He was
a pro-vision dealer. and Madeline would
have preferred being the wife of a
scholar.—The Queen.
The First. English Duke.
Of the five titles of nobility in Eng-
land. the highest in rank and honor is
that of Duke. It is the first title of
dignitv of the royal family, but not
the highest in antiquity. There is no
proof of its being used in England be-
fore it was introduced by Edward lll..
about a year before he,himsclf as-
sumed the title of King of France.
Edward. the renowned Black Prince,
was created Duke of Cornwall. and he
was the first Duke in England aftei
William the Conqueror. After this
creation the title of Duke was fre!
quertly given, especially to members
'of the royal family.—Harper’s Round
Table. —
chwigger—Poor Waggs! He was a
most genial soul.
Merritt—Yes, indeed he was. The
only thing he ever took. seriously was
the cold that killed him—New Yorli
Journal.
VADHHflMATHEHAMI
. Lady Whichels was thinking. A let-
(.Cl' lay in her lap, and her correspond-
ent was her son—not the baronet, but
to say that he meant to run down to
see her the same afternoon.
She knew what he was coming for
perfectly well, , Rumors of his infatua-
tion had already reached her. He was
COlllll g to tell her that he was engaged
to marry Miss Daisy Dornton, who
sang for a couple of weeks in the cho-
rus of the Coronet theatre. Lady Whi-
chcls groaned, and her lips were purscd
1n annoyance.
“Your brother is an idiot. Philip,"
she said sharply to a. young man who
entered the room a moment later. “lie
is the worst kind of an idiot—~for he
is not only idiotic, but he is pigw
headed.”
Sir Philip Whichels twirlcd his mons-
tache and grinned.
“Has the climax arrived?” he asked.
“What is the matter?”
“Bertie will be with us today. He
wants to see me on ‘a matter of im,
portance.’ The matter is, of course,
that he has proposed to that creature
and has been accepted, and now he is
coming to try and win my consent.”-
“Well,” said the baronet, “and shall
you give it? They say she is a. very
ladylikc girl, thoroughly respectable,
lives with her mother, and that sort of
thing. Her father, I think, kept a
large drapery shop in Bermondscy.
Bertie might easily have done worse,
not being overburdened with brains,”
“You need not joke,” said the
mother; “it is not a joking mutter.
Have you ever seen the girl?"
“I suppose I have seen her on the
stage, but her name does not figure on
the program, and I can’t identify her,
She is simply one of a crowd of dam:
sels who troop on and off in a pose, I
have never seen her outside the then:
trc, if that is what you mean,"
“That is what I did mean. So her
father was a linen drapcr, and Bertie
wishes to make her his Wife, Really,
this is horrible! It only remains for
you to fall in love with a barmaid,
Philip, to complete my happiness,"
“Oh, I?" said Philip. "I‘m not a
marrying man, mother."
“Advise nic, Philip, how to bring this
ninny to his senses."
“I’m sure I don’t know what you
can do,” replied Sh" I’hillp. "If you
bully him he‘ll marry her tomorrow, If
you cajole him, he’ll try to bully you,
I don’t see what you can do, upon my
soul. It is a cul-do~sae.”
The lady, however, was not disposed
to be beaten so easily. It was ten
o‘clock, and Bertie might be expected
at the Firs by the express which
reached Three-gates at fourvfiftcou.
She had six hours for meditation, in
which time an idea might occur to her,
The post lay on the table beside her,
unheeded, as she sat glaring at the
lawn with puckered brows. The barn:
net loungcd out to see his (16353. More
ently my lady uttered an exclamation.
and sent a servant to fetch hillt-
“Phlllp,” she said, "I have a, action
at last. Miss Dornton ig', of course,
impossible. There can be no question
about that. It is only necessary to
make Bertie see it.”
Philip had been amusing; himself out:
side. and did not relish having- been
brought in so summarily, so he re»
marked shortly:
“To make Bertie see it is the origi-
nal difficulty, is it not?”
“I know that!" impatiently: ”but I
know also how to do it now. She is, of
course, awkward and ignorant. as she
can be. He has seen her with the 31:1-
mour of the footllgnts on her, and in
the poky lodgings where she lives.
Now we shall see her here. I shall in:
vite her down to stay with us, and ask
a lot of people to meet her. hurl-lo is
not brilliant, but he is on sensitive as
a girl. When Miss Dorntou has com:
mitted half a dozen soleelszns, and he
feels that people are ridiculing; her, he
will be as anxious to break, this on:
gagemeut as I am."
"By Jovel" said Sir Philip,
ought to have
mother.” ,
“It is good, isn‘t it?" said Lady Whi-
chels, complacently. “I felt that there
must be a way out, and now “:0 found
it. I think your brother will be rather
istonished by my reception of his news
this afternoon.
“Ya-u
been a diplomatint,
mother and son went to luncheon,
Bertie arrived at the hour expected.
He certainly was astonished at his
mother’s demeanor. He had looked
for remonstr-ances, threats and loans,
and been doggedly prepared for all.
Instead of these he was met.
smiles and cordlalliy.‘
understand it.
“I had heard something of the mats
her." said the mother. "W‘ell, it is a
democratic age, and if you are sails—
lied nobody has a. right to complain.
Her father was a linen draper, I hear,
and her mother is quite a respectable
person, who lives in, or lets, lodgings."
“Er—they live in apartments, you,"
said Bertie. “But—cr~sho is charm—
ing.» I am sure you can trust my
taste.”
“Emphatlcaily I can, and I am not
going to be so absurd as to raise any
objections, my dear boy. You want to
marry Miss Dornton—marry her,
have my full and free consent, and I
should like to be introduced to
When am I to see her?"
“I——I really don‘t know," stammcrcd
the boy; “whenever you like."
The question was so entirely unex-
pected thathe was almost speechless.
“Well, the best way would be to ask
her down here for two or three \Vccltd.
Can she come, do you think?"
"'“It could be arranged—won, yes. She
is at the theatre every night, but I
want her to leave the Stage. and—oh,
yes, she could come as soon as you
please.” . ‘
art“
‘14-‘4
He could not
231’.
his brother Bertie— who had written I
So, the vexed question being settled,
You .
MALKPGAZET
"Then I will write and ask her for
the first of next month,” said my lady,
conclusively. “And now you must tell
me all about it—how nice she is. 110W;
pretty, and nobody ever loved a girl so
madly betfore in all the world.”
Lady Whichels dispatched her
charming letter to her prospective
daughter-in-law on the morrow, and on
the day after came the answer, thank-
ing Bertie’s mother for her kindness,
and gladly accepting the invitation.
The company, sipping tea and nib—
bling cakes, struggled to hide their cu-
riosity and impatience. Then there
was the sound of an arrival, and the
guests fixed their eager eyes ongthve
door. As it opened Miss Doroton came
in and advanced to be presented to the
hostess.
Lady thichels started, and the bar-
onet’s eyebrows went up. Nothing
could have been in better taste than
the manner of the girl whocrossed the
big room under an ordeal which might
have shaken the composure of a society
belle of half a dozen seasons. Her cos-
tume was perfect, and he ' words were
all that the most fastidious could have
desired. She was not pretty, but beau-
tiful, the most beautiful girl present.
The fact could not be disguised; if
Miss Dornton’s first appearance was to
be taken as typical of her, Lady Whi-
chel’s plot had failed. That night,
when she sat in her dressing room be-
fore the iire talking to her favorite son,
the mother came nearer crying than
she had donefor years.
“She isn’t vulgar at all, Philip,” she
moaned disconsclatcly; “she is prep-os-
sessing and really good style. “here
does she get it from—the daughter of
a linen drape-r? It is awful! They im-
itate our clothes, these people, and our
very phrases; and now they even man-
age to acquire our style. Nothing is
left us—nothingl”
“She is a very charming girl,” said
the baronet; “that is the truth. What
on earth she saw in Bertie beats me!”
For ten days Bertie had been feeling
less sure of himself than he had don.
Opposition was the breath of life to
him, and, with the course of true love
running perfectly smooth, he began to
ask himself whether it were true love,
after all.
In the meantime the baronet's first
impression of his brother‘s fiancee had
been more than confirmed, and, fickle
on the young lady‘s part as it may
look, she appeared to find more pleas-
ure in'Philip's society than in Bertle‘s.
“'ell, one night when the brothers
were alone together in the smoking
room, the yo nger man unbosoniccl
himself. He told the baronet that his
engagement had been a mistake, and
he wished to goodness that he had
never blundered into it. Sir Philip,
who had been mixing himself a vhis-
key and soda, dropped the glass, which
shivered into fifty pieces in the Abbcus-
ford stove. As a man not given to
dropping things, the accident was note-
worthy, and suggested that his nerves
were not properly under control.
“You have treated the girl damned
badly!” he said, sharply.
"You think that I ought to marry
her?”
“I think that you oughtn’t to have
asked her if you weren't sure of your-
self. What are you going to do?”
“I am going to jilt her,” said Bertie,
sulkily. "That’s what I am going to
dHnd I don’t fancy it will break her
heart, either. I don’t believe she likes
me as much as she did, Philip.”
“A good thing for her, if she
doesn’t!” opined the other.
It was on the morning of the next
day but one that Sir Philip, who had
spent the previous afternoon in Lon-
don, disturbed liis mother’s repose in
the fashion alluded to. He told her
that he was going to be married. Lady
Whichels wrapped in a dressing gown,
listened to him with ashen checks.
“To Miss Dornton, mother. Bertie
has jilted her, and I proposed yester-
day. I don’t suppo‘Se you’ll be pleased,
but she is the iiiCcst girl I eve-r met in
my life, and I mean to make her ‘Lady
Whicheis.’ ” ' -
“Bertie has jiltcd her!” gasped the
widow. “And you—you—”
“Yes, even I! Last month I scoffed;
today I fall. -Perhups it is a judgment
on me.. Perhaps it is a judgment on
you for plotting her downfall as you
did. I certainly should not have had
the opportunity of falling in love with
her if you hadn’t. Anyhow, I worship
the ground she walks on, and we are
engaged.”
And, what is more, he married her—
a fact from which an interesting moral
may be drawn by ladies who fancy
they have abilities for diplomacy. The
deposed dowager never forgave him
nor herself, and when she reflects that
it was all entirely due to her own bril-
liant interference, she feels there are
certain emotions which language is
wholly inadequate to convey.
Noteworthy Advin.‘
“Pay as you go, William,” said the
grocery man to his assistant. “It's a
good motto.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And. by-th-e-way, you needn't botl—
er so much about Mr. Jayl-“ns._He al-
ways pays cash, and v." . he takes
anything he knows he 1,. his
money back. But be v £3: c #07111 about
Mr. Faykins. See that. he - ':; the b'fst
of everything. He $27.”—
Washin-gton Star.
. i get
-. vv . . 3 .
0 1‘1 L..'-1. .3
Plants Near tlzr r". 1..
Plants that grow near .3 sea have
thicker' leaves than those gimuig in-
::.dt is tin-
land. Apparently he sit-c.
cause of this phcncr'ue
:ultivated in artific .Jiy -‘
yield thicker leaves...
{8n Appro-riativ» ‘vl: den.
“Belinda, how do you treat a stupid
man who admires you?“
“Really, I don‘t tan-c": : when a man
idmires me 1' never :2 :-~::; alf the in~
justice to conc'lder him s‘..':,‘.id. ‘-—i"hi-
:ago Record. "
‘ comes to color.
DAINTY LINGERIE.
,
Silk Underwear Fashionable Again Ariel
8. Period of Eclipse.
(By Special Arrangement with the NY. S'vn.‘
\Vomen's undergarments are ex
quisitely dainty and beautiful thi:
spring: Beruflied and befrillei lin
gerie has held its own against vigor
_ous attacks made by dress retai-im-rs.
health culturists, and short-skirted Sln'
terhoods, to say nothing of the organ-
ized efforts of new women to oust it.
'Thc finest articles of underwear are
made of silk, nainsook. and linen
lawn. It makes a, woman glad she is
a woman just to look at them, wheth-
er she can afford to indulge herself
in a single piece or not. For a time
silk lingerie fell somewhat into disre-
pute, but is now possibly more fash-
ionable than any other. Word comes
from Paris that the latest fad there is
for undergarments of flaming red silk
in all the new shades, varying from
the soft reds to the brightest scarlets.
but these Mephistophelean freaks have
not yet reached this shore. It is said,
however, that they will be landed
later on. Pale pink, pale blue, purple,
and yellow China silk sets, both fig-
ured and plain, are displayed in some
of the most exclusive shops and are be-
ing much worn. They consist of the
four regulation pieces and two under-
skirts. one being very short.
Dimity underwear, in white, pink,
light and dark blue and lilac, is be-
ing worn. It is much betrimnied with
lace and the colors are fast. It saves
lining thin dresses and freshcns them
up after being laundered. These sets
are far cheaper than those made of
silk and are almost as effective.
The night drez-s with the square
yoke shown in the illustration is also
made of French nainscok. The trim-
ming is of fine heading and Maltese
lace. and it is as practical and com-
fortable as it is pretty.
That little garment, the corset cover,
plays an important part in the success
or failure of the summer girl's ward-
robe, for upon it depends the fit of her
sheer dimities, gauzy organdies, and
dainty Swisses and batistes. All of
the newest models are gathered into
a belt at the waist and can be let out
or drawn in at will. Most of them are
laid in plaits or finely tucked behind
but they are marvels of elabo-rateness
in front. Some are V shaped, some
round. others square, and others
droop from the shoulders inrthe quaint—
est old—fashioned way.
While tea jackets do not properly
come under the head of underwear,
I. I'A'l-IIN‘IIVJK
{manslaunl’z’
a
they are close kin. The newest mod-
els are made of handsome brocaded
silks, yellow being in the lead when it
They are cut with a
straight box back and a loose front,
and are trimmed with handsome lace
or plaits-d chiffon and lined with thin
soft silk. Jackets of a silk and wool
mixture or .fi‘ne French flannel are
trimmed with frillings of wash net
edged with wash ribbon. x
THETEXASRANoEns
A PECULIAR ORGANIZATION OF THE
LONE STAR STATE.’
Prowess of the Frontier’s Men—Despar'
atu Experiences With the Outlaws—A
Grew-some Tale of the Killing of One
by a Ranger. ‘2 l
The Texas rangers form a military
organization peculiar to the Lone Star
State. Never was there a more appro-
priate name for the fighting portion of
a frontier people. From the bug-inning
it has been their business to range
'over the frontier and hunt thieves and
outlaws, and fight bands of hostile In.
dians.
At this time there are only a few
companies of rangers in the field.
Doubtless Capt. Brooks’ compan .’ vith
.. headquarters at Cotulla, is not only
the most conspicuous organization in
the service, but one from which the
most is expected. This company is
engaged in protecting and guarding
the Rio Grande border.
A ranger carries 3. Winchester in a
scabbard attached. to his. saddle under
his left leg. “-'ith a revolver at his
belt, the inevitable lariat at the horn
of his saddle, a blanket and a‘little
wallet containing a morselof food, the
ranger is accoutered for galloping over
a hundred or more miles of the Rio
Grande plains without ever dis-
mounting. This company lives in camp
and their presence on the border is
accoUnted for by the fact that the
country for a considerable distance on
both sides of the lilo Grande is the
hiding place for desperatiocs, outlaws
and cattle thieves.
A stout ranger tells a story of a re-
cent battle with a desperate outlaw
that presents features of such a start-
ling and horrible character that the
bare recital of the cold facts taxes the
credulity of one not familiar with
scenes upon a field of carnage. This
ranger suddenly rode within earshot
of the man he wanted. and he called
to him to surrender. The outlaw re-
plied with a rifle shot. accompanying
the echo of the firearm with a laugh
and the words, “The guard dies; it
A. TEXAS RANGER. AND HIS COMPANION.
reading Victor Hugo while hiding in
the brush,” muttered the ranger to him-
self. The ranger opencd tire with his
Winchester, but his horse was almost
flying over the rough ground, and he
failed to put a bullet either in the body
of the thief or his horse. He drew his
'revolver, but to his chagrin there was
something wrong with the mechanism
of the weapon, and it failed to fire. A
dozen bullets whisticd about the
ranger’s head, but fortunately not one
'struck him. It soon became evident
to both parties that each one had
emptied his weapons. The ranger, by
the merest accident, had at his belt an
old Mexicon sword. It was a long,
straight blade, as sharp as a razor and
resembling a monster Bowie knife .
more than anything else.
He was almost at the heels of the
outlaw’s horse, and happening to think
' of the old sword, he drew it from the
scabbard and, swinging it over his
head, once more he called to the'out-
law to surrender, but the desperat
man replied by driving the steel into
the flanks of his horse. The bright
blade flashed through the air, and
stuck the outlaw on the back of the
neck. It was a master stroke, the re-
sult of which astonished the ranger.
The head of the outlaw spun through
the air and fell into a bunch of cactus.
That of itself was sufficiently horrible,
but there was something still more
amazing and blood-curdling in front of
the ranger. The headless trunk of the
outlaw did not fall from the flying
horse. The blood was Spurting high
into the air from the arteries of the
neck, but the body sat in the saddle
with arms and legs clinging to the an-
imal and looking as rigid as if they
were made of iron. A dozen or more
ranchers who were riding the range had
heard the firing, and they were riding
in a gallop to the ranger’s assistance
from an opposite direction. As they
rode over a low ridge the first thing
they saw was the headless outlaw, not
twenty steps away, and coming to-
wards them as if the horse’s feet were
hardly touching the earth. Not one
lacked courage. They had proved that
in a dozen battles, but they had al-
ready bcgan to retreat into the brush,
too much terrified to open their months,
when the headless body of the outlaw
dropped from. the saddle and struck
the sand like a log of wood. The body ,
had clung to the saddle for 200 yards.
The ranchers corroborate the story of
the rangersand they say that the arms
and legs of the dead man Were like
pieces of'iron. The limbs were so firm
and rigid that it would have been im-
possible io have bent them in any di-
rection without breaking them. '
The Texas rangers are brave men.
It is .doubtful whether there is another
military organization on earth that en-
dures so "many hardships and faces so
many dangers. Ulu soldiers familiar
with campaigning say they would
rather serve in the ranks of any army
in Europe during actual war than to
be. a Texas ranger. Watchful and
-.:rave enough while riding through the
cactus. the moment that they get out
».=n the plains where they can look
about them they are ready to tell a
I Democrat.
story or sing a song-St. Louis Globe
I
Norwalk Chronicler