Tiberius Smith

 TIBERIUS SMITH

I
HIS FIRST ADMINISTRATION

INEVER had the good-fortune to meet Tiberius Smith, the veteran showman, but I have known that other remarkable man, Billy Campbell, and from his lips heard many chronicles of his patron's hardy and unusual doings. As he told me these yarns, his eyes often grew moist, and he would murmur in parentheses, "Ah, but he was a man. Heaven knows why his folks dubbed him Tiberius; maybe to get away from the Smith. But when it came to writing down the real answer he was the only Roman on the asphalt."

I first met Campbell at the "Away From Home Club," and as I came to know him, I learned to love him, and through him, his old master. And thus, as the winter nights drove us to our pipes and the cosey companionship of the blazing hearth, he detailed that which has until now escaped the public ken, except as garbled press reports have at times hinted at inexplicable situations without furnishing the solution. I can see now that Smith, in his world-wide wanderings in search of circus and menagerie furnishings, or in piloting some theatrical venture, was the blind factor in many a half-published equation.

If I remember correctly, I had been commenting on the frequency of revolutions in quarrelsome Central America when Campbell first opened his heart, filled his pipe, and began the narrative which was to charm me for many an evening.

"It is true," he began, "that Central America has been a bargain-counter in petty warfares for years, and has peddled out more genuine lemons to would-be Cæsars than any other spot of its size on the map. Some of the disturbances have been exceedingly eccentric, others, just plain, vulgar killings; but I doubt if ever there was a more picturesque insurrection than that in which Tiberius Smith, of Vermont, filled the president's cosey corner for one week, and with his reserve battery of comic-opera singers and his ever-reassuring "Ha! ha!" defied all comers. The passing of Tiberius and his administration is not mentioned in history, nor did the consular agent hear of it in time to stir up the Washington newspaper men with sanguinary wires. And probably the slob element down there, known as the common people, have long since forgotten it.

"But the story of that glorious week should make brave reading, nevertheless, and the battle put up by the Green Mountain man and his corps of gayly clad sopranos and a light-brigade of giggling danseuses, reinforced by sad-voiced contraltos, an Alpine shepherd, a regulation pirate, and much green-room truck, incidentally demonstrates that art and science need not always stagger to the ropes because of ranting brute force.

"Tib—you know we called him Tib for short—had a way of making every one and every thing loyal to him. When his round, brown eyes concentrated in two beady twinkles, you had to believe in him and do his bidding. He believed in himself, and simply bubbled over with assurance when making the hardest shots imaginable. And he had the blamedest schemes. Yet, most of them pulled through in one way or another. If he didn't land what he was gunning for, he'd net something else almost as good. So when he decided to take a comic-opera troupe to Guatemala City, Mazie Adams side-stepped thirty per week in order to lead the ballet, and I was hypnotized to go as first tenor. There were twenty-eight of us all told, four men and two dozen women. Tiberius said he could surround enough Aztec gold in Guatemala to make bond-holders of us all for life. He believed it, and hang me if we all didn't after he'd given us a con about 'the luxurious life in the tropics,' 'the Crœsus Dons of the Blue Pacific,' and the like. It was the Dons that caught Mazie Adams and the other girls.

"Well, we sailed in November from 'Frisco, bound for San Jose de Guatemala. From there we were to take diligences to the capital. Our troupe was about all the little coastwise steamer had aboard, and when we were bobbing about off Champerico it began to blow up a regular hummer. The captain wanted to land us there, but Tib said San José or zero, and on we rolled. I was sorry, and so were the others; for the storm now became a hurricane and the captain decided he couldn't make San José, as that port has no harbor, but is simply an open roadstead. I believe we were to luff, or to loaf, in the offing, or thereabouts, and then beat in when the wind went down. But we didn't. Instead, we boomed right by in the night, and after a miserable ten hours found ourselves in Arcate, a small town that would make a sewing-machine feel homesick.

"Arcate is made up of a dozen wooden houses, built down close to the beach, and one street running back about five blocks from the shore. Along this artery of travel are a handful of native huts of bamboo-sticks, covered with leaves of the cocoanut palm, while in the environs of the burg poisonous pools of stagnant water fill the air with miasma, steaming thickly in the ninety-degree heat. Mazie Adams crept down to the baggage-deck and wept bitterly.

"Cheer up, little one,' encouraged Tiberius, soothingly. 'For every tear now shed you shall have a piece of ice to wear on those fairy fingers.'

"But as if the heavy atmosphere and sickening odors were not enough, the tin boiler in our little craft blew up near daybreak, and we were forced to go ashore in our night-clothes, where we shivered in rugs and old sails until the broiled sun relieved the situation. To our joy we found all of our stage trunks had been saved, but our every-day finery was naught.

"'Get busy,' cried Tiberius, in his merry bass. 'Unpack the trunks and slip into the calico of Act I. When we reach Guaty we'll have some nice, new linen suits. Remember, children, I'm all that ever was, multiplied by two.'

"And that's what we had to do, and a nice-looking lot we were. Mazie and the other fairies in pink tights and long, bespangled cloaks didn't go so bad with the furnishings, but the pirate, George Hanscom, and I, the Alpine shepherd, kind of jarred on the rest of the furniture. Tib's rotund, energetic form was encased in a tin suit of mediæval armor, and he swore it felt good. By the time the town was fairly awake we were all arrayed in our picnic clothes, and I guess they thought we were a sure-enough bunch of fairies.

"While the dusky rabble was enjoying us with wonder-lit eyes, a tall, thin, mahoganized-skinned man approached and greeted us in good old Anglo-Sax. He said he was Alfred Jones, more commonly known on the coast as 'Banana' Jones. He had lived in the country for fifteen years and was too lazy to leave it. He informed us he could talk any lingo between Purgatory and Guatemala City, and Tib at once hired him as ticket-seller. Tib himself threw a fine cluster of Spanish, having toured a circus through South America once on a time. But he was shy on dialects.

"So Banana Jones was delegated to scout for some diligences, and he said he would, once he was able to tear his eyes from Mazie, and was just explaining that he hadn't seen a white woman for ten years, when fifty tatterdemalions, armed with ancient guns and a large accumulation of realty on their hands and bare feet, came howling down the lane.

"'I forgot,' said Banana Jones, simply, 'there's a bit of a revolution on, and the insurrectionists hold the town. They are expecting a president from 'Frisco. The junta was to send them down a regular fire-eater this week.'

"'That's me,' cried Tib. 'I'm on! I'm the president! I go a mile in less than nothing. I never did start a game but what something good turned up unexpectedly. Tell 'em I'm their feudal lord.'

"'Well, I'll be blasted,' gasped Banana Jones. Then he added, 'Do I get all the banana privileges between here and Sonsonate?'

"'You certainly do,' answered Tiberius, drawing his tin rapier and jolting his helmet into a jaunty position.

"Jones ran towards the mob and began a harangue in which 'Don Señor Tiberio,' and 'viva la libertad' figured extensively, and when he was done the ragamuffins danced about us in glee, and one squint-eyed ruffian sought to encompass Mazie Adams's fair waist with his dirty paw. But Tib lunged ferociously at him with his Toledo (Ohio) blade, and the gang evidently set us down for born fighters.

"'They dope you out as High Muck-a-Muck and accept you,' said Jones, 'but they want to know if you've brought any arms and powder.'

"'Tell 'em I've brought art, music, beauty, and science, and that against that quartet prosaic explosives aren't deuce-high in a well-thumbed euchre deck,' retorted Tib, grandly. Then he tipped us the cue and we all burst into a few sweet strains of song, as sung in the ensemble of 'The Dear Gazelle,' It fetched 'em, sir. It fetched 'em to their knees. They grovelled. I guess they'd have chucked the whole blooming revolution for reserved seats in our show. But Tiberius had made up his mind to act the conqueror, and he told Jones to take us to the most pretentious habitation in town, that he might confiscate it for government purposes. A miserable little hotel, built to accommodate about fifteen, was the best thing in this line, and into it we went, while all the regular boarders departed via the back door.

"'But what about weapons?' persisted Jones, dubiously.

"Tiberius pondered thoughtfully, and Hanscom, the pirate, tapped the hardware in his belt and said, 'We've got them all here.'

"'We have the kinetograph,' reminded Tiberius.

"'What's that? A machine-gun?' cried Jones, eagerly.

"Tiberius looked at him sadly and then explained it was merely a device to throw moving-pictures on a screen.

"'But pictures won't hurt 'em,' bemoaned Jones.

"'No,' cried Tiberius, exultantly, 'but it 'll scare 'em like the deuce. Why, man, in that one big box I've columns of infantry, heavy artillery, troops of cavalry, a little drummer-boy, a Red Cross society, and the Private's Farewell to His Aged Mother. It's the most economical method of transporting field-forces in the world.'

"Then, after he had spoken several more pieces, Jones saw the illumination, and his hard-baked face cracked into various smiles. 'If they'll only come by night,' he murmured.

"You see, we carted the picture-machine around to amuse the audience between the acts of 'The Dear Gazelle,' and almost all of the pictures were war-scenes. Fortunately it had escaped injury in the explosion, and only needed to be dried out to be in fighting trim.

"But the rest of us hadn't come down to Central America to build up republics, and we were in a fair way to mutiny. Hanscom had just killed a tarantula, and was now writing a weepy letter to his old mother in Utica, New York. Mazie was sobbing that she did not see any chance of freezing her digits with Guatemala ice, and the rest of the bunch were swearing, or snivelling, as the sex demanded, when Tiberius visited us.

"'Children,' said he, kindly, 'List. Why weep? We've arrived here. The boat is busted. We can't leave till another comes. It seems two factions are sparring for the strangle-hold on this forsaken land. If we remain neutral, one side or the other, or both, will pick us up and sell us as slaves to owners of the dank mangrove swamps.' Tib didn't know a mangrove from a yard of felt, but it sounded good and he used it. 'Think, Mazie, of being compelled to pluck rubber gum with those fragile lily stalks,' he said. 'Think, Gertrude, of making bean bread for some chocolate-frosted brute that remembers when he walked on all fours. Now if I can obtain the backing of one party we are that much stronger, and will come out all right. Remember, Tiberius Smith always wins. Why, children, once I fell so low that I was forced to join an Uncle Tom's Cabin company and play I was ice in the Ohio River. Did I stay ice? Ask me. To-day you behold in me the sole owner of "The Dear Gazelle" opera troupe, and President pro tem of Iscanlati, or whatever name under high heavens they call it.'

"Of course there was a lot of horse-sense in Tib's talk, but I knew he was playing President just through his lust of empire. He told me afterwards that if he could have held down the job, he had intended to map out a canal route and sneak a stake from Uncle Sam.

"But to return to the well-filled inn and the homesick allies of the insurrectionists. That afternoon Tib and Jones reconnoitred the only approach from the interior; the only road over which the enemy could come. This ran dead against a big white cliff, and then swung sharp to the west and made a bee-line to the beach. Tib deployed the native troops far out beyond the cliff, with instructions to hike back to the hotel if they scented the foe. In a casual way he led them to believe that they wouldn't have to do much fighting. Just take prisoners after the new President had shaken a little parlor-magic out of his cuff. This pleased them immensely, and they said we were their saviors, Jupiter Stators, and all that kind of stuff. But we were in a very disagreeable situation. The warm climate didn't make the 'Gazelle' rags so bad for the girls, and we men knew we could get used to our make-up after a while. But only a narrow strip of beach separated us from the sharks, and Tib and his picture-game from the dusky triflers in front. However, it was grin and bear it, and we were there to tote the machine and fixings up to a point near the white cliff.

"No one troubled us that night, but on the next a horrible screeching aroused us from uneasy slumbers, and when the pirate and I got down into the open we could just catch a glimpse of Tib's armor twinkling in the moonlight far ahead.

"'Bring your shepherd's horn, Rupert,' cried Tib—he sometimes called me by my stage name—and I obeyed him.

"A long, lean valentine guided me up the road to the firing-line, to where Tib and Jones were stationed. To my horror I found them facing the cliff, backs turned to the enemy.

"'For Heaven's sake!' I cried, 'let us receive our wounds in the breast and die facing the tyrant.'

"'When I begin to let loose Uncle Sam, just sound some merry lay on the horn,' ignored Tib. 'Give 'em boots-and-saddles and a bit of that Tyrolese warble.'

"I was so choked up I didn't believe I could wind the horn, but Tib and Jones were cool enough. Tib had the machine all ready, and as a fearful howl went up behind us he turned on the illuminations. There on the cliff pranced the Fighting Seventh Cavalry, while Banana Jones split the shadows with hoarse shouts and military orders, accompanying his vocal stunts by hurling rocks among the bushes—in short, making enough noise for a whole regiment.

"'An would ye save me, blow!' cried Tib.

"Forgetting my peril, really believing that the brave phantoms on the white rock stood ready to succor me, I fixed my eyes on Old Glory and gave them Dixie. Any one ought to fight by that tune! Between notes I could hear the great gasp of astonishment from the foe, as they halted. Then the crackling in the bushes began to recede, and Banana Jones chuckled, 'They've vamoosed! Best pictures I ever saw.'

"You can safely gamble that the insurrectionists down on the beach looked upon us as real warriors when the sun rose and brought no invaders. Tiberius was so chesty that he wanted to pursue the enemy and incidentally annex San Salvador. But as white cliffs aren't always handy, we held him back.

"Well, three days passed and our stage costumes began to look tarnished. Then came the second attack. Our scouts said it was a different party, and when they approached the pass it was hardly dark enough to operate the machine. Tib commanded us all to follow him, and arranged us in a semicircle, position for the curtain raise in Act II.

"'Now warble!' he commanded, and we did, with a fringe of lime-light playing over our rich vestments and scared faces. What the enemy thought on seeing twenty-eight fays all covered gold and cut-glass, giving the serenade, will never be known. But it staggered 'em. Mazie Adams and the other Venuses sang and looked like angels, and the brownies didn't care to buck up against a celestial choir without any investigation.

"'If you can hold 'em a few minutes, we'll win in a canter,' cried Tib.

"At that we all stalked forward a few paces with the best lilt of the whole piece pealing from our ruby lips. Then came the welcome order to stand aside, and the faithful old picture-gallery began to squirt photos on the cliff. What with the howling of the ballet, the hoarse cries of Jones, the bugle-calls and prancing pictures, the brownies were held up for fair. And the funny part of it was, our allies were as scared as the enemy.

"'See 'em run!' cried Banana Jones.

"Then, just as the old One Hundred and Fortieth Infantry began tramping by, we all, with one common impulse, insane with elation, charged the paralyzed ranks in the brush. With one long-drawn-out screech they fled, but not before one beggar gave me a cut in the leg with a big cheese-knife. Tiberius would run amuck, and soon distanced us, the twinkling and clanging of his tin suit only revealing his whereabouts. When the company caught up with him he was trying to lift a good-sized chest in his arms.

"'It's probably full of tortillas,' remarked the pirate, after we had returned to the hotel.

"'I think, children, it's their war-chest,' gasped Tiberius, who had been unable to carry it alone.

"We tore off the cover and there were rows upon rows of yellow wafers. We divided 'em up equally and Jones said each one's share amounted to about fifteen hundred dollars.

"Whether it was the loss of their funds, or the moving-pictures that turned the trick, we were not destined to learn. For on the seventh day a little vermin-infested tub poked her nose into the harbor, and we all shipped for San José, where we picked up some civilized rags and caught a 'Frisco steamer.

II
THE TOWN THAT LOST ITSELF

"IT'S a long shout from Arcate to Vermont, the first State to free its slaves; but after Tiberius and I had scuttled up to 'Frisco, with our jeans filled with dross, we only lasted six months. Tib was a wise wizard in the open and could coax the average hyena to eat from his palm. But a 'Frisco theatre-sharp hypnotized us into backing an extravaganza, and in about the same month the sweet girlish grads are buying pink sashes and discovering Italy beyond the Alps we were on the waiting-list of the 'Down-and-Out Club.'

"Then, to polish the climax, the manager bolted with the winter's receipts, ditto the leading skirt, and we were left high and dry with only roses to eat.

"‘He's gone like an idle dream,' sighed Tib, meaning the manager. 'I hope all the box-office change is foney and that the squaw sues him successfully for breach of promise. There's but one thing left, besides our honor, and that's to take a vacation. When you've got a half-Nelson on prosperity it doesn't pay to quit. But now that we must loaf, let's do it orderly.'

"Naturally I fell on his neck and swore I'd never desert him, providing he would square the railroads. And as he conned passes to Vermont, where he use to be born, he decided it would be cheaper and more instructive to go home. I call Vermont my home, you know, as I never had a home and because Tib always swore I was a Green Mountain Boy by adoption. Dear! dear! how loyal he was to that State! Always hankering to be there, and always threatening to quit being a busy bee to inaugurate an 'old home week.' No mountains were so green, you know, as the home mountains; no lakes were so clear as the home lakes; and no people were so kindly as the home people.

"Well, I'd been fed on that kind of dope so long that I expected trusty agrarians to crush each other under hoof in an effort to reach us when we stepped from the train and embarrass us with gifts. It's not surprising that I should fail to appreciate that Tib had seen less of this State than any other in the Union. Nor did I realize that up on the edge of Essex County was a small settlement, utterly isolated from all railroads and highways. But it does please me to-night, as I pause and allow the phantoms of those times and scenes to troop by, to remember that that very village is now revelling in and pondering over a wealth of newly acquired information, all due to the careless coming of my master.

"Perhaps in all our little journeys my benefactor never met with a more grotesque and fanciful environment than awaited us there. Possibly the opera-bouffe effects had remained dormant largely because the community, known as Home Valley, was off the line of any travel and was a neighbor only to a few struggling French hamlets, where the poorer and more illiterate Canadians grub a living from the rocky clearings. But one fact was soon to be evidenced: those inland Crusoes had never possessed the incentive to pry into the world beyond the rim of the rugged Dozen Hills.

"Now any other man in visiting the stagnated hollow would have left it as he found it. You would have done so, and so would have I. But nature, I reckon, in mapping out the rotund form and indomitable spirit of my patron, evidently intended him for a missionary, and his slipping into the life of a showman was merely an abortion.

"But the remembrance of it all makes me smile tolerantly as I loll back and listen to the wise guys dwell upon the quiet spots they have found asleep. For this place is not down on the map and you'd never find it except by accident. The burglar and the tax-collector, I say, are unknown, as it has shut itself off from the outside world for more than forty years. Moreover, it's stood at a standstill during that period. Why, it wouldn't know a post-office or a telephone if it met them in the street, while a lightning-rod agent would be received with childish enthusiasm. I'll wager it doesn't know to this day whether it's in Canada or the United States. And it was there that Tiberius and I discovered what we called the stay-at-home germ.

"To revert to the southern boundary of the State for three seconds. When we detrained I could see Tib was disappointed because the citizens didn't meet us at the station and weep on his last clean shirt and have the school-children there to wave flags and sing 'Welcome Home.'

"To be chemically correct, I couldn't see as he knew any one in the State. Finally he confessed that his parents had moved from Bellows Falls when he was three years old, yet he remained positive that if we went North and tarried in the older centres of civilization we'd find hosts of people who would quit their means of earning a livelihood to bask in the sunshine of his society. So we passed from one joint to another, discovering many Smiths, but not his Smiths, until nothing would do but we must drill over the hills, towards Canada, where the black flies and grasshoppers have a life easement on the horizon.

"I objected, for it was daily becoming harder to feed the army. But Tib laid in a stock of tinned stuff at the last cross-roads store, and, crying 'Excelsior,' we hiked on until we came to a range of knobs that aren't down on the map. Tib thought it was the boundary, and insisted that we surmount the barrier and squint our orbs at the Lady of the Snows. It was a tough climb, but at sundown we reached the top, where we pitched a small shelter-tent and camped for the night.

"In the morning we beheld a small settlement of rudely constructed houses, sleeping in a cup-like depression.

"‘It isn't on the time-tables,' murmured Tib; 'and yet human beings dwell therein. We'll go down.'

"Utterly fagged out, we struck the burgh late in the afternoon and found it to be a lost town, the habitat of the stay-at-home germ. I doubt if the United States can furnish similar conditions, ransack its borders as you will.

"The fact that French and half-breed farmers had settled down in several communities within a radius of twenty miles did not detract from these people's isolation, for they were of our blood and had never assimilated with their neighbors. The very air seemed ancient and somnolent, as we looked on the houses, built largely of logs, and observed that the inhabitants who came out to meet us were garbed in the styles of half a century back.

"‘I should say we are two scampish Rip Van Winkles and that this is a dress-rehearsal,' observed Tib, as he gravely bowed to an ancient master-piece whose face was covered with a luxuriant growth of breakfast-food.

"The white-whiskered tease eyed us in surprise, and at last asked:

"‘Not French? You must have wandered far from your course to get here.'

"Tib told him how we'd been fishing, and were strangers to the country; how we were tired of the world and would like to rest a bit.

"‘If you stay you'll go back and tell what you've seen, and a crowd of curious folks will be tramping up here to look us over,' objected a younger man.

"‘Silence, Reuben; let me talk to the strangers,' commanded grandpa, sternly, and the other slunk back abashed.

"I was surprised. The respect for gray hairs, I've noticed, is not as strong to-day as it was in the Rollo books.

"Then the old man drew Tib aside—I reckon he considered my striped shirt to be too frivolous—and conversed earnestly with him for some time. Tib then jolted his hat over his right ear, and I knew by that old familiar sign that he had agreed to do something unusual.

"‘Let me hold discourse with my friend,' I heard him say. Then to me he whispered, 'If we can be mean enough to deal a few pictures from the bottom of the deck, we can make up what the manager appropriated, I believe. List! This town is bedridden. Hasn't seen any one but French and half-breeds since the tristful days of '61. They'll use us well if we agree to stay through the summer.'

"‘But why stay?' I mumbled, utterly at loss to comprehend any advantage in so doing.

"‘To earn a livelihood,' explained Tib. 'Yon antique migrated here when the Civil War broke out. Did it to escape the draft. He and a bunch of companions with their women folks settled down in this well, believing they were in Canada. He's the only original forebear alive. They've never written a letter or received a letter or a newspaper since coming here. Hence the newer generation is in plumb darkness as to the events of the last forty-two years. You see, the first batch of settlers was so opposed to being discovered and drafted that they never left the valley.

"‘They call the surrounding heights the Dozen Hills, as that's their number. The prenatal influence got to work, and all the children are permeated with the stay-at-home germ. Why, according to Old Timers testimony, they abhor the outside world and hope to live indefinitely without being intruded upon.'

"‘But what's that to us?' I gasped, much perplexed at the situation.

"‘Well,' murmured Tib, 'it seems curiosity still remains. The mother in 'em, I guess. The French and half-breeds they meet know nothing of what's gone on, or is going on, in the States; and consequently they are hard up for news, about a half a century behind. When they came here, one of their number brought a small hand-press, and they obtained paper through the French in Canada. But the original printer died long ago, and no one can run it, so they've had no news for forty years. The Dim Past there opines that we, fresh from the outer world, might supply the want and get out a paper. Think of it, my boy; think of it!'

"‘But a paper won't pay here,' I blurted.

"‘Not pay?' Tib replied, pityingly. 'Why, the original immigrants brought about twenty thousand dollars in gold with them; distrusted paper-money, you know. It's all here. Hardly a dollar has rolled over the hills. They can't use it; it's no good to 'em. Their medium of exchange is corn and beans. They'll think we're a godsend if we'll resurrect the old press and toss off the news once a week. I'll hire you now as associate editor.'

"‘But news!' I cried. 'Good Heavens! how can we get news?'

"‘To think,' he apostrophized the horizon, 'that he should lead that card after living with me all these years. Child'—and his voice took on the old histrionic ring—'we have forty-two years of history to drag on. They don't even know the Civil War is over. The old man is cloudy in his attic, and the present generation doesn't even know how long their people have been here. It is as if they had slumbered for half a century.

"‘Their neighbors can't read or write, never heard of the great conflict, and so have told them nothing. It's true they've heard in a vague way of the Spanish-American war, but they think it's a continuation of the Civil War. The battle of Gettysburg occurred yesterday; the name is new to 'em. Jeff Davis is fleeing towards Texas, and Sheridan is only twenty miles away.'

"The sublimity of it all dazed me. 'Will they nibble?' I whispered.

"‘Nibble!' He laughed. 'Why, they'll climb into the boat for the bait. This is a virgin field, a lost town. It will be like selling yesterday's extras in the moon. I can set type, or use to when a maiden, and you can brush up your history. I shall issue once a week.' The last very firmly.

"And it's the blessed truth that those Alexander Selkirks had been cast away with dim memories of the Civil War for nearly fifty years: the curtain had rung down for them when the North talked of drafting soldiers. The children and grandchildren had been taught to read from old hymnals and Webster's spelling-book. Their literature consisted of a few ragged volumes of the vintage of the first half of the nineteenth century. They feared the outside world. Every child had been marked with an abnormal dread of the menace that crouched beyond the narrow horizon. And yet they hungered for news!

"Well, Tib told old Deacon Durgin—that was the aged's name—that we were annexed, and would abide the summer in their midst and furnish real news. In private life Tiberius was a most exact and honorable man, but when it came to business he carefully locked up the Golden Rule and never allowed his vocal chords to vibrate harshly at the rough touch of truth.

"Finally we were shown to a house of logs in the centre of the settlement where the old hand-press and some rolls of paper were stored. The owner had left his property in fair condition, and the paper, some of it quite fresh, some yellow with age, would still take ink. We found a large quantity of the latter that Tib said he could use by doctoring it up.

"‘I suppose they'll be willing for us to visit the outside once in a while,' I said to Tib, 'so that we can get the news.'

"‘No,' he explained, 'we can't do that. They are willing to give us fifty dollars a week apiece for one hundred copies of my paper, containing what we can remember of recent events. They reckon that before the useless twenty thousand dollars are eaten up they will have become satiated with new-laid information. They reckon on our being filled to the brim with fresh recollections, and they only ask that we jolt out a few facts once a week. Now for issue Number One of the Tiberian Weekly!"

"And what do you suppose Tib insisted I should feed out to them? The battle between the Monitor and the Merrimac. Yes, sir; and where my memory played me false I worked the daffy corner of my brain to the limit. Bless you, if you could have read Tib's editorial, comparing the merits of the two boats, and wandering off into a dissertation of the mechanism of a ninety-horse-power racing-motor-car, and then my descriptive article of the fight itself, you would feel proud for us. Talk about your red-hot lines from the shot-riddled battle-field! I gave it in rounds and wrote as if it were but yesterday. Why, it simply staggered 'em, sir.

"You see, they'd lost all idea of time. From observing them I can now dimly appreciate the all-absorbing interest the Civil War excited. Those people simply hung around from one day to another, waiting for the paper to leave the dinky, squeaking press. It was a mere leaflet, all reading-matter. Old Deacon Durgin, with hickory staff clutched in his withered hand, loafed in our office from morning until night. Tib and I had to stand out in the middle of the grass-grown lane when we wished to cook up some warm, sassy ones.

"‘What shall we give 'em next?' I inquired.

"‘Capture of Fort Donelson,' suggested Tib.

"‘That was before the naval engagement, I believe,' I objected.

"‘We are defying time,' reminded my leader. 'But if you are squeamish and desire to observe a strict sequence of events, give 'em the Peninsular Campaign.'

"I didn't recall much about this campaign, but I foozled up some names, gave a list of twenty killed, and let it go. It took like hot cakes. They didn't mind paying over the gold; it was the least valuable of their possessions. If we'd asked for potatoes they would have coppered us to lose, I reckon.

"One physical trait I noticed they all had in common. Where the bump of observation should be, there were hollows. Yes, sir, their brows had a scooped-out effect and their foreheads were ingrowing. The men worked all day in the fields, and the women spun and knit. They had sheep and cows and plenty to eat in a rough-and-ready sort of a way. Their government was patriarchal, I reckon, as Deacon Durgin seemed to be the boss Injun. We boarded with him.

"The head of each family was responsible for his children's education, and all could read and write. Although they looked down on their neighbors as an inferior race, their brains panned out far below the average. They had stagnated and intermarried so long that to deceive 'em was as easy as stealing things off a Christmas-tree. Tib greatly relished creating sensations, and one week he sprung an extra in which incredible feats of valor were accorded to both armies. The North and South were clinched, hitting with one arm free.

"His description of the battle-field was the fiercest thing I ever saw outside a gilded ten-cent novel. He invented names of men and even States, and at the wind-up proclaimed in circus type that England was about to declare war against the North.

"‘My boy,' he explained, with enthusiasm, 'what we want is a universal war. It pleases 'em to think every one is fighting and that this is the only quiet spot on earth. Each battle redoubles their sense of security and isolation. It's our duty to make 'em happy. Besides, the more characters in the play, the more scope you have. Nothing hampers a man so as facts. Get above sordid facts and make history. Now, if I were you, I'd ring in an army of Chinese assailing Jersey City. That will dovetail in with my chapter. Make the Chinks and English allies.'

"As it was Tib's game, and as they seemed ready to swallow anything from an egg up to a family Bible, I dished up the next item in lurid style. I remember it was a 'Very Special War Extra,' and I figured out about forty thousand dead on the field of battle when sable night spread her dusky wings o'er the plain. That last phrase was Tib's, and he admitted he had read it in a novel, but he maintained it was the best line ever in the paper.

"It would have done your heart good could you have seen Tiberius bustling out in front of our log house, paste-pot in hand, to stick up some bulletins on a tree. He really believed, I reckon, he was running a big paper, and I got so I took my work seriously. When he would announce that we were to issue an extra, I would fight my watch as if I only had five minutes to catch the press, and Tib would stand over me bawling, 'Copy! Copy! Look alive, Billy! You've only two minutes!'

"Then he'd turn to the clutter of women folks and declare, 'Mrs. Whitten, you must remove your offspring from the press-room. Children are out of place in a great newspaper office.' And it all seemed real, too. It didn't strike me as funny. I was sincerely provoked because the kids were swarming over the shop.

"I shall always remember the style of him when he'd dash out with his bulletins. Frowning heavily, eyes glittering with energy, he'd slap up a wireless to the effect that General Longstreet was dead. Then he'd walk pertly back to the editorial room, look over my shoulder, and read in my description that General Longstreet was beating a masterly retreat. Out he'd dash again and correct the first bulletin to read 'General Longstreet Is Not Dead.' And all the while he'd be humming some catchy lilt from a last season's chorus.

"Whenever we issued an extra we had the youngsters run about the Hollow shouting, 'Extry! Extry! North 'n' South in a death grapple! All about th' big battle. Seventeen hundred kilt!' And Tib would stand beaming in the doorway and murmur, 'Ah, but it's heartsome. If we only had some embalmed beef and a rip-snorting scandal! But it 'll come. Patience, my boy, until we run out of embalmed history. Billy, see if we have another can of those preserved cavalry charges in the pantry. I guess we'd better feed 'em a little hoof-work next.'

"Say, after working under that man you'd never want to return to humdrum again. Why, I got so I was afraid some one would spring my fairy news items ahead of me, and the joy of knowing I was first in the lane with an extra was never surpassed in Park Row. We became so keen in the game that on several occasions we got out night extras. Yes, sir, we aroused those poor oblivious bipeds at three o'clock in the morning, and they got up and read the latest intelligence by candle-light. Of course, the night extras were only when the news was terrific and wouldn't keep until morning.

"Only once did Deacon Durgin interfere with our policy. That was when Tib wrote an editorial knocking free silver and declaring for a gold standard. The Deacon insisted that when it came to the currency question. Home Hollow wanted only a bean basis. He had no use for money, but a government established on beans would outlast the very hills, he said. We made that the issue of the Presidential campaign, and it hit 'em keenly, sir. An unlimited currency of beans was their slogan, and we supplied statistics to prove it was the only possible solution of the monetary problem.

"Shortly after that, Tib came to me and said:

"'That last edition touched 'em, and touched 'em deeply, sir. Now, to thoroughly interest 'em, we must bring the danger nearer, and then, by dispelling it, we'll earn their everlasting thanks. Home Hollow must be threatened by an invasion.'

"Well, I got out a 'Very Special War Extra' at midnight, telling the fearful news. Hang me if it didn't brush 'em off their feet. The women wept and hid their children, while the men scuttled off to the thick woods whispering 'draft' to each other. I had made the army a combination of Chinks and Turks, with a sprinkling of horrible Indian allies. It was a tough proposition for a band of innocents to stub up against. But, do you know, that extra was the beginning of the end for us.

"So strangely does fear operate that the most arrant coward in the Hollow stole off to mount the granite wall to penetrate the valley beyond. No man in Home Hollow had ever done this before, but the spy was irresistibly drawn to know the worst. I saw him set off, and at once decided to fade through the bushes in silent pursuit. Tib was absent in some other part of the village, so my going was unknown to any one.

"Well, the man crept up the rugged, peacefully slope as if he were trying to sneak by a party of Indians on the war-path. I kept him in sight until he reached the top. Then I saw him throw up his hands and sink to the ground. It scared me, I'll admit it. I had been writing yellow stuff so long that I was quite hysterical. I guess it wouldn't have surprised me much if a gang of heathens had appeared on the summit with back hair down and scalping-knives up. At last I made a détour and crawled up to him. Hang me if he wasn't reading a portion of a newspaper that Tib had discarded from the sweat-band of his hat when we first sighted the burgh. As he read I could hear grunts of surprise and exclamations of anger. I recognized him as Reuben, the young man who had originally objected to our tarrying in the Hollow.

"‘The bearers were veterans of the North an' South. The men who'd fought under him an' agin him bared their heads in mutual sorrer an' respect,' he slowly spelled out, and I realized he had hit upon a description of some military funeral. 'The strife an' anger of '61 was no more,' he continued. 'The last few survivors of the Blue an' the Gray hobbled slowly along an' were brothers.'

"Then it sunk into my brain that he had discovered our hoax and knew that the Civil War had ended.

"With great stealth I made a bee-line for the settlement, where I found Tib explaining the general situation to his amazed whiskers, the Deacon. Clutching his arm, I tore him away, saying to the old man it was important war news. Once aside, I whispered in my editor's ear that the game was up, and that freedom beckoned down the line.

"Tib quickly secured our small stock of gold, and, stealing out among the bushes, we made for the mountain. Soon we heard a great crackling of underbrush ahead of us. Drawing aside, we had the pleasure of seeing the scout making for the village, waving the fragment of the newspaper and crying loudly as he went.

"‘It's farewell to the Tiberian Weekly,' sighed Tib.

"‘It's us to the misty highlands,' I added, and on we went.

"Back of us we could hear a great outcry, but as we neared the top of the rocks it died away. It was now nightfall, and Tib paused and pointed back, where the dusk was chasing itself about the lowlands, and groaned, 'Look! They burn their only monument to liberty. They squelch the freedom of the press!'

"A bright blaze told where the office of the Tiberian Weekly was being sacrificed on the altar of an outraged people.

"And so we left 'em. Tib always said he was going back to square himself, but he never did. And little we recked it would be a long, long time before we gazed on the Green Mountains again.

So I do not know whether they yet live secluded and unknown in Home Hollow, or whether they have braved a fringe of the world. But I do know that somewhere up there on the top edge of Essex County is a community that waited nearly half a century for Tiberius Smith to inform 'em that the Civil War is a closed incident.

III
FIVE-DOG LIMIT AT 65° N.

"AFTER the crude hinds in the hole had brewed us the sour drink, Tib got disgusted with installing wheels of progress, and as we now had a modicum of the tainted he decided on a bit of the cosmopolitan. Almost before I knew it we had swapped dull placidity for the hysterical bleat and blare of Broadway. Only the change was so radical I nearly inconvenienced seven motormen by being run over before my patron could drag me aside and into the permanent office of a circus.

"‘Let's be independent bugs,' I begged, 'and shun skylarking in the empty places until the wallet is flat.'

"‘We'll just stop and say how d'ye do,' quieted the boss, grabbing me by the collar and encouraging me to enter.

"Then did I know the old lust had returned, increased tenfold by our late editorial experience, and that once again we were destined to supply foundations for the big parade.

"‘Not anything with equators in it,' I groaned, as the head sheik fell on our necks and joyously proclaimed he had had seven we-never-sleep sleuths trailing us for a month. 'I'm a quitter unless it's mild,' I insisted.

"In response, the main-spring patted me lovingly on the back and led us to a big map and asked us to guess. I held my hat over Patagonia, for two years before Tib and I had visited that joint and with fly-paper had tried to catch a few of the rollicking sprites who longed to eat Magellan and the other early press-agents. They had proven great sprinters and had caught us before we covered the first quarter, and it was only with painful memories and a broken collar-bone we had torn ourselves away and gained the coast.

"‘Something with blondes in it,' I begged, for I saw Tib's eyes sparkling as he cocked his head in the old way and benevolently studied the chart.

"Our would-be employer in soothing tones reminded how we had distanced all other collectors in picking up circus truck. He showed us ten-foot posters of our cannibals and sacred goats and lion-faced boys; and with this gentle lead began to spring the trap. To cut it short, the circus wanted giants.

"To sustain his statement he produced cablegrams and terse letters written in red ink in which the owner said he hankered only for a dozen high men, who would scare the village nags into the Methodist church when passing on parade. And they must be lofty enough to do this without recourse to high-heeled boots and two-foot shakos.

"‘Of course, if he wants giants,' murmured Tib, and a light not of sea or land gleamed in his brown eyes as he formally agreed to try his dangdest. I knew there was no use in endeavoring to dissuade him, and heedless of the threatening gongs I slouched along in his wake, unwittingly on my way to a dramatic situation that for pure intensity of emotion was to render Friday's dimpled foot-print a merely pretty climax.

"As ill-luck would have it, the manager possessed a slight tip from a Moravian missionary, who had been doing a lecture stunt after a long stop in the edge of the Arctic Circle. Armed with this shadow of a hint, my patron now led the way to Brooklyn and unfortunately landed the lecturer. It required a deep display of heart interest in the flat-faced, stubby fat-eaters back home before our man would veer around and answer indiscriminate questions. Then he opened up and told us of the lost race of Anakim, and Tib murmured in my off-ear, 'There were giants in the earth in those days.'

"The missionary hastened to explain he had never met any of these big people, but half-asserted his belief that they could be found somewhere up there in the interior of Greenland. He added, significantly, they were amply protected from circus collectors, not only by peculiar territorial and climatic conditions, but also by sheer avoidupois. He had first learned of this overgrown race, he continued, from the Innuits. In fact, several of his freely perspiring children, who ought to have been in better business, declared that they had met with stray specimens while penetrating the Far North. But if all the legends and stale stories were true, our quarry would not readily eat from our hands.

"Yet the more he rambled, the more Tib's eyes twinkled, and he was all aglow to learn more of these museum possibilities. Consequently, three additional hours found us in Philadelphia, in search of old sea-dogs, who prowl about the Greenland waters yearly, in their cryolite-ladened barks. The missionary had furnished us with the name of one of this ilk, a man who was a crude expert upon the aborigines of the polar ice-cap, and who had recently returned to civilization. On finding him, Tib easily managed to make him talk, and the old salt startled us by declaring he had seen some of the Goliaths in a mining settlement near Ivigtut Bay. He pictured them as being from seven to nine feet tall, but apologized for the former and explained they probably had been improperly nurtured. He believed they celebrated their 'at homes' in the burglar-proof regions of the ultimate North, and had rambled down to the southwest coast because of terribly severe storms and the sub-zero stunts of the thermometer.

"This was enough for my patron, and another day saw us in consultation with the main-spring of the circus. The upshot was, we took passage on a cryolite bark immediately, bound for the frost-bitten, isle-girted coast of Ivigtut. Greenland, you know, is the only spot on the map that yields cryolite in commercial quantities, and a company in the Keystone State enjoys the exclusive privilege of shipping the stuff to the Americas. We embarked on one of their boats so as not to attract attention, for there were collectors who kept close tabs on Tib—why, Jenkins, collecting for a wild-animal show, once trailed us all through the Congo district, realizing we were after something good!

"While bounding over the billows, Tib kept school and informed me we would arrive at Ivigtut at the beginning of the summer season, when the average mean temperature is 48° Fahrenheit for three months, and where the officials of the Danish government try to eradicate homesickness by growing turnips, lettuce, and very small potatoes, mainly under glass. By the time we began to be annoyed by the waters of Davis Strait I was so crammed full of Arctic lore that I had to step softly so as not to jolt any vital facts out of my system. That was Tib's way; he never went into a strange place but what he was loaded.

"At Ivigtut we presented our credentials to the agents, who sent us on to Godthaab, the capital of Danish South Greenland. Here we were shaken down for newspapers and any information that didn't date back beyond the Stone Age. But, on the whole, we were handsomely treated by those holding the reins of government over this gigantic cold-storage plant; and we quickly learned that the captain's yarn about the strange people was within the truth zone, and that some of them had spent the long winter months on the coast. Now they had retreated up the fiords into the interior, we were told, where in sheltered places the mosses and flowering plants have the nerve to come forth in the stingy sunshine. Best of all, we were supplied with some faithful Eskimos, one of whom could do rough out-of-door work on the English language.

"The course we took largely evaded the ice and snow, yet we carried along a light sledge and a bunch of dogs. The Greenland canine is the best sledge animal in the world, and as ours were a cross between the native pup and the majestic Dane, we felt quite proud of our outfit. The west coast strip, you know, is free from permanent ice and snow and varies from one hundred to sixty miles in width. The Eskimos live on this ribbon of lowland and avoid the interior, where the iceman could quarry from two thousand feet to a mile before reaching real soil. That's what I call ice.

"The travel was pleasant and exhilarating, and Tib was all enthusiasm. 'If I can pinch a bevy of these sightly wags I shall form them into a brass-band, my child. Only think of the effect down in Utica!' he remarked one night when we were near the interior limit of the coast strip and were lying in our tent, smoking.

"Our henchmen were a mild-mannered people, entirely unfit for railroad work because of their penchant to absorb all the fat and oil in sight. And they were abominably given to song. They kept us awake two hours, chanting sagas, all in one key. At last they let up, and we sank to rest as softly as two babes in the woods.

"The next thing I knew Tib was digging his honest knuckles into my sides and murmuring: 'And there we saw the giants, the sons of Anak; and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers.'

"I awoke to behold the sun—and then about a score of the biggest men I ever saw. I thought at first I must be romancing in some spectacular dream. As I lay on my skin couch they looked to be between eight and nine feet tall, while the leader was equal to three of the Broadway squad spliced together. In color and build they resembled our North American Indians, and were armed with whalebone bows and ivory-tipped spears of unnecessary length. After having feasted our eyes on the amiable, squat faces of the Innuits, they looked awfully fierce and unwholesome.

"‘It's not a dream! We've found 'em!' I cried, staggering to my feet.

"‘It's no dream,' groaned Tib; 'only they've found us. I wish, Billy, you were snugly eating ice-cream in the States.'

"One glance revealed the situation. All of our Innuits, except the brave-hearted and badly scared interpreter, had scented trouble in the night, and for fear of hurting our feelings had silently indulged in caitiff flight. The sons of Anak had evidently given no pursuit, being content with their two souvenirs from the States.

"Tib then regained his nerve, and straightening up his rotund form asked Emma, the interpreter, if he was heavy enough to flirt with the strangers' patois. We called him Emma as it was impossible to climb over the bristling hedge of consonants in his real name. He shivered and said he could nibble away at the edges and complete the job by the sign language, as he had met several of them on the coast.

"‘Tell 'em,' commanded Tib, stoutly, 'that I have come to take some of them home with me, but that they shall all be returned here in good condition, and that I will give each man who goes with me a whale.'

"Emma drew in a long breath and tried to break into their lingo. I noticed he eschewed the poly-synthetic gab of his own tribe and rippled along with a flow of velvet vowels that sounded like a subway construction gang during the noon hour.

"Then for the first time the tallest step-ladder gave a hearty 'Wow!' and began a rapid fire back. I felt chilly as I saw the sweat stream from Emma's face and heard him give a few mournful hoots, indicative of great sorrow.

"‘Will they come, Em?' asked Tiberius, eagerly.

"‘No come,' groaned Emma. 'Say white men be killed to Black Dog Shaman.'

"‘Kindly 'phone me what that all means,' I begged.

"‘It means, my boy,' explained Tib, sadly, 'that these uncouth gentlemen contemplate offering us up as a tribal sacrifice to their head deity, the Black Dog. I guess they think our demise will propitiate Mr. Dog and stave off another severe winter. Tell 'em, Emma, that the Black Dog does not want the Snow Men to be harmed and will be very angry if they are.'

"The answer, as finally translated by Tib to me, was to the effect that we were magnificent liars and not on to the real disposition of Mr. Dog. The ignoramuses contended that we must pass out in order to placate their deity, and were very much displeased because we did not look upon our part in the humane ceremony with more fervor. While Tib was trying to toss back a fitting Roland for this amiable Oliver the ring broke up and we were hurried along towards the east. We marched rapidly all that day, the interpreter cheering us on the way with a dirge which we were given to understand was his swan song. At night we joined another horde of the sky-scrapers under another chief, and passed the long, dark hours unbound, but carefully guarded by a circle of hungry-looking dogs. I never saw so many dogs in one family before, and I began to appreciate that the canine was a great institution among these embryo policemen.

"It was the second morning after our capture that Tib and I discovered that which surprised us more than the finding of the giants themselves. For after our captor and the new chief had conversed for a few minutes, and Tib had wanted to bet neither understood what the other was saying, they sat down on some skin art-squares near us, and our Simon Legree produced a dirty deck of playing-cards. I thought Tib's eyes would pop out of his head. I wouldn't have been more surprised if the chief had yanked out a grand-piano.

"‘Playing-cards!' gasped Tib. 'The idea of these untutored children knowing anything about our great institution! Why, Billy, it shows some white man has been here among 'em and remained alive long enough to teach 'em a few of our home pastimes. I wonder if he was offered up to the Black Dog! What are they playing—whist?'

"Tib, you know, had no use for sports, and I had never known him to tease Fortuna with coin. He always said he was too busy earning money to find time to throw it away to a greater knave than himself.

"‘They deal five apiece,' I informed him. 'I think—by Heavens, it's so! They are playing poker!'

"And hang me, sir, if they weren't! There they sat, two enormous, copper-colored, tin-horn sports, discarding and drawing with the utmost celerity, and punctuating their luck with a few 'wahs!' They evidently had established a standard of values, as bows and spears and skins and pieces of driftwood were quickly put up and changed hands without any confusion.

Mr. Goliath, of Gath, is evidently playing in hard luck,' observed Tib, with snapping eyes, as our captor lost a big pot on three jacks held cold.

"‘Glad of it!' I cried. 'I hope he gets maced for every barbed arrow in his quiver. Serve him plaguey right.'

"‘I don't know,' mused Tib, following the play keenly; 'the other Eiffel Tower strikes me as being, if anything, even more reprehensible of feature. That scar on his left cheek makes him look hungry.'

"I, too, noted this. The chief of our tribe was now down to his dogs and captives, and it was evidently a struggle for him to decide which he would hazard. But the dog means life to the snow people, and with a grunt, intended for a sigh, he sullenly motioned for me to step on the carpet.

"‘Great Scott! He's betting you, Billy!' cried Tib. 'Why, this will never do! We mustn't be separated, for I'd be ashamed to go back without you. And alone up here you'd be as helpless as an eider duck in Central Park!'

"I wrung his hand, but felt encouraged. I was elated to observe he had decided to postpone dying, and hope surged through my frost-lined veins as he gave evidence of returning to his old masterful self. For, even as I was wagered, I believed his savoir faire would yank us both back to the friendly coast, once he got to working.

"The visiting chief tossed a few skins and a spear beside me.

"‘Looks kind of bad for our boys now,' I observed, sorrowfully.

"‘You're worth more than that, Billy!' cried Tib, drawing near in his excitement. 'It's a shame to sacrifice a man that way. Make the old miser at least approach your value. Make him throw in another spear!'

"But I brought no more, and, to Tib's dismay, I changed owners on a pair of tens.

"‘Of all the senile monstrosities!' he roared. 'Why, my child in a gilded cage, I haven't played poker since I was young and foolish, but I'd know more than that. Tell me, what will a flush take?'

"I was ashamed to show any deep knowledge of the game, as Tib had always kept me pretty straight, but I told him, and with a low heart stumbled back of my new master.

"‘And this idiot here!' continued Tib, forgetting himself in his disgust and tapping his owner on the head, 'has thrown you away. He let slide a chance of making a flush in order to draw to a measly pair!'

"Mr. Goliath gave a howl at Tib's presumption and raised a spear. But Tib was mad clear through, and shaking his dimpled fist in the other's face he pointed accusingly at the lone pair and then quickly showed him from the discard how he would have made a heart flush if he*d been bright. 'And you call that poker, you old pirate!' hissed Tib, snapping his fingers beneath his disgruntled master's long nose.

"I firmly believed the irate gamester was about to sacrifice the old fellow right then and there with very little ceremony; but—Lord bless you, sir! he knew he had played rotten poker; and dropping his spear he began to talk deep down in his throat and make exonerating gestures. But Tib was obdurate, and, eying him scornfully, flapped the damnatory pair of spots before his sullen face, while he informed him he couldn't play mumble-peg with a blind man. I tell you, sir, his rage was sublime. It heartened me wonderfully, and I began to think that life among the lowly wasn't so tough, after all.

"Then he caused my heart to leave its accustomed place and to wander up into my throat by giving the chief a shove with his boot and motioning him to quit the rug. The chief scowled and said something which I am sure wouldn't look well if printed in his home paper, and hesitated between leaving the game and scalping Tib. But my patron was fully alive now and confident. 'Steal away, you imbecile,' he ordered, fiercely, and the voter from Gath, probably realizing that he would lose all to his guest if he continued playing, rolled off the rug with a grunt of rage.

"‘I didn't know you gambled, Tib?' I gasped.

"The dear old chap's face actually blushed as he met my limpid gaze, and he defended: 'Never have since I was very young. Don't think I'm backsliding, Billy. I hate to do it, but it's the only show we have. But mind you, my lad, when once we're safely back at the Suet Pudding Club, don't you dare to tell the gang I have been cutting up here in these snowy wastes. I feel ashamed, as I've always tried to keep you from it, but I can't bear to see even a game of chance abused.'

"The idea of his apologizing to me for trying to save our two hides! 'Play for all you are worth, Tib,' I begged. 'Don't hesitate to hocus-pocus. If you see a card you hanker for, no matter where in the deck it is ensconced, just pluck it out for my sake.'

"‘I'd rather win fair, Billy,' he remonstrated. 'I wouldn't cheat to save myself, but I may if it will pull you on this side of the table.'

"‘Don't hesitate,' I implored, for I knew he could do more parlor-magic with the cards than most professionals. 'My giant has been palming cards right along. He took the last trick with a jiu-jitsu hold.'

"‘What!' gasped Tib. 'Can't even play a gentleman's game!' And he riffled the pasteboards in a manner that caused his owner to pat himself and eject a few gutturals of admiration. Probably the Arctic Circle never before saw such grace as was contained in Tib's famous Chinese riffle.

"Then we met with an obstacle that seemed insurmountable. Tib had no chips. His host had lost everything but his personal weapons and his dogs. Tib motioned for the latter, but Goliath slipped his face into a frown and shook his head. Tib insisted, and in a seductive pantomime represented all of the bow-wows in the fiord as ultimately crossing the rug to the home side. My owner then chipped in and expressed a willingness to put up his canines in turn. I think he was a bit afraid of Tib, but he was an inveterate gambler and evidently believed the luck was with him. Reluctantly, Tib's owner gave way, and it was agreed between the chiefs, and in sign language on Tib's part, that one big dog was equal to five pups, and that five dogs should be the limit. With this understanding they began to draw cards.

"They made me move to one side so that I could not read my boss's hand, and then Tib let the first pot go without making a bet, thereby losing his ante of two puppies. My master smiled hideously and the other monolith gave a howl of anger and held his spear against Tib's neck.

"‘I guess rd better take the next pot,' remarked Tib, as he picked up the cards and passed them to his opponent to deal.

"In doing this he displayed for a few seconds three greasy kings near the top of the deck.

"‘Oh, why weren't you more careful?' I groaned. 'He's palmed them!'

"‘He thinks he has,' grinned Tib, looking up at me in his old care-free way, and winking one brown eye slowly.

"My man skilfully got rid of his extra cards and without looking at his hand bet a pup. Tib calmly pushed over a dog, drew down five babies in change and went him two little ones better. The chief, confident of winning, smiled grimly and seemed to hesitate, and then, as a coaxer, raised the bet three pups! Tib quickly came back the limit, five dogs.

"The chief began to go careful now, and slyly peeped at his two-card draw. He had caught a pair of deuces, and feeling sure of victory he tossed back the limit.

"The rug was now covered and crowded with dogs, and it took four of the giants to keep the chips in the pot. Tib added to the gayety by going the limit, once more. Then my man caught a cold and, meeting the raise, threw down his hand. His rage and wonder on beholding just the deuces and three nondescript cards were beautiful to see and a warning to all gambling men. Tib had a pair of fours. His chief laid down his truculent spear and patted him on the shoulder. But the disappearance of the three kings puzzled our common enemy greatly. Doubtless he finally decided he had made a mistake in discarding; for he carelessly pawed over the dead cards with one immense hand and found the royal trio which he had supposed he held.

"‘Teased him a bit,' grinned Tib, as he tossed the cards together in an honest deal. 'I didn't cheat, my boy. I simply let him try, and he failed. It will teach him to avoid temptation in the future, I hope.'

"But the other, being short of dogs, now shoved me onto the mat and motioned that Emma and five dogs be put against me. Tib's treasurer demurred, and wanted to set Emma up alone. Then my patron got mad and threatened to jump onto the rug himself. This scared Goliath, and he sulkily allowed the dogs to be wagered. My captor passed his hand, and to my surprise Tib followed suit, making it the first jack-pot.

"‘He'll be careful in discarding this time, I'm sure,' grinned Tib, handing over the deck with a brazen flush carelessly displayed near the top.

"The old fellow grabbed the cards with a grunt of joy, and dealt. Tib hesitated, then opened for one dog. My owner came back with a five-dog boost to draw cards. Tib met it after pondering a bit, and raised it two pups. Back came the limit, and back it went. This cleaned old Copperskin out of quadrupeds, and he bet no more, although he chuckled hoarsely as Tib motioned for three cards. Copperskin then laid his hand face down and signified he was satisfied with what he had. Tib's owner, fearing all was lost, began to growl and apply the point of his spear. Tib waved the weapon aside and bet an infant bow-wow. He was promptly raised the limit in spears. Again he raised, and the dogs were covered with skins. One more raise, and Sitting Bull swept all his belongings to the carpet and triumphantly threw down his hand. Tib showed three aces.

"My master, without examining his cards, gave a loud 'woof!' and began hauling in the stakes, while the other copper demon raised his spear preparatory to transfixing Tib, taking it for granted the latter's plunge had lost all. But Tib with a sharp yelp pointed to his adversary's hand, and his infuriated backer reached over and disturbed the card with his spear-point. Although the ten of hearts was on top, all the other cards were brunettes, and worthless.

"Well, sir, it simply swept Sitting Bull and his children off their feet! They had seen him palm a heart flush, and, probably knowing he was the best poker-player in the shadow of the North Pole, they had chortled without stint. Goliath, as Emma and I trooped to his side of the skin, gave a gleeful howl and began dancing derisively before his guest. To put the final jolt into the scene. Sitting Bull slapped one of Tib's chips and was immediately bitten through the thumb. With a howl of rage and pain he sent his seven-foot stalker into the misguided cur.

"Then Goliath and his followers broke loose and jumped the other clan to avenge this gross breach of hospitality. I was quickly covered with a mob of the infuriated giants, and, say, for rough horseplay it had football on Soldiers' Field beaten into a tender nursery game! Some one grabbed me by the heels and pulled me out of the squirming, spear-thrusting mass. I discovered my rescuer was Emma. Together we located Tib's fat form and extricated him. Then, realizing that every one was busy with home affairs, we scuttled off to the west. I reckon they were too actively engaged to pursue us, and three days later we reached the coast, and in a half-starved condition ultimately made Godthaab.

"But, do you know, sir, I've often wondered as to the identity of the poor devil who left that life-saving pack of pictures up there on the edge of the Arctic Circle.

IV
FOR THE SEAL RIVER BELT

"WE loafed about Godthaab for two weeks before I could prevail upon Tib to let the tall folks go by the board. Then we caught a Newfoundland whaler and beat across to Cape Chidley, where we were to look for any mail that might have been brought up by the last boat. Our craft was well filled, but the captain hankered for just one more fish and began romping about the point and into the mouth of Ungava Bay, where the tides are greater than they are in Fundy.

"Then came the frisk of wind that drove the tub well inside and made it imperative for us to tarry in that drear northland for yet another bout with fate, in which, incidentally, my patron was destined to eclipse all Ribby O'Hara and Harlem Slasher records, and make the Butcher's Own, with his new scissors blow, look like an aged dame working doilies. For it was after we left the whaler in high disgust at Tuvak, or the Smooth Rock trading-post, that Tib cleaned up Chuck McBurr, the welter-weight champion of the Little Seal River and Hudson Strait. A million-dollar baby boy was the gate receipts, and the winner was to take all.

"Now, you know, I had always hankered for the boxing-game a bit, but Tib, because of his New England upbringing, had but little use for the sport, and always insisted an angry man in a righteous cause could mace the average pug into oblivion. Yet, despite his aversion to professional bouts, he opened a new vista in fistic possibilities, and was the first man to introduce the sprocket-wheel smash to the shores of Ungava and the Strait. Dear, dear! what a mill it was, and neither of 'em wore the American flag or talked into phonographs! You see, he fought for charity, sir, and it was a wonder he wasn't massacred. For the ozone of Ungava Bay nourishes some robust youngsters, I can assure you, and he came out whole only by employing a bit of Delsarte, invented on the spur of the moment, and combining in technique the radical action of a circular-saw and the nervous energy of a ratchet screw-driver.

"But let me hark back and not spoil the finale. The circus management had given Tib carte blanche to pick up whatever odds and ends he could in event of failure to snare a giant, and as a side issue he had brought along the faithful old picture-machine that once made him President of Arcate. It was his intention to snap a series of pictures of the rough and rugged life, on the side, and profit by them when once more embarked in business on his own hook. This machine we had tenderly brought with us from Godthaab on the whaler. As soon as we reached the post, Finzer, the agent, gave us a twenty-two-carat welcome, and when Tib set up his gallery in the long, low house and began squirting on the screen scenes from Central Park and Palm Beach, our host could only wipe away pearly tears and moan, 'Man, man, never leave us,' This was a great game of Tib's. With that loyal apparatus he knew he could capture the affections and co-operation of any agent or factor on the circuit and obtain more favors than if he had paraded out a fat salary. It was to them what beads and tin cans are to the aborigines, and more than once did we find the move paid for all bother and expense.

"And because he understood these men and had anticipated meeting them, he had waived his hostility to the bruising pastime and had trotted along three or four six-round goes between different celebrated Chickens and Gouger Boys. I thought the gang would go daffy with glee. They kept him working the films slowly, so they could dope out just how each lemon was donated. And the old boy, although the pictures had taught him all he knew of the sport, could so adapt himself to our host's humor as to rant learnedly on just how a telling jolt was delivered. When the screen got hazy he would illustrate on my person, and the spectators quickly decided he invented fist-cuffs.

"‘I confess I deplore its brutality,' he concluded, apologetically, evading my admiring gaze. 'And yet candor compels me to insist that had the Wharf Rat led with his right he would have sent the Smasher to the ropes.'

"‘Ah,' sighed Finzer, lamely sparring at his shadow, 'if one of those lads could only stub up against the Chuck McBurr outfit and chasten it.'

"This called for an explanation, and our host described McBurr as a very unwholesome neighbor. It seems his long, lank frame contained the crossed blood of the Athabascan Injun and the worst traits of a white sea-captain. Finzer said Chuck's grandpa was a New Bedford whaler, when that port was wearing out the water with its many boats, and had lost his ship in Ungava in the early days. Half crazy, he had refused to return and face the owners, and had joined a tribe of vagrants on the Little Seal River instead, and ultimately took a wife. One thing the old fellow was strong on, and that was the art of self-defence. Sea-captains in his day, of course, had to be ever ready to go to the mat with a mutinous sailor. Thus, because of his prowess and the Little Seal people's ignorance of the pummelling business, he soon came to be considered the only patent-medicine on the coast.

"Naturally he taught his son the game, and so it was handed down to the present polyglot, who now bossed the tribe.

"‘Taken all together, they are a bad combination, all right,' declared Finzer. 'Several of our boys who have stolen up there to find out where they mine the gold they sometimes bring here to swap for rum, tobacco, and gunpowder have forgotten to return. Chuck's people are not at home now, but when they return I am going to collect a few of my men and run them out. Only last night my best hunter was telling me the missionary at Tuvak had lost his one-year-old boy—been kidnapped, you know; and if Chuck McBurr wasn't in on the deal the youngster eloped by himself. Say, give us some more of those fights. They're great.'

"It was Finzer's chance remark about the gold-flakes, mined by the tenants of the Little Seal, that set Tib to yearning to discover their lode. 'Now that this Chuck, or whatever they style him, has led his children up north, why not sneak over to that stream and do some prospecting,' he began; and I knew he would have his way. For two days I stood him off, but as Finzer repeated there was no danger, the territory being deserted, I finally capitulated, and we borrowed two men and a boat and ultimately knocked along the coast and landed at the mouth of the river. We ordered the men to drop anchor and await our return, and to send a posse after us if we failed to ring in after seven days.

"For the first day we hardly got out of sight of our boat, so intent was Tib on examining every bit of ledge and tampering with every bowlder with his hammer. But we didn't find enough gold to fill a tooth. For the next two days we pressed inward rapidly, and one night, while making coffee on a little island, about as large as your hat, and reached by jumping from rock to rock, I made a big hit. The island was apparently the butt-end of a gold-mine. In fact, it needed no geologist sharp to see we'd made a happy haul. Almost every layer of ledge, facing up-stream, that I jerked loose contained several scales of the lovely stuff. Tib said if we'd only follow the banks until we struck some falls we doubtless could scoop it out in hunks.

"Marking the place well in our minds, we packed up our profits and rambled on for several miles. I began to notice some abandoned huts here and there, and warned Tib we had reached Chuck McBurr's stamping-grounds, and he had just poohed at me, said Chuck was far away in other pastures, when an ensemble of the most villanous apologies for legitimate bipeds you ever saw, sir, emerged from the wild-wood and tagged us before we could even cross our fingers.

"‘Oh yes,' I lamented, as the circle narrowed and a galaxy of ugly squaws formed a menacing fringe on the outskirts, 'Chuck is away from home, all right. I'll gamble he's miles from here.'

"‘Don't blame me, Billy,' remonstrated Tib. 'Maybe they're not so bad as the posters describe. Finzer swore they were absent. Anyway, they haven't hurt us yet.'

"Just then Chuck himself strode through the gang, six foot and a half in height, if an inch, and rudely placed his hornlike fingers beneath my boyish chin, and sprained my neck by making me lift my head heavenward.

"Then in quaint English he asked what we wanted and why we wanted it. Tib artlessly said we were looking for gold, and at that the big misnomer snapped his teeth and gave an order to his squat followers. In a second we were flat on our manly backs with our pockets turned inside out. When they struck our treasure-trove I thought they would succumb to unwholesome anger, while Chuck, dancing up and down, bellowed for us to tell where we had found color.

"Tib refused until we had come to some agreement as to our safety, whispering to me that if we could only dally with Father Time for two or three days the relief expedition would probably find us. The chief, who, despite his good Scotch name, looked fully Injun, calmly produced a disquieting hunting-knife, and said if we didn't tell inside of a fraction of a minute our chances for entering into any treasures we might have accumulated in the missionary's heaven were very good.

"‘After we are dead,' reminded Tib, softly, 'you'll never know.'

"This struck the half-breed as being closely related to exact truth, and he reluctantly put up his toy and ordered some of his babies to tote us into a hut. As we were shouldered along Tib stopped short and cried: 'Hark! Hear that, Billy? It's a child crying, and a white child, or I never managed a circus.'

"Mr. Chuck growled something naughty and slapped the old chap's face, whereat Tib displayed seven different angry colors, and we were hustled away from the neighborhood of the plaintive wailing. 'The missionary's kid,' I reminded, in a whisper.

"That night our ruddy host visited us again and tried to wrench the secret of the lost lode from our unwilling bosoms. 'If you don't tell, I am to whip you each day with these,' he said, thrusting forward two cast-iron palms, each as large as a seal's flipper. Then he made a few savage passes near our respective heads as an intimation that when the blows fell they wouldn't be mistaken for thistle-down. And we both observed that he was no novice with his dukes.

"‘What class is he in, Billy?' inquired Tib, drowsily, as I tossed on my skins unable to close an eye. 'Think he must be in the ten-ton class. Thinks he's a fighter—out of date, antique—rolling-guard—I could—and the old fellow was sound asleep.

"In the morning Chuck bounced in and point-blank demanded me to tell where we had found the flakes. I had no sooner refused than I got a jolt that for causing constellations had a mid-winter's sky backed from the heavens. That agitated Tib, who sprang forward, only to be measured beside me by a neat left hook. I was so angry I shed a few vain tears. There is something so extremely humiliating in a man's saucy fist.

"‘No cutting,' he grinned, turning to go. 'But lots of times I do this with these,' and he admired his huge pads proudly.

"After he had left us, Tib collected his head together and tried to think. 'How was that solar-plexus blow given?' he suddenly asked.

"‘Why,' I groaned, nursing my jaw, 'he simply uncoiled his arm and thumped me.'

"‘No, no,' said Tib, pettishly, 'I mean in the picture we were showing Finzer, where the man with a head like a bean knocked out a tall, angular shrimp.'

"I explained listlessly, and was annoyed when he began going through with some physical-culture stunts. 'It's so different,' he observed, ducking nimbly and sparring at the centre pole. 'Ah, would you!' Ke-thump! 'When I was young it was a simple rushing, clinching pastime, with only the ear and eyebrow hold barred. And what was that hook the man with the freckled legs operated so neatly in folio number six?'

"‘I'm dead sick of this fighting-business,' I snarled, as my jaw gave a jump. 'Ain't you got enough?'

"‘Never, my child,' he said, softly but firmly. 'Watch me.'

"And hang me, sir, but if he didn't walk to the exit and begin calling Mr. McBurr a variety of undignified names in the trappers' patois.

"The heathens speedily gathered around, awed by his hardihood, and two squaws began chanting his requiem. Of course the harangue soon brought Chief Chuck on the canter, and he was about to lave his hands in Tib's blood when the old sport called on him to tarry in his immediate footsteps and listen. Tib's proposal was simply this: He would fight the Seal River champion, Marquis of Queensbury rules governing, and stake his goldmine secret against the little kid.

"Chuck gazed at his round face and bruised jaw in open amazement, and then a look of admiration crept into his little black eyes. And it seemed to me as if he were pitting Tib in his savage fashion. 'It shall be so!' he cried, in his deep voice, that his grandsire's blood could not rob of its rumbling, chesty intonation.

'This is to be on the square?' insisted Tib.

Chuck reminded him he would still retain the secret if cheated. Then he grew serious and faced his followers, and swore by their Shaman that the mill was not to be a double-cross. 'Fight now?' he asked, eagerly, throwing off his fur coat and jumping several feet from the ground.

"I could see he was crazy for a go, and realized he had probably had but little chance to practise up among his fellow-thieves.

"Tib touched his jaw and shook his head, and said he would enter the ring on the morrow. While the chief was disappointed, he immediately sent in some stew for us to eat and some oil to rub on Tib's bruises. You see, he didn't want the fracas to be too easy. He wanted to cherish and foster his opponent so as to have it interesting. Meanwhile we went to work. Tib had a gilt-edged memory and easily recalled all the blows so faithfully reproduced and diagnosed by our machine before Finzer and his men. I tried to make him let me take his place, for he was old enough to be my father, but he reminded me of my two-cent condition—lung trouble, you know—and I had to admit one good punch in the chest would lay me away to get dusty. Then I stood on a bale of furs and played I was the nut-brown champion, so that he could get used to the chief's height, while he hopped about like a rubber ball and did some fearful contortions. While I didn't believe he could ever lick Chuck, I hoped he would scare him to death by his manœvres. 'He won't make my weight,' he declared, 'but if I've any friends, tell 'em to place their money on me, for I'm going to annex that baby.'

"That night I rubbed him in oil, and he went to sleep early. Chuck kept the gang quiet outside our dormitory, and we were not disturbed until late next morning. When we stepped out into the sunlight the scenery impressed me as being out of joint. For in the midst of the Seal River's grand old stage settings was a roped arena that looked much like a parcel of the Bowery. And about it was a sea of flat faces, all eying with admiration the husky build of Chief Chuck. And he, despite the keen air, had been prompted by some New Bedford corpuscle to strip to the waist, quite in the approved pug style. Near our corner stood an old hag holding a blue-eyed, white-haired, splendid boy wrapped in furs. Lord, sir! His hair and eyes showed me at once he was the missionary's kid.

"‘I'll teach him to accept my challenge,' muttered Tib, throwing off his coat, rolling up his shirt-sleeves, and yanking his belt up another notch with a real professional air. 'Why don't he go and get a reputation before meeting the Green Mountain Cannon-Ball?'

"And I stepped into the corner and called the names of the fighters, and the crowd grunted in anticipation of much pleasure. 'Time!' I yelled, my throat getting a bit choky, as I picked up the head of Tib's little hammer, which some elf had broken in driving the stakes. 'Mr. McBurr, welter-weight champion of the Little Seal. Mr. T. Smith, the Vermont Passion Flower, who has licked everything on two legs, no matter how old, between the tropic of Capricorn and Pittsburg. Ready for the first go.'

"This spiel struck Chuck as being good, and he grinned appreciatively, while Tib bowed gravely and limbered up his right arm.

"‘Time.'

"And, say, sir, if you could have seen those two midgets mince towards each other on their tiptoes, Tib walking with a catty, hunching step he'd copied from the moving pictures, you would have felt a thrill of joy.

"‘By good rights he ought to cut a foot off each arm,' observed my man, as he ruefully eyed the other's enormous reach, nicely demonstrated when he advanced his immense paw and coyly concealed Tib's dimpled palm from view.

"Then in a second they sprang apart, and the big fellow feinted for the heart and snapped a dirty left at Tib's brow. Tib dodged, but the brawny knuckles barked his right eye in passing, and the crowd jeered and rocked back and forth in delight. Well, sir, the smack of that first blow cut me to the heart. I simply couldn't bear to see the dear old boy cuffed.

"‘Kick him, Tib,' I groaned, my eyes watering anger.

"‘Ashamed of you,' he mumbled, avoiding a rush and ducking to the ropes. 'This seems on the square, and I won't lose the babe by fouling.' And he nearly lost his block by pausing to kiss his bleeding digits to the kid. The blow was a left hook and jarred him badly, sir, but after he had caught the kid's eye and made him chuckle and crow and try to jump from the old hag's arms, he seemed to gather new cunning, and for the rest of the round managed to escape any serious damage.

"‘Rush in,' I begged, as he sat in the corner and I rubbed some oil on his knobby forehead. 'Infighting, number five pictures, remember,' I whispered.

"He winked his uninjured eye slyly, tossed another kiss to the kid, and I called for round two. Champion Chuck had been walking back and forth before his admirers, showing how hardy he was by delivering stamping-mill blows on his chest. The minute Tib stepped to meet him the champ's long, steel arm shot out like a trip-hammer; but, dear, dear! the way Tib bobbed under and around it and sank a pudgy fist into Chuck's cruel face, and followed it up with a two-ton blow over the heart, simply swept 'em off their feet, sir. The old hags began to yowl, and the men threw up their hands to the totem-poles beseechingly and asked of their gods why this was thus, and Chuck went to the ropes.

"Oh no, he wasn't tinged with venom when he got up and came gliding towards Rutland's Pride with long, catlike steps! You see, he saw his laurels would wither if he suffered many more jolts like that, even if he ultimately won out by sheer strength. His game was to finish Tib easily and gracefully, and when I yelled, 'Hurrah for the Green Mountain Tease!' and Tib made a little deprecatory bow and smiled on the gurgling, crowing gate receipts, he adopted a crouching style and got Tib over the left eye and below the belt before I could sound the gong.

"The last drive hurt my man like sin, and I was mad clean through at such rank play. By rights he had lost the joust by fouling. Waltzing over to him I told him to eliminate that kind of dirty work, or I'd give the decision to his opponent, but he grinned sardonically and, spitting out a tooth, made a playful lunge at my chin.

"‘Look out, old chap!' I warned, scuttling back to my panting nonpareil. 'He's so mad he'll do all kinds of crooked work to down you.'

"‘Guess it was an accident,' gasped Tib, rubbing the pit of his stomach. 'What was that hook the Spider used?'

"I told him, and the third round opened with my patron receiving a present on the side of his jaw that quickly puffed up to the size of a South African diamond, but in the rush that followed he worked the hook, and the funny part of it was he thought it was on the level. He had ducked under Chuck's crouching guard and had sent a raking right from jaw to ear, and then, in some outlandish way I never understood, he gave the Seal River belt-holder the point of his sturdy elbow just under the ear. Really, sir, it would have been more humane to have struck Chuck with a spike-maul. He rolled and writhed in agony to his corner, trying to corral his wind, and Tib, throwing out his panting chest, ignored his opportunity to finish the brute, and instead walked in his cocky gait to the ropes and reached out a trembling hand and patted the kid's white hair.

"That moment of tenderness was near his undoing. For the youngster grabbed his crimsoned fingers with all his tiny strength and wouldn't let go. And Tib, despite the fact Chuck was now up and doing, with a heart to make him look like a minced ham, would not yank rudely away. As a result they clinched, and Tib got a stinger on the side that nearly laid him low. I called time repeatedly, but the chief was thoroughly inflamed now, because of the elbow hook, and would not break so long as he thought he was winning. Then the kid took fright, his foolish baby mind instinctively telling him the two men weren't acting polite, and he sent up a shrill howl you could hear even above the guttural clamor of the on-lookers.

"When Tib heard this quivering pipe he struggled like a madman, and gave Chuck the edge of his hand on the bridge of the nose. It was one of those rasping, irritating moves that bring tears, and the double-crosser had to back up.

"‘I'm almost too old for this game,' growled Tib, his breath coming in sobs. 'And that rogue acts more unwholesome every round. But wait, I'll teach him who's holding big casino.'

"In the next six seconds he upper-cut his man twice, laying open both fat lips, and then smashed in one between the eyes that you could have heard re-echo over in Greenland. The chief let out a bellow and began fighting like an octopus, kicking, biting, and scratching, with Tib doing nothing but trying to keep clear.

"‘Break away!' I yelled, trying to dive between them with out-stretched arms, quite like Spike McDougall in the pictures. But it was nearly two minutes before I could get them apart.

"‘He'll never fight square again," lamented Tib, tenderly feeling eight inches from his head in an effort to locate his ear. My heart sank as I counted his bruises, and I could have wept for the jolts he had received. Then my hand hit against the small hammer-head in my side pocket, and, inspired, I whispered, passing it over with wizard skill: 'Nail him. It just fits the grasp.'

"‘I hate to be so low and ornery even in this kind of a mill,' he remonstrated, palming it with all his old-time, parlor-magic grace.

"‘Remember the towhead,' I urged.

"Gimme it,' he growled, forgetting he had already made it disappear.

"Chief Chuck now lunged forward, not waiting for the word. His eyes were bloodshot and soapsuds flecked his mouth. I could see he had discarded all frills and fancies and meant just plain, ugly business. In a second they were a revolving wheel of legs and arms.

"‘Soak him!' I howled, dancing up and down, and suddenly the bunch flew into two pieces, and each piece finally quieted down and resolved itself into a man. Tib was the man standing.

"‘I feel kind of cheap,' he grinned, feebly.

"But, dear, dear! if you only could have seen Chuck! He sat perfectly quiet, gazing abstractly at a tree, only moving to cautiously place his hand on his jaw. And the astounded crowd saw the swarthy flesh puff out to the size of an orange. You see, sir, Tib had been unable to really injure his iron frame and bullet head heretofore. He had made him smart, had pestered him, but he hadn't really weakened him any. That smash on the jaw with the hammer-head was like having the elevated hit you. And the mob, always having believed him invincible, couldn't understand it.

"When he staggered to his feet he lurched to Tib with open hands, and sorrowfully and carefully examined the death-dealing knuckles. Then he shook his head gingerly and croaked: 'Big medicine. White man's Shaman is great spirit.'

"‘I'm a Methodist,' said Tib, grimly, keeping this brass knuckle from all human ken.

"‘Methodist big medicine,' repeated Chuck, simply, walking back to his corner with a slightly swollen, erratic gait. 'Dam big medicine.'

"One of his henchmen speedily brought him a case bottle of cheap rum, and after swallowing the greater portion of this he began to change his mind a bit and protest that the Seal Shaman overstepped any Methodist by several yards. And cracking his heels together to show he was still in fine fettle, he rushed to drag Tib from his comer. It was at this critical point, sir, that Tib delivered his famous sprocket-wheel swing, the blow that lamed his shoulder for a year.

"For, just as Chuck sank almost to one knee in letting drive his sinewy left, Tib sprang two feet into the air and swung his terrible, battling right in a complete circle and brought it down, palm outward, squarely on top of the astonished, barbarous slugger's thick-thatched cranium, not once, but thrice. The hammer head projected from the fist for an inch. Chuck simply rolled over on his side with one deep groan, and his children howled in horror.

"‘One, two, three,' panted Tib, standing over his foe and accompanying each count-out numeral with a trembling sweep of his fat forefinger.

"‘O wow! ow!' groaned the heathens.

"‘Four, five,' continued Tib, firmly.

"‘O wow! owee! Shaman! O-u-g-h!' wailed the flat-faced audience, praying in vain to their totem-poles.

"‘Da, da, da,' gurgled the baby, as its custodian rolled it into the ring so as to gain freedom of motion to beat her head against the hideously carved wooden pillars.

"‘Six, seven,' added Tib, remorselessly, stooping quickly and picking up the crowing purse.

"‘Faster, faster! Give him the count in a rush!' I screamed, entirely losing my head.

"‘Eight, nine,' the old chap called, now counting more slowly in rebuke to me, thus giving the prostrate chief a fair chance to rally.

"And the tribe, thinking he was pumping more evil-spring tonic into its leader, began supplicating him with a medley of sounds to quit his magic.

"‘Ten—and out!' cried Tib, hugging the baby close.

"‘Down and out! Hooray!' I yelled, cutting an intricate pigeon-wing, much to the kid's felicitation.

"‘Out?' groaned Mr. McBurr, thickly, staggering to his feet. 'Say, white man, what did it? What brought the darkness?' And in awe and with something akin to reverence he lightly stroked the cluster of horns on the top of his head. For the trio of blows had caused as many little mountain peaks to push up the coarse, black hair.

"'Big medicine,' replied Tib, setting the baby on his tired shoulder and jumping over the ropes.

"The spectators instinctively started to stop us, but Chuck, quite a square sport, once the battle had been fought, hung dizzily to the ropes and with bowing head waved them back. 'Let them all go. Methodist! Big medicine!' he muttered.

"'Owee! owee!' coughed the tribe.

And with the tot in his arms my patron led the way down the Little Seal until we found the men and the boat. I looked back once and saw that Chief Chuck McBurr was still clinging to the ropes of the ring, while his children seemed intent on packing up and moving away. Maybe they were deserting a leader whose medicine was so weak, but it was almost pathetic to see the big man lingering on the scene of his downfall.

"And although we never went back for the gold, and although that was the only time Tib ever shied his castor into a ring, he always regrets he had to use the hammer-head, until I reminded him of the boy baby kicking up his heels in his father's home in Tuvak.

V
WHEN KNIGHTHOOD WORE SKATES

"IT required two weeks of resting to get Tib's face back into shape so he could look in a mirror without groaning. And I reckon he wasn't all kinds of a hero when Finzer and his men heard Fame hoarsely hooting his name all along the wide waters. Oh no! To rescue the kid was a good press-agent move, but the besting of Champion Chuck had the corner on salvos of praise. Finzer wanted to do two things—adopt us both for life and to organize a gold-hunting expedition. But beyond making him a present of what information we possessed, my patron would have no more to do with the Seal River and its strenuous environment. And in return for the information, which was largely guess-work, the agent promised to ship our baggage and picture-machine down to Montreal on the company's next steamer. He also consented to provide us with an escort and guides for a two-hundred-mile hike across country, to the eastern shores of Hudson Bay. The trip was quite easy, as the ice hadn't formed yet, and we made the most of it by water.

"Tib's object in going there was to arrange for a lifelike replica of a fur-trading station for one of the big expositions. He had been commissioned to do this stunt on the side, and the last steamer in at Tuvak had brought us letters to all the company's agents and factors. Once known that we'd never been in jail and could be trusted in a plumber's shop, coupled with Tib's reputation as a belt-lifter, our course to Mosquito Bay was made smooth and gracious and covered amid the hearty applause of densely whiskered men all along the route. At the inlet we waited two days for the company's bay steamer to pick us up and hustle us across several hundred tedious miles to the Swamp House. Here we were to arrange for a fur exhibit, a posse of trappers and hunters and a parcel of natives.

"Well, I'm glad now the old chap and I went through with the pending experience, as it gives another helping of food for reflection, and warms my heart once again as in my mind's eye I see him leading a little crusade along the lonely course of the Fried Fish River. Sometime I'll show you a bit of mediæval armor that figured in that predicament. When the full beauty of the act has filtered in I reckon you'll concede that all the Carnegie medals for bravery ought not to go to Richard Cœur de Lion and his convincing curtal-axe. For, although we were handicapped by a lack of palms and a Moslem host, we more than made up in scenic effects by doing a vaudeville turn on skates in a realm where the average Saracen would quit his religion for an opportunity to steal coal.

"Dear, dear! ain't I the rambler, though! To hark back to the main trail, it was at the tail end of our visit at the Swamp House that Tib tried to figure out how a Hudson Bay stage-setting could be reproduced in a United States exposition without melting. He had just proclaimed that artificial snow-storms and cold-storage atmosphere were easy, and he was wrestling with the tough problem of how to produce an ice-covered lake, when the talk took a flying switch to skating, and MacGully, the factor, suggested:

"‘If you want to combine pleasure and business, why not walk a mile over to Fried Fish River and skate up to Spoon Lake? The river is one smooth glare, and, besides the sport, you could visit the Spoon Lake House, long since abandoned as a living-post, but sometimes used for storage purposes. It belongs to the company and has the happy reputation of being haunted. Happy, because it keeps the half-breeds and Indians at a distance and we don't have to police it. The last factor there was an Englishman, who shot himself while insane. The natives say his ghost walks betimes. Dawley was his name, and it is supposed the solitude, and cold, gray vastness of the country unhinged him. We older fellows know he was crazy before taking the position; for when he came over from the old country he brought along lots of truck that no sane man would have bothered with, and used it in decorating the house. He left no kin, and as he was in debt to the company, many of his effects are still there. If you've not afraid of some supernatural manifestation, you'd better visit the place. It's only a ten-mile skate, and if you find anything you can use in your business, I'll send some men with a sledge to tote it back.'

"I could skate like a fiend, and was zestful for the trip, but feared for Tib.

"‘Don't worry about me, child,' he answered. 'I may not be so slim and ingrowing an elf as you, but I was born in Vermont and could easily shave myself on steel runners. Produce your skates, Mac, and we'll see if my riper years have robbed my feet. We'll start early to-morrow.'

"I suggested that we also lay out some fire-arms, as I had heard one of the trappers the day before remark that the Tan-Nic tribe was on the rampage. MacGully laughed and said I was already dreading Dawley's ghost, and assured us the Tan-Nics were now making for the Block River grounds to rendezvous for the winter.

"‘So, early next morning, laden only with a luncheon and our fair repute, we tramped north to the Fried Fish River and strapped on our skates. The river wound in and out, and you could see only a few hundred feet of it in a straight line, except where the sturdy wood gave way and allowed the eye to pick it up across country in more curves.

"And say, talk about skating! Tib was a greased rubber ball. He didn't seem to need any ice, and he gave the impression of flying. As we careened around bend after bend I felt sorry for having cast reflections on his prowess, especially as it incited him to smash all records and then try to lower his own. In fact, I had to apologize, just to get him to slow up and give me a breather. When we debouched into Spoon Lake I was nearly fagged and began looking for the post. But the old chap was disappointed at the brevity of the jaunt, and said he wished we could skate 'way across to the Great Slave.

"We found the lake quite small and surrounded by a monotonous level sweep of gray land, except on the left, where a solitary bluff, some thirty feet high, rose forlorn. It was on this lone elevation that we found the long log-house that Dawley grew tired of. The door was simply fastened with a deerskin thong, and really, as Tib blew on his benumbed fingers and tried to unfasten it, I began to hanker for the open, and appreciate why the brooding silence struck the average local scalawag as being sinister and unwholesome. Once inside, with a blaze chuckling in the big fireplace and coffee simmering on the hearth, the eerie feeling vamoosed, and as soon as Tib had carefully divided the bread, cheese, and meat, I was ready to eat a lion. And such appetites! I'm ashamed to confess that when Tib sorrowfully laid the odd chunk of bread on my birch-bark plate I gobbled it like an unthankful but thoroughly hungry hound, and pretended not to notice his partiality.

"Well, after feeding ourselves and the ruddy flames, we began to look about. At first we saw only bales of hides and furs and a few boxes of tinned goods. Then we noticed a shelf of books, once fingered by Dawley, but we didn't touch these. Next a few curious weapons, formerly housed in some moated keep in old England, whetted our interest a bit. Then we discovered the armor, three outfits in all; only, when we first saw them, we thought Dawley, accompanied by some of his mailed forebears, had stepped in to get warm. My heart jumped into my mouth, and Tib prepared to hurl his skates. You see, the junk was set up on cross-sticks and looked quite business-like. A fat set held a shy attitude, I remember, as if it was about to address us, but felt restrained by diffidence. I wanted to pack it up to take south, but Tib reminded me that the heavy clothing of the Middle Ages, paraded in a Hudson Bay concession in an exposition, would appear about as plausible as a snow-storm in hades. It was while discussing the matter, and fingering the heavy breastplates and gauntlets, that we nearly had nervous prostration, only the scare this time came from without.

"‘Men talking!' cried Tib, jumping to the door and making it fast without knowing why he did so. Then peeping through the small glass light he added: 'Indians! They can't be from around here, or they'd fear Dawley's spook.'

"Then I took a peep and beheld a score of swarthy and thoroughly untrustworthy-looking men standing on the edge of the lake, pointing their spears and several ancient fire-arms at the smoke now curling merrily from our chimney.

"‘Tan-Nics, Tib,' I whispered.

"‘They're coming up. Let's anticipate 'em,' he replied; and opening the door a bit he thrust forth his amiable countenance and asked what they wanted. For reply he got a bullet that knocked moss from the door-post.

"‘They behave like census-takers,' I observed, hysterically.

"‘They're Tan-Nics, all right,' he decided, slamming the door. 'Hunt up some guns and powder.'

"But search as I would, while he kept watch, I could find no fire-arms nor ammunition. By this time our visitors had scattered and had shot out the few small windows. Then, waxing more obstreperous as we made no return, they crept nearer, and one industrious varlet from behind a tree began bombarding the door with big rocks.

"‘Never mind, my lad,' growled Tib, picking up a can of beef. 'Two can play at that pastime.' And as the anarchist became still more venturesome and exposed his person, Tib took a pot-shot through the window and nailed him on the brow. But the effect was not as we desired. The other beggars, on discovering the can of beef, forgot their wounded comrade and seemed more anxious than before to storm us and obtain the rest of the fodder.

"‘Maybe MacGully will get worried when we do not return, and send aid,' I encouraged.

"‘My boy,' said Tib, 'this portal was once massy and solid. It's now old and decayed. The hinges are already loosened by the onslaught, and long before Mac can arrive Lucknow will have fallen. We must make for the Swamp House.'

"‘I can't see it!' I cried; for although if given a clear way we could easily distance the foe, who had no skates, it seemed impossible to gain the lake and the river, as the merrymakers were guarding the only exit.

"As I was characterizing our hard luck, a chunk of lead hurtled through the window and clinked musically on the armor. 'See what damage it did,' directed Tib. I didn't care to satisfy his trivial curiosity, and said so, and reminded him that I was young and loved to be alive and was interested solely in getting away.

"‘Why, child, that's all I'm thinking of,' he said, gravely. 'To see you rolled snugly in Mac's blankets is my only desire.'

"Of course I felt mean, and, stilling my bleat, I ambled over and examined the iron overcoat critically.

"‘Bullet struck square on breastplate and glanced off,' I announced.

"‘Good!' he cried, now all animation. 'Strap on your skates and we'll teach these sensation-mongers how to run a gentle joust-at-arms. I think the short, fat, Falstaff design will cling gracefully to my plump person.'

"And hang me, if he didn't insist that we put on the armor!

"‘Ho, armorer!' he cried. 'My casque and greaves! D'ye notice, Billy, my escutcheon? It's a lame leopard eating an angle-worm. And that means, "We Eat 'Em Alive." Live up to your old family legends, child. Your frontlet bears as a device a two-legged horse with a wart on his nose, prancing with blind staggers in an azure field. The Latin was largely knocked off by the bullet, but here's bello, and it means you must be doughty in war. Maybe Cæsar wore it.'

"You simply couldn't check his spirits. He didn't seem to care for the mob outside, but squandered precious time in hunting for a plume to stick in his helmet. I tried to quiet him and make him finish fastening his greaves, but he took his time.

"‘We must teach 'em, my child,' he responded, 'that chivalry is not dead, and as this passage-at-arms is to be a l' outrance to the finish, I would fain caracole the lists right bonnily. Remember, if we win, it is our prerogative to name the Queen of Beauty. Say, how do I look?'

"And, really, he certainly was a gay scene, especially after he closed his vizor and tried to imitate a clarion through the rusty bars. His uniform fitted like a glove, while mine was low in the neck and roomy. It was very hard to move about and retain our balance, as we had strapped on our skates the first thing, but the effect was stunning. Then Tib balked again and wouldn't open the door until he had found a weapon in keeping with the rest of the furniture.

"‘I've got to have something to brandish in my mailed fist,' he protested. 'I can't appear rampant with an empty gauntlet.'

"Not to delay the game, I felt around and found and gave him a ponderous battle-axe, and he was satisfied. For myself I selected a long, two-handled sword, hoping to use is as a push-pole. Tib, however, led me in one particular: he was armed with spurs. Well, sir, I appreciate there were some gay birds when knighthood grew outside of hot-houses, before the revolving pistol and hip-pocket were invented, but for downright oddity you could safely wager the frozen northland never saw two such imprisoned sprites before. We were about as graceful as a steel-rolling mill, but when it came to solidity, we had everything from King Arthur's time down to the Spanish-American War bereft of all garlands.

"‘Are you ready, Sir William?' asked Tib, at last unfastening the door, just as another volley of bullets and spears assured us the infidels were willing to devote all of their time and attention to our reception. I clanked my helmet against the wall in assent and staggered after him into the afternoon twilight, the air tasting ancient and musty through the vizor-bars.

"It simply swept the foe off their feet, sir. In all their Arctic-Circle doings they had never stubbed up against the steel trust. With a cry of wonder, tainted with terror, those in the underbrush about the cabin began scuttling away from the highlands to join those on the edge of the lake, where they concentrated in one startled, frightened mass. Then as the sun touched up our burnished joints they began to notice the details and grunt in amazed envy as Tib's vanity led him to flash his axe about. They could appreciate such a noble weapon even if they couldn't dope out the utility of tempered steel earlaps. I reckon Tib's show of grace hastened their first attack; for, although mystified, they wanted our plumber's outfit badly. We were now looking down on them, and one, their chief, even as he howled in apprehension, shied a bone-tipped spear up the bluff and laughed nervously as it shattered on Tib's flank. As we did nothing to cripple this aggressor their wonder gave way altogether to avarice, and the leader yelped an order and the others barked back, and with offensive demeanor the whole band commenced sauntering up to reconnoitre our position.

"‘If you weren't so cursed proud,' I mumbled, through my mask.

"‘Tut, tut!' cried Tib. 'They can never crack this combination, not even if they are safe-blowers.' And then, like a gay troubadour fresh from Palestine, he chanted a brave lay about ye ladye faire, and I staggered to his side and asked if we should meet them there on the cliff.

"Before he could retort, I answered my own query by tripping over my sword and falling against him. The tinkling of our two forms in collision reverberated loudly from the frozen bosom of the Spoon waters and reminded me of the gong on an ambulance. My unintentional ramming of Tib caused the foe to pause, suspicious of some trick, and then retreat again to the lake. And while they deliberated, Tib and I surrendered our equilibrium, and as he cried, 'Charge, Chester, charge!' we gracefully toppled over the edge of the bluff and shot down to the ice, I feet first, Tib headlong. We were second-hand meteors.

"Then was the beauty of our garb demonstrated. Being steel, we could skate just as well on our back or head as on our feet. We struck the petrified sons from Farthest North in a masterly manner. Nothing but a stone wall could stop us; I felt as if I were inside a runaway freight-train. I heard one poor devil screech shrilly as I ran over him. I tried to look out to identify him, as I had aimed myself at the chief, but the pace baffled me. In shooting the bluff I had made a right-end play, for about ten yards' gain, while Tib had bucked the centre for as much more. My drive, I shall always contend, was the acme of energetic, manly grace, while Tib, eschewing the beautiful, was crude force personified. He pivoted on his hip-pads just before striking his ninepins, and in pin-wheeling through them he got more action for his money. There was a heavy shower of brownies long after I slowed up. They simply littered the landscape!

"Once we'd ceased to slide we were surrounded, and the blows rained on my shell sounded very loud to me inside. I couldn't get up, nor could Tib, and so he began digging his spurs into the ice and propelling himself in my direction. He steered by my voice, and as he hove in line with my vizor I observed he was heavily laden with dusky passengers. Once our uniforms clinked together, he cleared a space with his axe and we managed to gain our feet. It was surprising, sir, to see how neatly I could skim around, once I began to skate. Tib was even better, and threw in a few extra flourishes I couldn't command. Meanwhile the Injuns stood back regaining their wind and expecting us to do something fantastic. I could see they were determined to absorb our weapons, which we still retained.

"‘All I'm afraid of is that the ice will break,' cried Tib. 'We must weigh as much as a Cunarder.'

"The main force of the Tan-Nics ran ahead and formed a line of battle in front of us, while the outpost began piling logs across the neck of the Fried Fish River. We had started towards this and were now forced to turn. We couldn't stop, as that meant to go down and freeze to the ice or get a spear inside our castles. The Injuns were now in pursuit, but whenever we turned a corner they lost ground, being unable to make the curve. We toyed with them in such simple ways for some time, until we made a mistake and collided. Only Tib's quickness in hooking my helmet with his axe kept us upright. Then they changed their tactics, and while half pursued, the others ran around to meet us. 'Full head of steam!' cried Tib. 'We must hit 'em fair.' And with safety-valves closed tight we bumped those in front and slid on our necks, passing through the bunch like a rotary plough through a new snow-drift.

"On the next turn around we noticed the vidette at the outlet had strung a rawhide line from shore to shore. Tib began to yearn and hanker to possess it, and, although it seemed a waste of energy, I emulated Barkis. It required an exchange of several sharp-edged courtesies before we could procure the cord, but that once done I appreciated and applauded Tib's motive. One end he made fast to the axe and allowed that weapon to trail on the ice some fifty feet in our rear, with the other end held tight in our willing gloves. Then we rapidly skirted the opposite shore until we got a noble start and had our anchor bouncing and nicking the pavement; then we curved in towards the massed force and when within thirty feet of their left wing we pivoted, standing fast, hanging to each other's necks like twin oaks. I never saw oaks do that; but our stratagem worked to perfection. For when the heavy axe could no longer continue in a straight course along the edge of the lake, it swiftly began to answer the centripetal requirements and describe a blazing circle. The enemy got wise and tried to abscond from the danger, but as the gliding axe was now overlapping their firing-line the moment was too late for the most of them. And when the whizzing cord and steel struck their scampering legs, the air grew dusky with their going up and coming down.

"‘Quite like our childhood's game of snapping the whip,' observed Tib, cheerily, forgetting his iron complexion and trying to mop the sweat from his brow.

"‘My hands are cold—very,' I gasped, for steel mittens aren't the warmest things sold in glove stores.

"‘Beat them together—' began Tib, when zip! and a baby bowlder shot over the ice and knocked his feet from under him. You could have heard the earth bulge on the opposite side of the globe from where he sat down and made the ice look like fractured stars.

"‘Two can play at curling,' he growled, as I helped him to his feet. We skated to the near shore and procured an armful of rocks. Then, striking a blithesome clip, we began enfilading the beggars with double shots. Tib would shoot at one end of the group, I taking the other, with an occasional stinger straight for the centre. What with the axe and rock play we soon cleared the lake, and then for the first time had a clear course to the barriers at the outlet. Gaining this, Tib used his axe until he had effected a narrow lane, the guard in the mean time trying to dent our chests with odd pieces of hardy timber.

"Then we drew back, right in the face of the approaching rear-guard, to gain momentum, and describing a ponderous circle, just without the reach of a fringe of clutching hands and rampant spears, turned under a ninety-pound pressure and again made a bee-line to the riddled chevaux-de-frise in the neck of the lake to smash our way through to the clear ice of the river. For the lake was a bottle, and that narrow outlet, littered with stumps and gnarled branches, could never have been penetrated without a flying start. And, dear, dear! what a vision of odds and ends, logs and ill-advised aborigines, I enjoyed in passing, as the débris rained down outside and heartily thumped my roof! Through my narrow windows I was rejoiced to see Tib also had weathered the storm, and thus shoulder to shoulder we left the lake, struck the first bend in the river, and were off for home.

"But the Tan-Nics were as persistent as book-agents, and while some continued in our wake, others, by cutting across lots, headed us off at the next corner. Our fighting blood was now up, however, and without giving an inch we hugged the pole and crashed our way through this new menace and past the first quarter. Tib yelled in my clouded ear that the original owners of our borrowed clothes had permeated the iron with their spirits and were inciting us to daring deeds. But navigating the slim river was vastly different from loafing about on the roomy lake, and more difficult; and I answered that the old knights had neglected to supply strength commensurate with their legacy of ambition, and then confessed I was out of energy and was all in. Just as I had shown the white feather, my legs became two strings and I went down, a clattering clutter of old junk.

"‘Go on and get help,' I groaned. 'I'm but an ancient relic'

"But the old chap knew a trick worth several of that. 'Stick up your heels,' he cried, and I had just sufficient vigor to obey. Then taking a mailed hoof in each of his gauntlets he continued skating, pushing and steering me before him head first, as if I were a sled. There was a ridge of iron up and down my back that made a nice keel.

"We now made terrific headway, as Tib in leaning against my feet could steady himself and put all his strength into his kicks. I'll admit the sensation was odd and slightly disagreeable at first, but after a while I began to enjoy it and pity Tib for having to stay out there in the cold and work.

"‘Hear 'em screech,' he telephoned down my insulated form. 'How near? I can't turn my head.'

"Aroused from my reverie I slightly elevated my weighty casque, and through the weaving in and out of his sturdy legs caught occasional glimpses of a dark, unwholesome throng behind us. They certainly knew how to run on ice, but as we made a turn I got a wider view and joyfully cried that only half of the tribe was in pursuit.

"‘Cheer up!' gasped Tib. 'We haven't lost any of 'em. Ah, I thought so!' And he gave a mighty lunge against my heels that caused my overcoat to grow warm with the friction.

"‘Waiting for us at the bend!' he cried, holding me dead ahead and picking up extra speed with every stroke. 'Steady!' he yelled.

"And snap! snap! bang! we'd gathered in two videttes and like a stamping-mill had struck the close-pressed pack fair in the centre. We bored a yawning hole through them, but we lost in speed a bit, and to my horror I saw those from behind draw nearer, just as Tib, clear of the muss, began to wabble and coast.

"‘The foe! the foe: they come! they—' I howled, as one swart devil staggered almost within reach of my motive power.

"Tib straightened to renew his lost youth, but I had listed heavily to port, and before he could right me on an even keel the foremost rogue jumped fairly upon his shoulders. If Tib hadn't been supported in a measure by my heels he would have gone down and out. As it was he went trembly for a second, then regained his underpinning, while the impetus of the jolt sent us gliding swiftly ahead.

"But the slight hesitation allowed the other sprites to close in on both sides, and while they could not strike Tib, for fear of hitting their chief on his shoulders, they had no false modesty when it came to me. Whang! smash! and every kind of a primeval weapon battered my aching sides. 'Look out!' gurgled Tib, and bending suddenly he bucked his rider ten feet in the van, and by the next second's soft crunch and slight jar I knew we'd rammed him out of commission before he could roll off the tracks. And just as the last jolt on my head-piece made me grow dizzy and steer badly, I was conscious of some one popping corn down the river, and as Tib gave a muffled hurrah and gasped, 'MacGully's men to the rescue,' I slipped my moorings on reason. When I woke up I was in blankets at the Swamp House, and Tib, still wearing all his armor except the helmet, was pouring whiskey down my throat. The corn-popping was MacGully's men taking pot-shots at the blood-thirsty heathens.

VI
AN ARCTIC-CIRCLE TOUCH-DOWN

"IMMEDIATELY after we met the Saracens on skates and demonstrated that the days of chivalry are not dead, we arranged with MacGully to ship the hardware home that we might have it as a memento of those husky doings. Then shaking hands with the frigid north we started on our long trip to the land of graft and graciousness, smug in the complacency of knowing that although we had netted no giants we had turned an amiable penny by our endeavors on the side.

"Well, I won't act the gazetteer, but will simply say that after a long, tedious jaunt we caught the home-bound steamer, skirted Labrador, said ta-ta to Carkwright, and finally sneaked through the Strait of Belle Isle and reached the blessed St. Lawrence.

"‘Now for sweet rest and the innocent spectacle of a cow chewing her cud in some Vermont vale,' I sighed, luxuriously, when we'd been in Montreal for a day.

"'Telegram for you, sir,' said the portly crook who mismanaged our hotel.

"'The boss says we are to catch the Saucy Liz, sealer, at Vancouver, and take a mild little run north to Kinack, on the tip of Point Barrow,' mused Tib, eying me furtively.

"'Not to win several bets,' I protested, indignantly

"'I'll wire him a refusal,' he declared, stoutly.

"Inside of two hours he was back, smiling genially. 'Pay Monsieur Garçon Whang-Bang and pack up,' he cried, joyously.

"And, to abbreviate, that night found us on the C. P., booming, so far as I was concerned, very disconsolately westward.

"It seems that my patron's exchange of wires with the chief had revealed an errand so dear to the inclination of my leader that he had recanted and had tossed in an enthusiastic affirmative, signed by our joint names. I was disgruntled, of course, as we were not strapped to the ultimate coin yet, and I had wanted to enjoy a straw hat and forget chilblains a bit before allowing the bleak Arctic environment to again encompass our clustered activity.

"But Tib was all gayety, playful as a kitten, little realizing we were about to glide from the perpetual embrace of the chilly tomb solely through my second-hand varsity lore. It transpired we were on our way to capture the Kinack pennant and dub ourselves the champions of Alaska, but we had no radical hint of the glory, not even after we had berthed aboard the Liz.

"The captain of the sealer, we quickly discovered, was an old employé of the circus, and had often collected odd chunks of Arctic life for the big shows. We had been with him once on an Iceland trip. His quest now was a mighty one, being nothing less than a whole village of tame polar bears. Needless to say, he was playing second fiddle to my patron when it came to annexing such important brutes, and even I began to lose my melancholy frown when I appreciated the fat bonus awaiting a successful outcome of the venture. So gradually waxing almost human in my deportment to Tib, we sailed away from the realm of the open-work sock.

"You should know, sir, that there is no better card for a menagerie than the Ursus maritimus; and despite his natural ferocity and the fact that he is the greatest meat-eater among his furry fellows, the big beast can be tamed and is unusually acute of perception. All the up-to-date animal shows have polars that will do all sorts of tricks and never growl. But as it costs like sin to get them, and as it takes time to make out their naturalization papers, an opportunity to pilfer a whole bevy of the deep-coated entertainers is a chance no quadruped king can allow to die of neglect.

"The four-footed treasure-trove was the property of one Olfen, an aged missionary, said the sealer. The old man had been deserted by his Innuit charges and had filled in his time snaring and domesticating the varmints. The Saucy Liz was the first boat in two years to obtrude on his privacy, and as he was short of fodder the intrusion was very welcome. He had accepted the sealer's proposal that he come to the States and live in comfort at the expense of the circus, while his pets earned his ease by travelling in the menagerie.

"Up to the north we climbed, the coast growing ever more bleak and desolate—past Nome and its gold-sanded shores, stopping at Chuck Cape just long enough to pick up some native hunters, and ultimately rounding the shoulder of Alaska, where the full force of the cold-storage zephyrs caused our stanch little craft to growl its way among the ice-floes like some aquatic bull-dog. And such a buffeting! You see, the month was August and an offshore wind was frisking the cut-glass out to the open, thus giving us our only chance of creeping in to the coast.

"The moment the Saucy Liz poked her head inside the cape four native whale-boats put out to meet us, and the captain sighed his disappointment. 'For,' he explained, 'if Olfen's Innuit flock has returned he'll never leave them, and we've had our little jaunt for nothing.'

"But Tib, slapping his fox -skin gloves briskly together, refused to entertain this unwholesome suggestion, and intimated that inasmuch as our boss had spent enough money on the trip to buy carpet slippers for every barefooted owl in the country, we must take back something, if only an iceberg.

"The desire to trade kept the natives about the sealer, and we three, Tib, the captain, and I, slid in to shore alone. Then the captain hurried us inland several hundred yards to a low, stone house banked high with dirt and plugged with moss, and called on the missionary to appear and welcome us. But the door remained closed. 'Father Olfen!' he cried again.

"And then—great Scott, sir! but my heart certainly skipped seven throbs; for from around the corner of the hut paraded seven of the biggest polars I ever saw. And the whole outfit reared with one accord and eyed us complacently. At our apparent concern the captain laughed and assured us they were tame as kittens. Then he boldly advanced and said, 'Hello, Minnie!' and stuck out his fist. And hang me, sir, if Minnie didn't return the chaste salute most amiably!

"Tib, you know, always had a hypnotic way with animals, and he, too, tripped forward and slapped another elf on the flank. Mr. Bruin slowly dropped to all -fours and rubbed his massive white head lovingly against my patron's seal-skin coat.

"But no missionary had appeared, and finding the door unfastened we entered. The room was deserted, but on a rough table was a letter addressed to the captain. In it Olfen explained that he was about to leave on a chance sealer then off shore, as to remain longer meant death. By the date of the note he had been gone about a week. 'A strange tribe has settled here,' he wrote, 'and while their superstition leads them to avoid the hut, as they believe, because of my bears, that I must be an evil spirit, they nevertheless threaten to kill me. They cry out I am Nenook Shaman, the Bear Spirit, and it is only a question of time when they will attack me. Poor, ignorant savages! If I were younger I should stay, regardless of the risk. But I find my last days are suddenly filled with a desire to see the flowers, and I cannot wait for you. If you come and my pets are still here, be kind to them.'

"After the captain had slowly spelled this out, a scratching at the door caused me to open it, and there was a nine-foot, sixteen-hundred-pound toy sitting on his haunches and politely salaaming. Tib said the old boy was hungry, and finding a stock of dried fish we led the seven into their rock corral behind the hut—and say, for endurance in gastronomic stunts those fairies had all the old Roman gluttons reduced to light-weight dyspeptics.

"Just as we had cemented the entente cordiale by the simple donation, a cloud of snow capered over the hut and the captain gained the open in three jumps. 'An inshore wind,' he cried, in explanation. I've got to save Liz. Stay here and I'll beat back at the first let-up.' And his lank form was lost in a swirl of feathers, and we were left alone.

"We built a rousing fire, for despite the month the ground was covered with cotton batting and the raw breezes owned the beach. We were pleased to note the Innuits had disappeared from the map when the storm broke loose. Olfen's letter was not very reassuring, you know. After we had fixed up the hut we paid another visit to the bears. Tib's control over them was something uncanny. They seemed to dope out everything he said, and on the first day he taught them to form pyramids and do several stereotyped tricks.

"‘What an elegant football squad they'd make,' I carelessly observed on the third morning, as he dealt out the fish.

"Tib stood transfixed for a minute, and then cut a pigeon-wing of unadulterated ecstasy. 'An inspiration, Billy!' he cried, and straightway began planning for a Polar Bear Eleven. He said he would borrow the four brutes already with the show to make up the squad, adorn them all with big mitts and muzzles, so as to reassure the timid spectators, and then challenge college teams wherever the circus went.

"‘Give me some pointers on that deadly pleasantry and watch me translate it into the bear language,' he commanded.

"And nearly all day I fed him football lore and grounded him in the science of the game. Then as the storm showed no symptoms of weakening, he got to work with his pupils, he and I playing with them. For nine ground-gainers we certainly were clever. And the bears enjoyed it immensely. Tib taught them to tote a deer-skin ball and go through three simple manœuvres, not at all unlike the real article.

"Minnie and Maude were at right and left ends respectively, and huge Rudolph in the centre. To call Minnie's name meant for her to lead off, with the other six following in close formation; and we styled it the Burglar-Proof Wedge. And Maude's name meant a similar play at left end. But our chef-œuvre was when Rudolph threw back his flat-topped head and in bruinese invited his companions to fill in the vacuums created by the moving of his giant form. For pure realism in bucking the line his stunt at centre had the other two combinations plucked to a tawdry finish. We regretted while rejoicing; for it required no prophet to see that only a freight-train could cause him and the nth power of energy in his wake to hesitate even, and it would never do to spring the joke on the same college twice.

"But, sir, for a picturesque effect it was purely supernal. It would have placed your heart three palpitations to the good just to study them as they caught on to the varsity spirit and crouched in line, eagerly awaiting the signals. And after they got so they could perform each hurricane dash without a flaw, Tib and I fell on each other's necks and shed tears of distilled joy.

"‘They are so blessed human, Billy,' he sobbed, in apology for his emotion. And he gave each champion a fish.

"Then came a dampener to our spirits that caused us to forget the gridiron for the nonce. I had gone to the beach at the first intimation of clearing weather, but instead of sighting the sealer I beheld four big oomiacs, well filled with jovial murderers. It required no second glance to see that they were our late neighbors, and in the bows of each ferry stood a spear or harpoon brandishing midget, intimating with easy grace that I was next. These simple gesticulations alone evinced that they were in rare fettle for acting roguish, and Paul Revere would have been distanced at the first quarter had he endeavored to keep tabs on my flitting footsteps.

"Tib stood in the doorway as I blew within his ken, and he had already detected the menace. He dragged me inside and closed the portal, just as the amiable rattlesnakes beached their boats and set up a song of rancor. Then they did a little green-corn dance and set our football stars to growling with a cloud of spears and arrows. I was puzzled to know what had surfeited them with courage until Tib indicated a large bottle, affectionately clasped to the bosom of the chief. Then we detected in the middle distance a sinister-looking keg. It was obvious they had procured the fire-water from the sealer while the captain was ashore with us.

"Of course we searched the hut for trappings of war, but could find nothing more offensive than some stout clubs. 'I'm afraid it's all up if they rush us,' I soliloquized, sullenly. 'They number at least two-score.'

"Tib sighed in a minor, but made no reply until he had scanned the ice-freckled wavelets with an ancient glass. Then he observed, 'If my old eyes don't deceive me, there's a thread of smoke out yon."

"I gave a hoot of joy. It was the sealer to the rescue. 'Hurrah for the Saucy Liz!'

"‘Only Lizzie knows naught of our embarrassment,' disheartened Tib, 'and is taking her time. The query is, Can we hold out till she arrives?'

"‘Speaking of maidens,' I trembled, 'we have Minnie and Maude—'

"‘I'd forgotten 'em,' mused Tib. 'If they can lend a helping hand we might gain the beach and keep the foe guessing for an hour, and then win out.'

"‘An hour!' I cried. 'Just time for two halves!'

"He grabbed me by my shoulders, sir, and gazed lovingly into my sparkling orbs. Then he lisped: 'My child, we'll start the first half now; and it's our kick-off.'

"‘Nenook! Nenook!' howled the rabble, now garbed in a delirium tremens of bravado.

"‘The smoke is thicker,' I joyously reminded my companion, as he became absorbed in studying the dancing and advancing enemy.

"‘They can't be the regular Innuit article,' he murmured. 'They must be some half-caste people. The Simon-pure Innuit hasn't any more temerity than a sage-hen, except when tackling a bear.'

"‘They're bunching for a rush,' I yelled; and the clamor for Nenook was now so uproarious that I had to use my hands as a trumpet in order to reach Tib's dull ear.

"‘Bring out the squad,' directed he. 'Have Rudolph play centre.'

"And with our seven players in line, with Tib and me at quarter and half back, we trailed around the corner and on to the Arctic gridiron and faced the would-be champions. They had expected the bears, and, being used to that kind of trouble, were loaded with an antidote in the shape of bone-tipped spears. And yet the shaggy, orderly array puzzled them and warned that we were there for no parlor pastime. Seeing us come to a halt, they foolishly assumed a massed formation, like a revolving wedge, and brusquely advanced to try us out.

"‘Minnie!' cried Tib, and that blithesome lass began to make a dêtour to the right, with the others ambling joyfully along behind. Well, sir, it simply swept the gang off its feet. It was all done so quickly and neatly that we'd flanked them before they saw a light. Then Minnie halted and waited for us to form the line.

"Then the chief took a sip from his flagon and coughed out a signal, and the beggars speedily presented a new front and again prepared to rush. You see, we had an elegant chance to cut for the beach after the first end-play, but our players had been trained in the corral, where they were forced to halt after making thirty feet. So the benighted romps had absorbed the impression that ten yards was their limit on any one play. And, of course, Tib and I did not care to wander about on the beach alone while waiting for the sealer to arrive.

"‘What are we tarrying for now?' I cried, as the other line again approached, this time more rapidly, and seemingly oblivious to fear.

"‘Minnie won't work it twice in succession,' yelled Tib. 'Maude must come next, or they won't play. We taught 'em to alternate, and we mustn't try the left end until the crowd gets nearer.'

"As the last word was barked, Kinack's Prides were upon us, trying to buck the line. But when it came to plunging they were rotten; too light, you know. And say, sir, they ought to have been penalized thirty yards for treading on our centre's toes and thrusting at the guards with their ticklers.

"‘All ready!' howled Tib, reaching between the centre's feet to kick a study in oils on the nose. 'Maude!'

"And away they gambolled to the left in search of ten yards more of leeway. And Maude carried with her, sir, the bunch of deer-skin. You see, we had to fetch it along to give the bruins their cue. Bless their old hearts! It was all a game to them.

"But this play was attended by a beautiful mêlée, as we'd waited a few seconds too long, and as our guards had never lined up against even a scrub eleven before, and consequently were a bit dazed and rather punk on the defensive. However, they managed to break up the interference after a fashion, and finally, somewhat winded, we were one family again.

"But the captain of the Kinackers absorbed a pint of stimulus and I could see we were in for livelier doings. The first two plays had foozled 'em a trifle, but now they were up and ready and very wise. So far they had suffered no injury, thanks to our teaching the bears to use but little strength in anticipation of the college games to come. Ergo, they waxed confident and decided that Nenook had lost his medicine.

"They didn't seem to realize that their spear-work had excited the home team and that our right guard's ugly, dark-stained shoulder was a source of annoyance to him as he compared it with its silvery-white companion. But they got an inkling when a rash tackle from their side ducked in and received a crack that sent him thirty feet. As our big boy handed out this bunch of sleep-germs he turned in the middle of a growl and seemed to apologize to Minnie for his rudeness.

"But the jab had puzzled the poor beggar, and only Tib's shriek of approval kept him from chasing his man. And I jumped four feet on high just to pat his head. Then, perfectly reassured, he made a scythelike sweep and knocked a midget out of sight.

"We had now gained twenty yards and still retained the ball. 'Play a saloon game,' begged Tib, prancing up and down behind Rudolph and studying the field.

"The visitors, still failing to appreciate that they had been working the wrong combination, now drew back long enough to toss up a few orisons to their tribal deity, and then came smash against our centre before we could budge. Dear, dear! how foolish of them, sir, when they could have run the ends!

"‘Boom-a-lacka! boom-a-lacka!' I howled, recalling a fragment of the old yell, while Tib spoiled an off-side play with his club and called on the left end again to lead off.

"But it was Rudolph's turn to score, and every bear knew it, and Maude wouldn't stir a peg. But they fought where they were just the same, and as each bear was now heavily laden with venomous activity, there was enough heathen fur clothing spoiled to keep a city's worthy poor as warm as toast all winter. Inside of six seconds twice as many of the foe were sent ricocheting in a variety of directions; and in sixty seconds we were pushing the whole crowd away. But they did not get clear before Rudolph, angry at missing his turn, got it through his thick noodle that the other side was behaving like river-drivers. And in one off-side play he gathered four of the vermin in his generous arms, and with a mighty o-o-o-of of satisfaction strained the collection to his bosom. When he discarded them over our heads they lay very still and their captain had to call in the substitutes.

"‘Great game!' I panted, in the breathing-space allowed by the Kinackers' retreat to the rum-keg.

"‘Got to keep moving, or they'll bag us yet,' bawled Tib. And our boys—now digging up a sulky streak, began beckoning energetically with their steel arms for their rivals to mix it up again, instead of waiting for our signals. You see, sir, we were in a tight place—we didn't dare leave our breastworks, and the squad was unwieldy to handle. The game, too, was vastly different from the merry practice in the corral, and the whole bunch were disgusted because their usual honorarium of fish was not forthcoming. Tib and I realized our lives depended on their keeping together, and we both worked overtime to tickle their vanity. But what saved us was the ball. Each nine-foot warrior had been taught to centre his or her whole soul on that trifle, and true to their training they obeyed orders and refused to desert their colors.

"‘They're coming!' I warned, as the mob of round forms waddled to a right-about face and cantered forward.

"‘Keep close to Rudolph,' cautioned Tib. And then, 'Centre! 4-11-44!' The numerals meant nothing, and were thrown in only for good measure.

"But at the familiar call Rudolph plunged forward to buck the advancing line, with every other ounce of bear-flesh trailing on behind, with a fringe of paws cuffing at the sides to spoil interference, while Tib and I scuttled along between the two bulky lines. And I was overjoyed to see Maude emulate Rudolph's system and pluck a hostile right tackle out of his clothes with one neat sweep of her hooks.

"Tib and I tried to reach the brutes' close-set ears with expressions of praise, but they were well-nigh deafened by the hoarse clamor of their assailants and forgot for the moment they had been civilized. But that centre-play, sir, brushed all records of strenuous endeavor to the background, and, as Rudolph failed to remember the confines of the corral, we advanced to within two hundred yards of the beach.

"Then, as we thought we were to have a breather and time to quiet our men, that happened which Tib and I had feared from the start. The heathens began to open up, preparatory to running the ends and flirting with us bipeds. The first dash came so near to netting Tib, I decided the pennant was surely lost. You see, the dear, old, furry idiots were again trying to remember our mottoes and maintain a life-lease on the leather; hence, they were but mildly curious when six rum-inflamed full-backs sneaked in from the left and as a unit nailed my patron.

"I dented several fat faces with my club before a relay crew buckled on to me. Then I went to the mat, and the count had proceeded to nine before my leader could liberate his vocal organs sufficiently to gurgle, 'Down!' And then Gertrude, bless her! a demure little lass of about twelve hundred pounds, playing left guard, wheeled and nearly finished us with her zeal to eliminate our encumbrances. But to collect the invaders you would have needed a large quantity of the best blotting-paper. It required just two sweeps of Gertrude's powerful paw to dig us out of the débris.

"When once on our bewildered feet we saw that one end-rush had cost us dear. Our right guard would never play again. For the life of me, sir, I could not help but pause and rub his head as he tried to rise and take his old position. He closed one eye in passing out, as if saying, ' Great footwork, eh?' And there was a blur in my lamps as I dragged myself behind the faithful, shattered squad. The six of them still accepted it all as a game, you see, although perplexed by their neighbor's roughness.

"‘Line up for the last half!' wheezed Tib, wiping the blood from his eyes. 'The sealer's in and dropping boats. One more scamper and we'll be clear.'

"‘Nenook! Nenook!' hoarsely yowled the beggars, pointing exultantly at our prostrate guard.

"And say, I actually loved those gigantic, white sillies as they tossed back the challenge in six growls; and true blue to the last, all ranged up beside Rudolph, who, hugging the ball against his now brown breast, turned his foolish head to catch Tib's signal.

"And Tib, believing his players had lost tabs on whose turn it might be, cried, 'Centre!' for the second time, and, sure enough, Rudolph bowed his form and lunged ahead for another irresistible buck.

"The ex-champs, however, catching sight of the approaching boats, no longer tried to run the ends, but to our great felicitation met us fair and square in one last, tremendous effort. As they closed in we enjoyed the worst scrimmage of the game. I'll confess, sir, the visitors played snappy ball and showed lots of ginger; and as our boys indulged in many a hearty nip and rake, they handed it back right smart. Why, even in that last moment they gave every promise of lugging home the cup.

"For the first few yards we tore down the shingle briskly and simply waded through the heavy underbrush of jabbing arms and kicking legs, Tib and I doing no real husky work, just staggering along. But as our players became more infuriated, and paused in the game to hold personal altercations, I surrendered my last hope.

"To accentuate our despair, just as we had nearly come to a stand-still, and Rudolph, busy cuffing a native, refused to heed the signals, we lost our left tackle, a promising young player, but a bit hot-headed.

"‘Rudolph! Centre!' again choked Tib.

"And dear, dear! If the old sport didn't turn his red eyes, stop gunning for pelts, grab up the ball, and once more begin to plough ahead. And the other four loyally fell in behind and swung through the big hole he had made in the unsavory mass of alleged humanity. Thus did we come to the water's edge.

"And the enemy seeing the last half had been played, scurried back to the boats somewhere up the coast.

"‘How can we get these five life-preservers aboard?' panted Tib, as he wrung the captain's hand.

"‘Can't do it now,' bawled the captain, dancing in merriment as he nailed a retreating seven-hundred-dollar bunch of furs with a hatchet. 'The wind is again inshore, and we've not a second to lose if we'd save our hides and Liz.'

"So, after all, we had to leave the bears. But despite the scarcity of the minutes, we dragged ourselves to each and sorrowfully shook a paw in parting. As we gazed back from the sealer we saw them sitting in a row, the centre still holding the ball, and we watched them until their huge, white coats melted slowly into the drifting veil of snow.

"In another week we were back again, but could find no bruins.

"But up there somewhere in the eternal cold is a fraction of Alaska's first eleven, ready to face all comers. I often see them in my mind's eye stanchly standing off a gang of natives; and although their old trainer's voice will direct their plays no more, I can see them pegging down with ponderous energy the championship of the Arctic Circle. And do you know, sir, I've often wondered if in their wanderings they affectionately tote about that absurd wad of deer-skin; and if, on pleasant days, they indulge in a little quiet practice in memoriam of their first coach. At least, I know they are loyal to one another, and mayhap to-night are forming up for the last game. And if, perchance, only one of the rugged quintet remains, I have no doubt but he will go down gamely, with only a few yards to gain.

VII
THE REFORM AT RED ANT

"AFTER the Point Barrow nightmare, Tib had no irresistible hankering to hurry back to the States. For the second time, under one contract, we had fallen down—in Greenland and on the bears. Of course we had picked up a lot of bargain-counter sales for the circus—seals, a musk-ox, and such knick-knacks—but no Big Show, ten-by-twenty-foot poster stuff. Consequently we wouldn't endanger our lives by crossing a crowded street to greet the disgruntled owner. So we rolled up our kits and told the captain of the Saucy Liz he must leave us at Skagway. It was sadly out of his beat, but my patron was the accredited agent of the Loud Noise down in the sunshine, and with a hatful of explicit and all-searching epithets the Liz grouchily turned her nose in by Sitka and we were delectated. If I remember correctly, the captain in parting earnestly explained how he would like to see a rabbit, well trained down, run continuously for a month, and then measure off the distance fairly and exactly and have the privilege of permanently locating us that many miles in the heated hereafter. Anyway, the expression of good-will was very chaste.

"But we forgot him and his narrow views in our new surroundings. The first thing that impressed us, once we'd commenced the trip to Dawson, was the lack of municipal improvements and high public spirit. Of course you couldn't expect the average citizen to wax warm and zealous while living in a snow-drift, and thus I put it to Tib. But he insisted the only time to begin the discipline of a dump was when the dump was born. He argued that if a town is taken kindly, but firmly, in hand at its inception, and if civic pride is administered in small doses, you can't help but have a model habitat as the years prance by. He admitted it is wellnigh impossible to achieve in a minute any lasting results here in the East, and that the good must be taken with the bad. But in new parcels of our country, he contended, where towns bloom overnight, it can be done if the place is permeated with respectability at the start. And say, when it came to doctoring and nursing a seedy, disreputable centre of alleged civilization, I suppose Tiberius Smith ranked four miles ahead of all other physicians. He was certainly a doctor of towns and ought to have had a degree to that effect. Tiberius Smith, T.D.; not so bad, eh?

"And what do you suppose his remedy was? Trading-stamps. Now don't look sceptical; remember, you can't strangle veneered vice with crude brute force. Tell a man he shall not drink kerosene, and he'll boom John R.'s game by breaking into storehouses and licking up a quart of that same article. And I reckon a man is never seized with an insane desire to take a drink in a prohibition State, eh? But, you see, Tib's way was to make virtue so attractive that, like Scrubine and other washing confections, you simply had to have it to be happy.

"Well, we reached Dawson, and had found our stock of joy-paper was fading away, with no indication of a diamond-hiked existence to cheer us on, before the psychological moment arrived for Tib to play the rôle of Moral Cleanser. I was for rushing into the wild-wood and tearing up alder bushes in a mad search for a golden reprieve, while the old chap was hinting I plight my troth with a Digger Indian princess, encumbered by several million dollars' worth of furs, and take him home to a chimney-corner of ease and baked dog. Naturally I complained of his grim humor, and to accentuate our position shook two meagre coins in his wasting face, and reminded him we had arrived at the point when snow-balls would taste good.

"As I was trying to recall him to a sense of our plight, and was at the climax of my despair, we fell in with a party of miners bound for Red Ant Camp, on the creek of the same name, just this side of Stewart River. The leader was a jovial dog, who, without reserve, told us that fifty of the boys had control of all the golden deposits on Red Ant and that there wasn't room for another pair of boots to crowd in.

"‘But we do need a store-keeper,' he admitted. 'I've just bought a load of stuff down the line, and it's being toted up there now. To be honest, gentlemen, I was on a little toot when I passed over the boys' dust, and, although I bought a whole cargo of stuff, it may be all piannys for what I know. Ye see, we all chip in and share expenses, but every one's so busy mining that the store has to run itself. If you and the kid want the job of running the store, hop along.'

"‘And you don't ask for references, my bearded pard?' asked Tib, his brown eyes lighting up with hope.

"Mr. Boots tapped him impressively on the shoulder and said: 'Don't let that bother ye. If a man plays us crooked we know what is good for him, and we'll leave him simply nothing to worry about. But speaking of that reminds me, if you can see any way to keep the town on the level and help its morals we'll boost yer game to the limit. We kind of need a soother and a shepherd.'

"That tickled Tib. It was a situation he liked. To reform and keep lamblike a bevy of fifty maneaters was what would appeal to his decent mind. Of course, violence was out of the question, and that's why he liked the game. It demanded subtle and scientific treatment.

"‘Billy,' he whispered, as we spun down the river, I'm going to make that the nicest place in the northern zone, I'll fix 'em so they'll be pure as the nine months' snows.'

"And all the way to Red Ant he was busy scheming. But it was only after he had rummaged among the camp's stores on the boat that he saw a light. 'It's all easy now,' he encouraged. 'I've found just what I need.'

"Our reception at Red Ant was hearty and wholesome, but as I heard the crowd clamoring for whiskey I knew Tib had a tough outfit to convert. I could see they tolerated us as they would a couple of Chinese servants. But Tib was all enthusiasm, and after two days' work, no one lending a willing hand, we had broken open the cargo and had it neatly arranged in the big, double log-house which was to be our home and store combined. Fortunately, Ruddy Mac's toot had not resulted in a useless invoice, and although there were many knick-knacks there was also a large amount of tinned and canned stuff and other fodder.

"But what Tib gloated over more than all else was a box of trading-stamps. How they ever got into that mixed cargo was a mystery, but there they were, and it was with these Tib intended to quiet the town and elevate its morals.

"First, he hustled about and got the names of the fifty miners, and then he sprung his plan. They were for it keenly, sir. Tib could talk the face off a mule, and he speedily had them hypnotized. Besides, collectively they wanted to be decent. It was only as individuals that they gazed lovingly on toots and high play.

"Well, the first night after the system was instituted there was the quaintest photo you ever gazed on when the citizens came up to the store to get their supplies. Tib had divided his merchandise into necessities and luxuries. Every man was scheduled to partake of the necessities, but only those holding trading-stamps could revel in the delicacies. And a man to get a trading-stamp had to be good.

"‘Ah, Mr. Jones,' saluted Tib of the first comer, 'you have two stamps coming to you. Give Mr. Jones two merits, Billy, for bravery on the field of battle. I observed, sir, you refused to drink from Tuttle's flask this morning.'

"‘It was rum, an' he takes only gin,' growled Mr. Tuttle, in self-defence.

"‘Never mind what he has taken,' replied Tib, tartly, bending over his books; 'he didn't drink in working-hours. One stamp for Mr. Tuttle, Billy. Beware of the serpent, Mr. T., and never tempt a fellow-creature.'

"‘How many do I get?' asked a burly, shame-faced fellow, approaching amid a universal grin.

"‘I'm sorry, Mr. Gumpy, but there is no mail for you. You fired seven bullets through the northeast corner of Mr. Daggett's cabin at noon and knocked out a great deal of the chinking. No delicacies for Mr. G., Billy,' cautioned Tib.

"‘Wal, I'll be—'

"‘Tut, tut!' warned Tib. 'You will be if you say naughty things. See that sign up there? It forbids swearing in my store. Be careful, or you'll lose another stamp.'

"‘But I've got to eat!' howled the giant, glaring at his overjoyed companions.

"‘You can always get the staff of life,' assured Tib, gravely. 'Billy, one pound of potatoes and a pound of pork for Mr. G.'

"‘But I only did it fer fun,' remonstrated Gumpy. 'I knowed Dag wasn't at home.'

"‘Ye ain't no right ter spile my home life,' grinned Daggett, and the crowd roared.

"‘Dern ye, Fatty, come out here an' I'll clean ye up!' yelled Gumpy to Tib, as he grabbed his groceries.

"‘Once for all, gentlemen, understand I'm no prize-fighter. Mind you, I don't concede this poor, benighted mortal can clean me up, as he vulgarly expresses it. But so long as a unit you indorse my system, so long will it stand, and no brawler or gambler or boozer can have his shirt mended on that sewing-machine, or eat a sugared plum from that pink box, or hear "My Old Kentucky Home" on that talking-machine. He can only take his pork and potatoes and go home a sadder and, I trust, a wiser man. And again, any man who coarsely threatens me and intimates that I am fat, will get no stamps for a week. This holds good so long as the town, as a whole, backs me up.'

"The town went wild and howled itself hoarse, while Ruddy Mac observed, slowly, 'It would be a shame, boys, if Gump cut up any didoes and had to be hung.'

"The giant bowed his head and shuffled home. Then the gang began swapping their stamps. Five, for a stamp each, gathered about the talking-machine, and slapped their booted legs, and writhed in glee, and cried, 'Ain't that the limit?' While those who had no stamps coming stood sullenly around and scowled blackly at Tib.

"And he noticed their evil looks, and, picking out Slouchy Williams, declared: 'Mr. Williams, another of those furtive, sidelong, venomous glances at me will result in no stamp to-morrow. Be sunny in looks if you can^t be sunny in your heart. You can't eat your cake and have it. Don't try to pick a quarrel with Little Bob again. That's why you lost your chance to-day.'

"Well, sir, it was simply beautiful to see Slouchy throw amiability into his gnarled countenance. His eyes showed green, while his bearded lips cracked in an awful contortion meant for a sweet smile. Every time he caught Tib's eye he would fracture his face with merriment.

"The majority of the gang took immensely to the idea. They began to realize that, although left out one day, they might enjoy the good things on the next. There was a fascination, too, in seeing who would be passed by at each nightly assembly. The big fellow, Gumpy, was so good the second day that Tib gave him three stamps, and he ate a small jar of strawberries, had his reefer mended by Tib, and cried over 'My Old Kentucky Home,' while Daggett, fallen from grace, was denied all of these pleasures.

"‘I am simply showing you, gentlemen, that it really pays to be proper. There is no investment that will bring such big returns as decency,' explained Tib, as he waved Daggett aside with some beans and onions. 'Now, Slouchy yesterday wanted to kill Little Bob. To-day he helped Little Bob mend his rocker. Some different, eh? Something cheery cropping out, eh? Good nature assaying top high, eh? Billy, give Slouchy four tickets for trying to reform,' And Slouchy^s face glowed with pride as he squandered his surplus.

"‘But I want ter hear "Blue Bells o' Scotland,"’ groaned Daggett.

"‘Go and listen in a sea-shell,' advised Tib, kindly. 'If you can't be desirable, your existence will consist largely of potatoes. Another time don't tell a man he has only one choice of locating a claim in the future state, and that it won't be Alaska weather. Leave something to the imagination.'

"‘What? Can't I cuss at my work, jest to ease my mind?' cried Daggett.

"‘No, siree! No profanity goes in this camp,' declared Tib, as he loaned a man a picture-book for two stamps.

"‘That's proper,' affirmed Ruddy Mac, who at times was most impolite in his language. 'Dag got a stamp yesterday, and now he thinks he can run the whole damned shooting-match.'

"‘No stamp for you to-morrow, Mr. Mac,' snapped Tib.

"Mac gulped back a throatful of expletives, grew blue in the face, but mildly said, 'All right, Mr. Smith.'

"‘And don't think this ruling means you have a day to riot in,' cautioned Tib, slowly.

"‘All right, Mr. Smith,' choked Mac.

"And the crowd went wild, sir; for Mac was their leader, and they saw Tib was playing no favorites. 'It 'll teach ye ter keep a clean tongue in yer head,' reproached Sausage Joe, the biggest coward in the camp. 'I'm ashamed that a man of yer years should act so.'

"Mac wheeled with fist drawn back, then grew limp. Water was in his eyes as he sobbed: 'Lad—ha, ha! Let's be merry! Lad, sometimes you stand in the valley of the shadow and don't know it. Oh, I wouldn't harm a fellow-creetur for a bushel of rewards of merit, but if—wow!' And he ran away from the chortling group as fast as his long legs would carry him.

"‘If I thought, boys, that any of you were deriding a worthy member of Red Ant, your cards wouldn't be good at the box-office for a week,' said Tib, softly.

"The teasing laughter was instantly squelched, and you never saw such sad faces in your life. But every now and then a man would go outside and cough violently.

"Well, sir, Tib's game swept 'em off their feet. It also swept away all-night parties, and the men began to send more dust home. A drunk was a curiosity. Of course, they would take a beaker at home, but there was no more dancing on the green and trooping the colors around the merry May-pole. There were lots of books in stock, and Tib let these out at two stamps per week. Then he found a magic-lantern and pictures of other climes, and every time the whole camp, down to the last individual, was good for two days he'd give an illustrated lecture. And they liked that best of all! He'd been all over, and could give the atlas lots of points, and when he gave a talkfest on Africa or India's coral strands they were there, keen to listen.

"Of course, the man who indulged in pranks, or tried to shoot out the moon, and thus postponed the treat, was bound to become unpopular. The whole camp set aside Friday and Saturday for their extra- good-behavior days, and usually had the lecture Saturday night. Deaf Mitchell said he was tired of looking at pictures and not hearing any of the talk, and on a Saturday morning he threw a rock against our door just to stop the others' fun. When Tib and I overtook him he was surrounded by a score of miners in the woods, and one of them was busy throwing a rope over a branch. One end of the rope was decorated with a noose.

"‘We's jest tryin' a little innercent game, Mr. Smith, and Mitch here stopped ter watch us. Didn't ye, Mitch?' spoke up Gumpy.

"‘Sure, Gump; an' now I guess I'll trot back with Mr. Smith,' replied Mitchell, fervently, taking hold of Tib's hand and gazing down on the top of his head affectionately. 'An' say, store-keeper, I's taken crazy with th' heat a few minutes ago, an' may have damaged yer door. If I did, don't hold back yer picter talk an' pester th' dear old boys on my account. Take it all out of my hide.'

"‘He don't think he'll be troubled with them fits ag'in,' explained Mac, gravely, following behind us, rope in hand.

"‘I think if he shets off on red licker fer a few months his health 'll be better,' prescribed Little Bob.

"‘Since it was all a mistake, and seeing that he is to drink no more, I guess I won't charge anything for the rock,' smiled Tib.

"‘Oh, he won't drink no more. He's took the pledge; ain't ye, Deafy?' asked Mac.

"‘Sure,' whimpered Deafy, who loved fire-water worse than an Injun.

"Only once did the imps try to break the combination. First, Gumpy came to Tib and explained the morrow was his birthday, and that, although no stamps were due him, he wanted a few on credit. Said his old mother always celebrated the day, and he liked to observe it. Tib melted in a second and passed out six stamps, but warned him his aged parent would feel it keenly if she knew he had to borrow the fruits of respectability. Well, next came Little Bob, and he had a birthday he wanted to embroider. He was on the naughty list, but Tib fixed him out. Then came Tuttle, also blacklisted; ditto Johnson—and each had a birthday with no stamps due them. Tib began to look solemn, but delivered the goods to each man.

"But on the next roll-call he gave a little lecture on honesty that would take the kinks out of a wire door-mat. It certainly was tart. He drew pictures of about every form of rascality, and then showed how these weaknesses are all praiseworthy pursuits compared with malicious falsifying. And it stung 'em to the quick, sir! No one answered back, but several days later the bogus birthday claimants, after being as good as the gold they'd dug out, came up in a body and admitted they were unregenerate liars. Then they laid down the amount of their embezzlement and slouched off.

"Then Tib played a big card, and I trembled for my job. He decided the time was ripe to forbid Sunday labor. He labored with them and offered three extra stamps for each Sabbath spent free from work. He told them he had noticed several were breaking down under the strain, and he invited them to come to the store, and loll back and smoke a pipe, and listen to a chapter from the Bible, and imagine they could hear the church-bells in old New England. They kicked, and kicked hard, but Tib was like the granite of his native Vermont, and at last Ruddy Mac concluded: 'It's blessed tough, boys, but I reckon it's right, and if I see any man working on Sunday I shall feel like smashing him. Of course, I wouldn't,' he hastened to add, as Tib elevated his brows in surprise and reached for the demerit book. 'Of course I wouldn't, but I might feel like it. No harm in that, is there, Mr. Smith?'

"‘Well, I don't know,' mused Tib, still retaining the fatal book. 'Of course, it isn't good form to encourage violent thoughts. But you were honest in confessing, and we'll let it go this time. Billy, give Mr. Mac a stamp for extra honesty.'

"Then what might seem to be a flaw in the system was shown up. And yet it wasn't a flaw. Tib's system was all correct, but the human system in Red Ant hadn't been chastened sufficiently. On Mac's birthday—a genuine one—the crowd got permission to celebrate all night, providing none was unfit for work on the morrow. During the festivities Slouchy Williams decoyed all of those who had saved up rewards of merit into a poker game and cleaned out the lot. At the wind-up they wagered their stamps. When Tib faced the sad-eyed losers next day he docked them for two days' stamps, while Williams was denuded for a week.

"‘And does Slouchy git value received for those stamps?' asked Mac, humbly.

"‘Certainly,' declared Tib, promptly, 'I shall always honor one of these stamps.'

"Williams grinned broadly, and stated that he would start in on the morrow and take a holiday while earning no stamps, and incidentally monopolize the talking-machine. Tib readily assented, but that night he unpacked some blank records and for several hours quoted into the machine from the Bible. 'I guess Mr. Williams will have earned his holidays,' he grinned to me, as he quit.

"Next morning the entire gang accompanied Slouchy to the cabin. They sighed as he gravely threw down a wad of stamps and asked his followers kindly to keep quiet so as not to disturb him. Then he slipped on a roll, and the buzzer began to glide. Well, say, if you could have seen the look of horror on his rugged face as he saw the writing on the wall! It simply sent him pasty white in a minute. For Tib, in picking out those verses that are licensed to jar an unwholesome man, had liberally supplied Slouchy's name to the text, and the warnings had an unpleasant personal trend. 'Oh, ye generation of vipers! Oh, ye Slouchy Williams!' rippled the record in Williams's astounded ear. 'Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink and play poker. Woe unto them that mace their brothers and presume upon their loot. Oh, woe unto Slouchy Williams and his sin. As the fire devoureth the stubble, and the flame consumeth the chaff, so shall Slouchy Williams melt away if he doesn't repent of his evil ways. Woe unto you, Slouchy! Woe! woe! woe!'

"Then he gasped and tried another; but, bless you, sir! they were all loaded for the sinful, and Slouchy staggered to his feet crying that he had had enough.

"‘No,' contradicted Tib, gravely, 'I've taken your stamps and you must take the goods. I appeal to the gentlemen present.'

"Ruddy Mac got wise in a second, and with a glad gleam in his sombre eye he thoughtlessly hitched his belt around front and observed, 'Of course, no one here would hurt ye. Slouch, but just listen to the machine. That's all: listen!'

"And Williams sank back in his seat and heard the whole programme. He took it all at one sitting, and two hours later we saw him throwing whiskey-bottles and cards into the creek. He even asked if it would be all right to retain his pipe and tobacco. Tib told him it was perfectly correct to do this.

"‘Jest as ye say, Mr. Smith. I feel like makin' a sacrifice, an' I'll heave th' pipe after th' other sin traps if ye say so.'

"So it wasn't a flaw, after all, and Red Ant became the cleanest and most upright camp in all the Yukon diggings. And then, just as Tib had arranged for several brand-new reforms, the creek leaped its banks and washed us all out. It was something the system couldn't help.

"After the flood subsided the men found the diggings had been washed out, and sorrowfully they separated for new fields, each a leaven for good wherever he should settle. Tib and I with a meager stake went back to Dawson. I say 'meager'; it was a minim. It was so slight and frail, and there were so many things we could not buy with it that we went hungry for several hours after arriving, trying to decide whether we should lavish it all on one square meal, or have it made into a scarf-pin.

"Just as we had reached the zenith of our discussion, and I was urging food against Tib's artistic inclination for a specimen of the gold-worker's art, who should approach us but Slouchy Williams, most dishevelled and gaunt.

"‘Mr. Smith,' he faltered, fishing nervously in his jeans, 'here's three trading-stamps I brought away with me. You know you always said you'd honor 'em, an' I reckon if it wasn't for th' big water I'd had a bale on 'em by this time.'

"‘What will you take?' inquired Tib, absent-mindedly, reverting to his old rôle of store-keeper. 'Any demerits against Mr. Williams, Billy?'

"I'm dyin' for a feed,' groaned Slouchy, hugging his stomach in the true Smike style.

"Tib instantly produced our small hoard and pressed in into his clutching hands, and said, 'I redeem the stamps. I hope, Mr. Williams, when we meet again there will be no black marks against you.'

"And thus did the prize-package of Scrubine place us on a footing that allowed no further debate—dead-broke.

VIII
WHEN LUNACY WAS TRUMPS

"HOW we worked our way southward on an Eagle City boat remains too harshly in my memory to be dwelt upon. Enough to say Tib swallowed his pride once we arrived at Seattle, and wired, 'Collect,' to the circus boss. 'Need several hundred dollars to buy umbrellas,' was the trend of his message, for he would never openly concede defeat. And we didn't have to wait for a letter in receiving it, either; although the first post did bring a most beautiful and blistering call for allowing the purse-strings to get unwholesomely loose. You see, the Big Top people were there to stake Tib in anything, from the manufacture of soap-bubbles to selling warming-pans in Cuba. For I suppose there never was any one man who pulled off so many big coups in their interest as he. I've simply detailed some of our mishaps, as I believe the defeats wore a broader fringe of the unique than could be found on the average victory.

"But the sight of real money, printed on both sides, so heartened us that the old chap inflated his chest and began discussing gilt-edged investments with would-be, almost Napoleons of finance in the lobby of the best hotel. Yet beneath it all he felt chagrined to have failed to land on the innermost bull's-eye; and two days after we'd butterflied about the burgh he decided we should run away to Broadway and hold a consolation session with the boss. We were not to go hurriedly, he explained to me, but leisurely and pleasantly, stopping to pluck fancy's flowers here and yon, arriving gradually and in dignified placidity.

"It was owing to this lazy mode of travelling that we two worldlings found ourselves at a point in the Middle West where Time had turned a few handsprings backward, and brought to our startled ken King James of Merry England and the four-flushing usurper, Monmouth. Only, in this replica of Britain's past Mr. Monmouth won out. I reckon that Tiberius Smith was the one mechanic in the whole game of life who could have worked that change in historical events.

"Sounds odd, eh? Somewhat teasing, eh? And yet all the events flowed naturally once you got into the channel; only, Tib was the only man who would ever have waded into such a distorted channel. He was ever a Columbus to the abnormal.

"You see, we had left the autocratic porter and his vestibuled home at Beanville—I won't name the State—in an idle quest for tourmalines and amethysts, often found in that locality. A horse-dealer had told us of the place, and Tib immediately took a fancy to loiter about a few days. It was while at Beanville that we first heard of Tanker's Mills, twelve miles back in the mountains. It was connected with the outside world largely by heartthrobs, for the rough country road evidently was constructed while the workmen were entertaining the delirium tremens.

"It seems that at the close of the Civil War the only insane asylum in the State burned down, and that a score of the inmates in escaping the flames wandered up to Tanker's and took possession of a few deserted cabins. As the commonwealth was bedridden with debt, and as the little colony was quiet and gave no trouble, the authorities decided to leave it alone to market its own garden sass. In the settlement were several men of unusual culture, perfectly rational except on some one subject, and as they controlled the weaker minded and more perfectly crazy inhabitants, the tax-payers were glad to be rid of the whole outfit. As the years passed, the colony grew, and the individual streaks of non compos were relegated to and merged in a general plane of oddity. It became the custom when a man or woman got daffy to take them up there to board. The ruined shacks had given place to neat frame-houses, and the queer people took the best of care of any sufferers from the outside world and often sent them back cured. Funny graft, eh? Tib said it was a case of similia similibus curantur. And, mind you, those people weren't rank crazy. They averaged enough rationality to prosper and to care for an occasionally violent voter. But they were peculiar, eccentric, and of course every little while some one would get to telephoning to himself and cutting up didoes.

"Well, when Tib heard of the settlement the scenario appealed to him, and naught would do but we hire bicycles and wheel up for a visit.

"‘We are all batty on some one subject,' he declared to me. 'I'm sane until it comes to shows. Another is evenly balanced until it comes to north poles, and so it goes. I'll bet these simple folk are more rational than the average alderman.'

"To cut across lots, we came to Tanker's at nightfall, and saw from the brow of a hill a scattering settlement of white houses. As we entered the main street we observed a grocery-store, a blacksmith-shop, and a small hall. And what surprised us was the busy-bee activity of a crowd of men bunched in front of the village smithy's place of business.

"‘What's doing, fair and merry sirs?" accosted Tib, cheerily, in his old free-and-easy way, as we pedalled up to the gang.

"Instantly they turned, and an old man with a Chris Kringle beard started back as though faced by a hooded-cobra, and with one dramatic, lean finger pointed at us, cried, 'By my faith! he has come! It is he!'

"‘Odd bodkins, put him to death!' cheerfully advised an urchin, who impressed my startled gaze as being eighteen feet in height.

"‘Odd Hooligans!' cried Tib. 'And why?'

"Well, sir, the old man threw back his head and pealed out a laugh that sounded about as mellow as a rusty buzz-saw eating a rock-maple knot, and as he chortled in unseemly glee he ejaculated, 'Walked into the trap! Stap my vitals, and had he called on me at St. James, or Whitehall, I had not been more surprised.'

"From his tone I realized, sir, that we were about as popular with them as a safety-deposit vault full of scarlet-fever germs. Tib was impressed after the same fashion, for he whispered to me:

"‘What's up, Billy? Have we struck them at the harvest-time of lunacy? Their speech savors of ye olden time and good Queen Bess, sith it please ye.' Then he asked, aloud, 'Kindly identify us, reverend sir, and then yourselves.'

"‘Monmouth, thou wert ever a false-hearted knave, but prithee, didst think to dull my royal eyes by that disguise?' demanded the ringleader of the mental aberrations in his shrill voice.

"‘Nay, sire,' denied Tib, looking back only to behold all escape cut off. 'And you are—?'

"‘Your uncle, sirrah. King James!' was the stern response.

"‘Strike me purple, Billy!' whispered Tib, 'but we are invaders, and if I recall my history rightly, Mr. Monmouth lost his head.'

"‘No plotting with your emissary,' warned James. 'We know him, and i'faith, but Argyle, though he be an earl, shall kiss the same block. Nay, ye both have lost such royal prerogative and shall grace a common gibbet.'

"‘I say, old chap, this is getting tiresome,' I murmured to Tib. 'Tell 'em I'm plain Billy Campbell and a stanch supporter of the throne.'

"‘A Campbell!' shrieked King James. 'Ay, smite me bleeding, but I know the foul Scottish brood! But Argyle or Campbell, ye shall hang and change from the quick to the dead more readily than ever ye shifted aliases.'

"‘Probably some one has opened a quart bottle of pleasuroid,' murmured Tib, 'and they are unduly excited for the minute. Anyway, if they are going to behave like this, I don't care how soon we desert them. I feel like an historical romance.'

"But, sir, the minute we tried to turn we were surrounded. And what do you suppose those oddities were armed with? Pikes, sir, pikes! And that was what the smithy was busy turning out. As a rule, Tib's air of confidence would incite a cowardly pug-dog to throw rocks at an elephant, but he was a bit puzzled over this situation. We'd met lots of heathens and irresponsible persons in our day, but once you realized their status you could dope out their susceptibilities and comprehend the logical trend of their intentions. But a score of incompetents might glide from one personality to another at any second and pluck us from one epoch only to plant us in another, and in every event would probably insist that we hold the most onery cards and be soundly spanked.

"‘It's no use. Earl of Argyle, to dodge our identity,' remarked Tib, to me, gravely. Then to the king, 'Yes, I am Monmouth, your dutiful nephew, come all the way from Brabant to kiss your august hand.'

"The crowd of peasants jeered at this admission, and one stalwart rogue seemed determined to explore our physical systems with his long prodder. 'Nay, nay,' prohibited the king. 'Their seeming frankness shall avail them naught, but retribution must overtake them in an orderly manner. My Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys shall try them. In the mean time lay them in the Tower with the spy who was captured three days ago.'

"We were enamored with even this respite, for Tib declared it was an ill omen to be slaughtered in front of a prosaic blacksmith's shop, and surrounded by the pikemen we were dragged to the little town-hall and thrust inside. 'Hello, spy, where are you?' demanded Tib, sparring neatly to ward off any possible attack, as he endeavored to peer through the darkness.

"‘I say, fellers, I'll admit you're all kings, but for Heaven's sake concede I'm only a drummer from Buffalo!' begged a weak voice, and a tall, thin man, very much frightened, humbly approached us, hat in hand, and stood where the light filtered through the window and made his angular form look willowy.

"‘Odds fish, but ye are petitioning the wrong court. I am only the unhappy Monmouth,' groaned Tib.

"‘Crazy as an owl!' whimpered the drummer. 'Say, King, help me get out of this and I'll send you down the best spring-tooth harrow made.'

"Well, sir, Tib was so intent in trying to recall his Monmouth lines that I had to take the drummer aside and convince him of our good intentions and sanity. But, Lord, sir! he was suspicious. He'd been cooped up for three days and was beginning to hear bees in his own belfry. But after I'd told him who was President and had named the capitals of thirty States, he agreed we might be what we didn't seem. 'For,' he concluded, confidentially, 'if ever I saw a trifling light glint in a man's eye it is your partner's there.'

"‘Alack a day,' muttered Tib, 'plots and more plots! Now, see here, children, we've got to play our parts until the general intellect of this town clears up a bit. This head fanatic is some college professor, I guess, and he's hypnotized himself into believing for the moment that he's James of England. Now we must humor him or he'll never recover. So, try and inhale the same kind of dope, and at the first opening we'll leave bloody England for the quiet shores of Beanville. Hi, you halberdier!' he cried through the open window to one of the guards—'want to earn fifty cents?'

"The man jabbed at us playfully with his spear and mumbled something about the king.

"‘See?' cried Tib, 'the old one has led these poor incompetents into believing he's king and they are his subjects.' Then to the guard again, taking care to keep out of range: 'What's your name, fellow? Not your stage name, but your real The guard looked puzzled for a moment, and then replied, slowly: 'Why, I was always called Al Smikins, but since the king come I'm Colonel Kirke. That's me, Kirke.'

"‘When did the king come?' soothed Tib.

"‘Why, let's see. Yes, it was just before the blackness settled down,' and the guard grinned triumphantly at remembering thus much. 'Me and Jed Bufkins, him that's my Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys now, had just got back from selling some garden-truck in Beanville. But I forgit. There ain't any Beanville now. It's Brabant, and this is England. Hooray for King James! Stand back from that winder, ye poisonous critter!' and we all three leaped aside just in time to escape being decorated with the pike. 'And if ye git sassy I'll climb in there and larrup ye,' warned the yeoman, in conclusion.

"‘Gramercy for thy courtesy,' growled Tib, rubbing his barked knuckles. 'If ever I catch ye chasin' the stag at Epping we'll have this out to a finish, my lad.'

"‘Say, boss,' sobbed the drummer, 'don't talk like that when we're alone. It unhinges me. I feel myself going.'

"‘A murrain take thee. Go to, thou knave!' I sneered.

"‘Beautiful, Billy, beautiful!' congratulated Tib. 'Let's wear the purple while we can and play our parts to the finish. This poor varlet has submitted to captivity for three days and will wind up by waiting on a foolish counter for life. Now, sirrah, hark ye. We leave this place to-night. If ye ever want to see Brabant again, silence!'

"‘How are we to work it, Tib?' I inquired; for the quaintness of our peril was getting into my bones.

"‘I'm Monmouth until we get back to Bean-Brabant,' reminded Tib, simply. 'Well, Earl, I shall try to start a revolution.'

"As he said this a hearty hammering caused us to creep to the window on the other side of the building and steal a peep. And what do you think, sir! Why, those poor, hard-hearted idiots were building a gibbet! It simply swept the drummer off his feet.

"‘Oh, Monmouth,' he wailed, 'save this one fool! What an idiot I was, with all the United States to live in, that I had to come down here to be slaughtered by a counterfeit!'

"‘Well, well,' murmured Tib, pursing up his lips and drawing up his rotund form. 'This does look kind of serious. We must get word to Beanville, yet the guards won't allow one of us to slip through the window and there's no one to carry a message Odd situation, isn't it?'

"‘I say, you fellers—I mean, Monmouth,' called out the guard, poking his head into the window—'King James has just broken up his council and they decided the spy can live, as he warned us of your coming.'

"‘Hooray!' shouted the drummer, with a vulgar display of enthusiasm.

"‘Shut up!' growled Tib. 'So, you foretold our coming, eh?'

"‘Sure; had to, to save my hide,' grinned the drummer, happily. 'Of course it was only con on my part, but luckily it worked out all hunkey. All's well that ends well, you know.'

'"You needn't be so devilish gay over it,' snapped Tib, 'or you'll find it's sad work to double-cross even the Pretender.'

"‘Oh, come now,' whined the drummer, 'you fellers wouldn't spike a poor man's game! Don't you see, just as soon at I get to Beanville I'll catch a constable and come back and rescue you both.'

"‘No ye won't,' chuckled the guard, whom we'd forgotten. 'Cause King James says ye can't go till after they've been executed, whatever that means—for danged if I do. And before ye go, we're going to brand the word "traitor" on your brow.'

"Well, that doubled the drummer all up. He tried to bribe the guard to run up to the corner store and beg the king to modify the sentence. 'I'll give two dollars if you'll get him to change his mind and brand me on the leg or in the newspapers,' he offered, hysterically.

"‘Odds tomatoes!' I whispered to Tib, 'but we must leave here in very sooth.'

"Then what was becoming an extremely unlovely situation, with the busy hammers clanging away on the gibbet and the tall Jasper at the window trying to make eyelets in our legs with his pike, was given a new direction by a lusty shout at the front door and the sound of a voice crying: 'Hooray! A Monmouth! A Monmouth!' And then the portal was cast down and my Lord Ezra Somebody bawled forth: 'Hello, folkses. Where be ye?'

"‘And come ye in peace here, or come ye in war?' demanded Tib, while the drummer shuddered and protested that our visitors were as welcome as burglars.

"‘We're friendly. Hooray for Monmouth!' cried the rabble.

"‘Let the portcullis fall, and enter,' invited Tib. Then to me: 'Don't you see, we're rescued. When the leading fay hypnotized this weak-minded chorus into viewing him as his Majesty King James, he necessarily supplied the whole suggestion; that is, the suggestion of a Monmouth, eke our reception. The last implied a handful of supporters, and now we'll leave this dungeon, raise the west, and the insane equation is completed. James has created a Frankenstein that will devour him.'

"‘Say, I knew a feller once named Fleckenstein. He travelled—' began the drummer, eagerly; but 'Hist, vassal,' commanded one of the new-comers, and he histed.

"The floor grew warm under our prancing feet as we hurried to leave the hall. The halberdier leaned in the window, and, eying us curiously, cried: 'Ye didn't git out by th' winder, did ye? I was told er guard it, and, by gum, I have!' But he made no move to stop our passing through the door, and Tib swore he was a man with a heart in his bosom. On the other side of the keep the volunteer cabinet-makers kept pounding away at the gibbet and recked us not, although one blur whistled with sinister shrillness, 'Let Erin Remember.'

"Our new captors numbered about a dozen and watched us keenly, although accepting Tib as their master. For when we tried to say good-night and sneak away after our wheels they caused us to hesitate and informed we would be piked to death if we made another break. 'We've left our hoein' to stand by ye, an' don't ye dast to caper any,' warned one.

"‘I trow we shall not part in scorn,' assured Tib.

"‘Then let that tall feller stop his rantin',' remonstrated another.

"‘Beshrew me,' groaned the drummer, keeping close to us; 'but say, fellers, this isn't real, is it? I'm still travelling for the Buffalo house, ain't I?'

"‘I don't know why we took anybody besides Monmouth fer,' declared the leader, stopping short and eying us evilly. 'Before this queer spell come on I don't remember as we had any call ter rescue anybody but Monmouth.'

"‘Let's kill th' other two,' suggested a corn-haired boy, cheerfully.

"‘Hold!' roared Tib. 'These two men we all wot of are leal and true. Who touches a hair of their gray heads—'

"‘I snum, but ye're touchy, I guess!' broke in the corn-haired youth. 'I only want ter do what's right. If ye don't want 'em killed, say so. I didn't think 'twould make no difference. I'm sartain no one would miss either on 'em.'

"We were now clear of the main street and apparently leaving the settlement. I had an idea of dodging into the bushes and escaping, but Tib whispered we would accomplish nothing except to alienate our few faithful followers. 'Taunton will receive us warmly,' he added, and I shuddered. He said it so earnestly that I feared his intellect was looping the loop, and I'm sure the drummer felt the noose. Then our adopted parents quickened the pace and conversation was killed by the high hill we now began to climb. It seemed as if we'd been on that hill for years. In pausing to look back on the lights of the village it seemed as if cries of rage were fretting the balmy summer night, and I could hear the drummer's teeth clinking like pebbles in a tin can.

"‘Marry, come up,' quoth Tib at last; 'whence are we hencing?' And in the moonlight I saw the old fellow was mopping the sweat from his round face.

"‘Can't we call on the overseer of the poor, or at a drug-store, and get a bite to eat?' moaned the drummer. 'I have had naught, fair sirs—'

"‘Good form!' cried Tib, approvingly.

"‘Oh, I'm going fast,' whimpered the drummer. 'It seems real to me now, and if I only had a hooded-hawk, or a baldric, I'd be doing a huntsman's stunt. But, honest, fellers, I've had nothing in my stomach but rain-water for three days. And I had to steal that out of a barrel by the window when the archers were playing horseshoe on the green. I could eat a mustard-plaster or a coat of arms.'

"I suggested that we stop and rest, and the guards for a wonder were willing. I could see, too, they were uneasy. Tib said it was because they didn't know what to do next, being removed from the zone of the king's influence. I reckon he hit it right, for the corn boy swore he was going back and ask his Majesty for further instructions. By this time the drummer had gone light-headed and persisted in reciting 'The Wreck of the Hesperus.' Tib augmented the corn boy's declaration by announcing: 'Catifs, we'll all go back and hunt up the king. We'll keep him with us, so we'll always know just what to do.'

"‘But we mustn't hurt him,' expostulated one. 'O1d Freeman Hucky is one of the best old souls in Tanker's Mills. Lord! Where'd I get that name? Sounds mighty familiar, too.' And the last was in deep perplexity.

"‘Say, fellers, can't we break into one of those barns and git some oats to eat?' babbled the drummer. 'A dish of nice, clean oats would look mighty good to me.'

"‘Ye varmint!' cried Corn Hair; 'if ye don't shut up I'll use th' goad on ye. I tell ye, boys, we're all goin' ter feel sorry if we don't kill this chap. Th' king said we'd got ter kill somebody.' But Tib and I pacified him, and explained there was no gain in slaying an insect, and at last we were marching towards the village.

'It's time to duck,' I whispered to Tib.

Let's first get a whack at King James,' he pleaded. 'And, Billy, what if we catch him and lock him up? Won't that make me ruler of Tanker's Mills? We'd be so cut off from interference that probably we could run this place as a monarchy all summer. And do you know, I've always hankered to wear the purple.'

"‘Not for a gold-mine,' I objected, now fearing that his dreams of empire would cause him to cut up. For I knew that he would just like to sway the sceptre over Tanker's Mills, despite the fact that a despotism within the United States is incongruous.

"‘I'm going to pause long enough to devour that pump,' interrupted the drummer, now walking like a drunken man.

"We were entering the village at the time, and only Corn Hair's promise to assassinate him held him to the path. Then, whom should we meet, practically unattended, but King James himself. 'Out on thee, arrant knave!' he cried, on beholding Monmouth. 'Ho, warden! ho men at arms! Hither, I command thee!'

"‘Not on thy life!' howled the drummer, coming to his senses and clapping his soft hat over his Majesty's mouth.

"‘Hold him,' cried Tib, in a low voice, applying his handkerchief to the august arms and thus reversing history. 'Now, march him quietly to the town-hall.'

"‘Say, fellers, don't ye dare hurt Freeman Hucky,' warned one of the guards, as with poor grace they allowed us to drag the old man along. Several of them also incited gay feelings by producing coarse-looking jack-knives.

"‘No harm shall befall a single whisker in his venerable beard, gentle sirs,' vouchsafed Tib, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of the much-prayed-for bikes.

"Our insurgents then burst into a song of abuse and threw down their cartel of defiance, and said they were tired of a fat old Monmouth and that they would change allegiance and aid King James's followers in executing us on the now-finished gibbet. By this time we were close to the little hall, and in the bright moonlight could admire every detail of the clumsy yet businesslike-looking gallows. What added to our fear was the sound of shouting in the hall, where, through the lighted windows, we beheld a motley group of scamps, dancing and waving home-made weapons. But just then, like a beacon-light to the hopeless mariner, we caught the friendly twinkle of our bikes' frames, and with one accord we pushed the King against the deserters, and as they tumbled and romped on the ground we bent our hot footsteps towards the goal.

"In a second, it seemed, the hall had disgorged more enemies, and the whole pack were after us as we gained our perambulators and tried to hop the saddles.

"‘Where do I come in, Monmouth?' howled the drummer.

"‘Lord, if we haven't forgotten the spy!' cried Tib. 'Here, Sliver, jump up behind me. Nay, choke me not entirely with thy caresses. Now, hang tight and steal away.'

"And down the steep hill into the black shadows we sped, with a frenzied mob of King James's men in fearsome pursuit. When we reached the level and began climbing the next hill they all but had us. But just as they would have gathered us to their bosom we reached the crest and slid from view. And the way the drummer clung to Tib would cause the champion trick-cyclist to blush for inability.

"And so we left them in all their glory and made Beanville in safety. And what do you think, sir! When we'd lodged complaint, and a posse of constables had gone over to Tanker's to straighten out the general brain tangle, they found no trace of the King James germ. But instead old Freeman Hucky was in the midst of the belief that he was an algebraic equation that would never be solved if he kept perfectly quiet. And as he didn't wish to be solved. Tanker's was the most peaceful place on the map, and, so far as I know, has never met with royalty since the time Tib and I joggled the throne.

IX
A CORNER IN JURISDICTION

"AFTER carefully examining every hem-stitched vista, I come to the conclusion that the following is one of the most pleasing in the whole catalogue. Just as we were leaving Beanville we got a wire saying the circus boss was weary of waiting for us to arrive and had skipped away to Europe for a few days. However, he left a handsome check behind for our approval, and in the interim of waiting for him to return Tib decided we should pay another visit to old Vermont. To my best knowledge it was his second trip there since his infancy. If he could be here to-day I believe he would refuse to make a third. For on this last occasion he played the part of a sixty-horse-power auto in the midst of his homeland, and I reckon he would feel a bit skittish about appearing in the guise of a twenty-eight-dollar bicycle. Again, there is the sheriff to consider. But above all sordid deterrents he climbed high on the pedestal on this sojourn, and for a brief period wore the ermine. Yes, sir, he was a Solomon until they turned in an alarm.

"Somehow, I like best to think of the old chap in that stage-setting. It was the one short lull in our many ventures, and I love to hark back and meet those particular ghosts at Philippi, and once more dwell upon the time when for three hours he toyed with the scales of justice, and within that small circumference managed to establish certain legal propositions so astounding as to equip the higher courts with severe headaches for many years to come.

"Now don't run away with the idea that Tib drew only about six inches of water when it came to sailing the legal seas; for he was so good he could pick the Futurity winner in 1911. Why, in one abbreviated afternoon he firmly started the celebrated Higbutton will case on its spiral way, and only escaped a grand-jury acquaintance by thoughtfully nabbing a south-bound train in the evening. Probably to this day the principals in that litigation are anxiously watching for his return. Dull hinds, dream on! Would that you could behold him again!

"You see, sir, Tiberius was the greatest legal teaser that ever raised blisters on the judicial brow, although he had no idea of measuring out legal lore when we darted into placid Spluckersville. I'll admit he was not a lawyer in the technical sense of the word, but when it came to doing the Daniel-arrived-at-judgment act, he had Blackstone and all the other calf-bound antiques begging for mercy. And despite we were there on a mere vacation, and although he was forced into the office, and while his first and last case was a stinger—a quadrupedal one—he didn't go to work and slur it over and pass it on to the higher courts. No, sirree! Perhaps that's where he slipped up; for although I was betting five to nothing on him, I can see now he tickled the key-stone of the commonwealth out of plumb by trying to get a corner on jurisdiction. To be rigidly exact, I believe there were enough questions of law tangled up in that one case to last the appellate tribunals until frozen apples are retailed in the warmer regions. Yet Tiberius discarded his coat, and with his usual broad charity hogged the whole bunch.

"But to romp back and catch the flag. With the fat check we were well-ladened with pin-money, and when we arrived at Spluckersville, Tib swore it reminded him of his birthplace, and his twinkling brown eyes would gather pearls as he found the old swimming-hole he would have laved in had he been allowed to have been born and grow up in that drowsy environment. Then came a few stanzas about his lost youth, and 'Oft in the Stilly Night,' an dother Fourth-Reader stunts. Well, probably the town never before or since possessed a citizen so deeply appreciative of its charms. First, he gave the Methodist church a new bell—and, Lord knows, our charity should have commenced at home and have been thoroughly domesticated—and then he hung up a prize in the school for the best essay on home. Only, he insisted the compositions should be framed up like circus posters and be largely ejaculatory. To add up the talk, as we both were paying our board, that wart of a town ultimately fell on our necks and pronounced us blessed, and studied to keep us with them for all time. Then, at the conclusion of much liberality on our part, fully realizing Tib's intense loyalty to the coop, the town fathers gravely convened and decided we had gained a legal residence, and appointed the dear old chap as a justice of the peace!

"That was how it all started. Tib knew all about circuses and stock companies, but his legal lore, like Joe Smith's Bible, was largely a matter of inspiration. Yet he bowed to the public will and slipped on the yoke. Really, he felt more happy and chesty over that miserly, little, scantily paid office than if he had captured a whole bevy of grand llamas for a side-show attraction. Of course, he swore me in as clerk, explaining I was the only man on earth who could read his writing. And, this done, he began to yearn and hanker for a litigation. He had an idea that the hitherto accepted theory of jurisprudence was crude and noisy, and should be fitted out with ball-bearing sockets and a chronometer movement. He simply pined away the first hour of his incumbency for the want of a test case.

"He had just dusted off two volumes of statutes and was hefting five pounds of Somebody on Mortgages, and had expressed a hope we would have a busy summer, when Hiram Duzer, farm-hand, rushed into the office and begged for several quarts of undiluted justice.

"‘What kind do you want?' asked Tib, nervously, opening the statutes with rather a timid hand.

"‘A warrant fer th' arrest of John Peasly an' Jasper Turner, store-keepers, fer makin' off with valuable papers,' cried Hiram.

"‘Papers consisting of what?' I prompted, to give Tib his cue.

"‘Silas Higbutton's las' will an' testament,' explained Duzer, solemnly.

"‘Felony!' cried Tib, eying some tax receipts wisely. 'Hand me a blank warrant, Billy.'

"And after I'd found a chromo that looked like a board-of-health danger-signal, he gracefully scratched it with his pen and called in a lame constable and told him to do his duty.

"‘Hate like sin ter do it,' demurred the officer, limping to the door. 'They'll come, all right, but they'll be so mad they may lick ye. They never stole nothin'.'

"I whispered to Tib to put on the brakes and coast a bit, even if he couldn't back-pedal. I reminded him Hiram was a care-free wag who always decorated the town-hall for the Knights of Pythias ball and played in the band, and largely attended to somebody else's business except his own. I wished Hi to give a bond, but Tib insisted a hired man could quaff as deeply and freely at the spring of justice as any village store-keepers, and in about thirty minutes Peasly and Turner drifted in, escorted by a large rural chorus and the only two legal lanterns in town.

"Lawyer Remmy, a tall, thin, sad-faced man, folded his arms, and sinking his head on his chest, much like the Little Corsican, eyed the court sternly and demanded why his two clients had been arrested.

"Tib cheerfully informed him, and gently asked the hired man if he were appearing by counsel. Then Lawyer Bilger, another thin one, took the first position in repulsing a bayonet charge and said he owned Hi.

"‘Very well,' said Tib, shuffling the leaves of Webster's Unabridged to find the Latin quotations. 'Let the prisoners plead.'

"At this Brother Remmy broke loose, and beginning with Mount Sinai flapped every legal precept that ever emerged from a bench in the court's face, and begged to inform the court, sir, that when Ethan Allen indulged in a little joke on Fort Ticonderoga the Remmy forebears were not lurking in the background. With this personal prelude he wound up with mention of the Green Mountain Boys, then quoted a section from Tom Paine's Age of Reason, and finally declared Hiram was a scalawag and a blood relation to Ananias.

"‘My clients,' he added, in a soft, hushed voice, 'are only guilty of regaining their own. For years back they trusted, to use our homely village phrase, Silas Higbutton with certain edibles and groceries and divers staples of life. As said Silas showed no inclination to liquidate his indebtedness, they levied, if it please the court, upon his live-stock just a few days before he passed on to the Final Arraignment. But justly did my clients seize upon his stock and mingle them with their own kine. Needless to say, no will or any paper has been taken, and we demand the warrant be dismissed.'

"Then Mr. Bilger thrust one hand in the bosom of his coat, and turning his watery eyes on Tib, laughed hoarsely at his fellow's audacity. 'Who spoke of papers?' he asked, shrilly, dusting his breast with his free hand. 'Who spoke of papers in the sense of papyrus or parchment? We spoke of documents. Now let the constable go and drive the live-stock here, and we will make good our charges and get at the res gestæ.'

"Tib bounced sharply from his chair at the last shot, and eyed the dictionary wistfully. But, as there was only one thing to do, he ordered the lame man hence, and in about ten minutes the mooing of cattle called us all to the door.

"‘While we are entitled to a subpœna duces tecum,declared Mr. Remmy, airily, 'we have waived that right, and now that the live-stock is here let my learned friend make good his vaunted boast and point out Silas Higbutton's last will.'

"Mr. Bilger and Hiram merely grinned. They yanked a fettlesome cow up to the door and then asked the court to drag his honest orbs over her right flank. And hang me, sir, if there wasn't branded the words, 'I give, devise, and bequeath to—' and no more!

"Tib mopped his brow, stared intently at the beast for a minute, and then gasped, in a trembly voice, 'Bequeathed to whom?'

"‘Jest wait a second, y' honor,' cried Hiram, stalking proudly back and netting a steer, whose flank bore the next instalment, to wit, 'Hiram Duzer all—' and that was all.

"Well, sir, the discovery of these sections of the will simply swept the defendants and their attorney off their feet, and Tib could only sit on the door-step and weakly ask, 'Is there any more?'

"‘The will is complete,' assured Mr. Bilger, gravely. 'I dictated it.'

"And two more cows showed the words, 'My property wherever situate,' and 'Signed, Silas Higbutton.'

"‘It's worthless!' cried Mr. Remmy, joyfully. 'It must have three witnesses.'

"Hiram fractured his face with another smile, and I instinctively knew he had big casino. For he turned the critter about, and there on the other flank was his name as well as two others.

"‘It seems regular,' gasped Tib. 'I suppose a will should be witnessed on the side where the testator signs, and yet if the hide were removed all four signatures would be on the same side. What have you to say, Mr. Remmy?'

"Brother R. simply growled in his anger, but at last declared that at least there could be no question as to his clients' right to the two mediæval-looking horses. But Hiram and his lawyer, you know, had all the laurels tucked in their belts when it came to being old cuties, and with a deprecatory wave of the hand Bilger shyly called attention to the fact that each horse was a codicil.

"‘What's th' jedge goin' ter do?' whispered one of the amazed fringe of spectators.

"Tib caught it, and turned quickly, saying, 'The court will now convene within. Leave the exhibits where they are.'

"‘Don't monkey with this game,' I begged of the old chap; but he looked at me sorrowfully, and whispered:

"‘Billy, this little legal nut has got to be cracked by some one, and if it wanders into the higher courts it won't be because I'm not the child to settle it. Besides, there's a nice point of law involved, just what I've been aching to get at all my life.'

"I groaned and conceded he could hang his hat on a dozen such points, but without profit, and so, following him, I called court to order. Then up jumped Hiram's tall, thin angel, and, with a sophomoric, Italy-beyond-the-Alps delivery, he explained how Silas Higbutton had died without kin and had willed his little all to his trusty hired man.

"‘Ye can't probate a will in this demed, one-hoss court,' snarled old Peasly, his white whiskers bristling in anger. 'He's got ter take it ter a court of probate.'

"‘This court must pass upon the validity of the will before deciding whether you are guilty as charged,' said Tib, stoutly. 'And as for the physical aspect of the court, your outre metaphor will cost you five dollars. Brother Remmy, what have you to say?'

"‘I say this is no will,' cried Mr. Remmy, trying to throttle his clients into silence. 'The statutes say a will must be in writing—'

"‘If done on a typewriter it's binding,' jeered Mr. Bilger.

"‘Printed characters are certainly within the statutes,' decided Tib.

"‘But not on cows!' gasped Mr. Remmy, pressing his tremulous hands to his fevered brow.

"‘The testator certainly had a right to execute his will on one cow,' howled Mr. Bilger, snapping his fingers under his opponent's nose. 'And where does the law draw the line and invade man's sovereign prerogative and declare, di cluckum nozzum, that he shall be relegated to one cow? What if he owns two small cows and must use them instead of one large cow? Is he a freeman or a slave? Must he swap the two critters for one? In the words of Justinian: In hoc signo vinces!'

"‘Trying to stun me with their boarding-house French,' muttered Tib, in my dazed ear. Then sternly, to Mr. Bilger: 'Honi soit qui mal y pense. Sit down, sir.' And poor Bilger wilted, while Mr. Remmy, who had butted into other courts, spun on his heel and dizzily staggered against the wall.

"‘I am of the opinion,' continued Tib, gravely, tapping the Unabridged impressively, 'that a man has a right—a legal right—to execute a binding will on the side of his house, on a fence, or to spell it in colored pebbles on his lawn. But if a man utilizes the method in controversy it would seem he were guilty of contributory negligence—'

"‘That's right, jedge,' cheered Mr. Turner, enthusiastically.

"‘Silence in the court. Oyez, oyez, and oyez!' I warned, beginning to feel saucy from my semi-official position.

"‘But his negligence does not necessarily invalidate his will,' concluded Tib, heavily. 'He is merely taking a chance.'

"‘Hooray!' cheered Hiram.

"‘Charge up five dollars against that person if he becomes ebullient again, Billy,' directed the court.

"‘If the court please,' soared Mr. Remmy, after whispering in his clients' ears, 'we contest the will on the ground the signature is forged. We have samples of the alleged testator's handwriting here and would offer them in evidence.'

"Tib looked puzzled for a moment, and finally conceded that the contestants were entitled to dispute and disprove the signature by offering genuine specimens of the decedent's chirography in evidence, and the defendants patted each other on the back in glee. 'But,' added my Daniel, 'the contradictory evidence'—and here the pages of Noah's big book buzzed busily as Tib raced through the ponderous volume to the list of quotations from foreign languages—'must be similia similibus curantur, or of a like nature, or in the nature of a signature on a cow. Of course, a man would sign his name differently when writing on a cow than he would in using a fountain-pen on super-linen bond. Ahem!'

"And as a husky wight beat a cripple across the road to the tavern, where, from my elevated position, I could see they were drinking nervously from a bottle, Mr. Bilger arose and joyously proclaimed: 'The only thing for them to do is to swear in an expert on cow-writing.'

"'An' on hosses, too,' supplemented the hired man.

"I could now see Tib was in pretty deep water, and that the responsibility was wearing on him, and while motioning me to look up some more phrases to have on friendly tap he tried to shift the line of thought by ruling that in the future the impatient and initialled beasts should be referred to as such and such a clause in the will, or as a codicil.

"By this time, sir, we had the weather-beaten, bewhiskered audience in a sickly trance, and old Deacon Mumby limped out to gather new wisdom across the road. And as he blindly paused and attempted to foregather the age of Codicil Number One by looking at his teeth, he received a severe kick which led him to belabor the poor brute with his cane. It required all of Tib's official zeal to cause him to hesitate.

"‘Dod rot him! He kicked me!' complained the deacon. 'I'll sue Hi Duzer if this turns out ter be his will.'

"After the old man had been told a few wholesome truths about the sacred nature of last wills and testaments and warned not to meddle with the public archives again, Tib did a little scout-work through the statutes and at last announced that the will must be filed with the court.

"And this, sir, was a neat stroke. Of course, Mr. Remmy began to argue that Tib was not a court of probate and hence had no jurisdiction. But he caught himself in time and swallowed his voice, for he couldn't dope out how Hiram was to file his instrument—ergo, the defendants would win.

"Then up jumped Mr. Bilger, realizing all was almost lost, and began to make the same point, but he remembered in time that it was all off for his client if he doubted my patron's jurisdiction, so he strangled a sob and began to bluff. He said the clauses and codicils would certainly be stabled in the office, providing the beneficiary was allowed to feed 'em. Hi broke in and wanted it stipulated that he should also milk the clauses and borrow the codicils occasionally to do a little cultivating with.

"‘Or could we file a copy of the will?' asked Mr. Bilger, fearing Tib's puckered brow.

"‘Can't copy a cow—I mean those clauses—very well,' sneered Mr. Remmy, light-hearted with delight at having the burden shifted to Tib's shoulders.

"‘You could with a camera,' reminded Tib.

"‘But the law requires the original should be filed,' insisted Mr. Remmy.

"‘I'll designate the adjoining paddock as the court,' declared Tib, gleefully. 'Put the will in there.'

"Hiram and his attorney shook hands in radiant spirits, and then the latter turned to the court and with a playful air observed: "I don't suppose there is any objection to the calf staying with its mother, Clause Four, eh?'

"Tib, who was busy packing up his law tomes, wheeled quickly, and demanded: 'Calf? Explain.'

'"If your Honor please. Clause Four is accompanied by a calf, recently born,' said Mr. Bilger, with a strained, nervous smile.

"Born since the will was executed?' asked Tib, carelessly.

"Mr. Bilger replied easily in the affirmative and beamed brightly again as my chief seemed about to dismiss the matter. But all pleasant vistas were sadly agitated when Tib sternly inquired: 'Why wasn't I told this before?'

"Poor Bilger failed to appreciate how the little, wobbly one's presence in the paddock could make any difference and tried to say so, but Tib cut him short. 'While I would be the last man in Vermont to separate parent from child,' he declared, 'yet the child in this case cannot presume upon its mother's legal status to claim a day in court. The child is an orphan. Legally its mother is dead, or rather, has, by those subtle evolutions in law, been transformed into a will. She cannot even claim to be in loco parentis. She is no longer a cow; she is a document. She can have no offspring.^

"‘Then at least the calf belongs to the creditors,' cried Mr. Remmy, quickly. 'For having no parent, no owner, it is a stray, the property of the first to claim it.'

"‘Not by a blamed sight—' began Hiram.

"‘Hesitate a moment,' commanded Tib. 'While, an orphan, yet its coming into the world affects the validity of the will. The will, as originally drawn, consisted of three cows, a steer, and two horses. An erasure in that instrument, say the death of any clause, would render the instrument null and void. Any tampering with a will after the testator's signature has been affixed, or after his death, such as writing in another clause, would invalidate it. The calf is an interpolation. While a codicil can be set aside without rendering inoperative the body of the instrument, the attesting clause cannot be disturbed. In this case the very signatures of the witnesses are eliminated.'

"Well, sir, you'll admit that was a mighty fine point, and you'll not be surprised when I add that the audience as well as the litigants were clinging to their ear-locks and staring at the court with lacklustre eyes. It was clear beyond them, and you could have brushed them from the room with a feather.

"‘Then,' cried Mr. Remmy, triumphantly, 'as the will was destroyed, my clients are not guilty as charged, and can go in peace.'

That's so,' admitted Tib. 'I so charge.'

"‘That settles it, and I wish to thank this court for its superhuman intellect in elucidating one of the most—er—entangled, bovine questions of law I ever encountered in a court of justice,' spieled Mr. Remmy. 'Come on, boys, we'll drive those critters home.'

"‘Wait a moment,' commanded Tib, leaning his alabaster brow on the edge of Somebody on Mortgages. 'I hardly think you can take the cattle.'

"‘That calf is merely a blank-line in the will,' expostulated Mr. Bilger, at last coming to. 'Every will has blank-lines.'

"‘But they always exist before the will is made,' soothed Tib. 'No; the continuity of the will has been altered since its execution and so the instrument is invalid. And yet the contestants are not entitled to it, or we may now say, to the live-stock.'

"‘Hooray!' shouted Hiram.

"‘The worst is yet to come,' warned Tib. 'The court has ruled the will is invalid, pro bono publico; hence Mr. Higbutton died intestate. Then we find he left no next of kin. To whom, under these circumstances, does the property go?'

"‘To his creditors,' bawled Mr. Remmy, not doing the table any particular good with his fist. 'To his creditors!'

"‘Whose claims have not been established,' declared the old chap, throwing up his head. 'No; I find it that the statutes have it that under like conditions the estate would escheat to the State of Vermont, and I so rule.'

"‘Well, sir, you could have brushed that crowd away with a yard of baby-ribbon! They never saw real, old-fashioned, simon-pure justice before in such large lumps.

"‘Ye mean I don't git 'em?' moaned Hiram.

"‘We can't take 'em?' gasped Mr. Remmy.

"‘They belong to the State of Vermont,' repeated Tib, firmly. 'Court's adjourned.'

"‘I'll mandamus this court!' cried Mr. Remmy, with his fist aloft, quite like Ajax defying the lightning.

'"My man,' warned Tib, in his low, dangerous voice, 'if you applied that term to me in private life I should forget my dignity long enough to go to the mat with you. But, being the court, I can only frown and impose a fine of ten dollars for contempt of court.'

"‘But court had adjourned,' gasped poor Remmy, counting the buttons on his coat to see if he were sane and awake.

"‘This court never adjourns when it comes to contempt,' explained Tib.

"As the thoroughly bewildered crowd wandered out into the open, Tib proudly observed to me: 'There may be legal stars of a greater brilliancy than I, my child, but I guess none of 'em ever wrestled with a more complicated crystal maze than that. Nunc pro tunc.'

"But that night we were tipped off by the prosecuting officer of the county that the matter had been rushed before the grand jury then in session, it being charged that Tib and I had conspired to drive the judiciary out of business, and the night train consequently found us companions on its southern jaunt. But many times since I have noted with much pride in the public press that the celebrated Higbutton will case is still trifling with the poise and peace of mind of the various courts in Vermont; and regardless of how they may befuddle it, or solve it, I shall always believe that my old patron's diagnosis was the correct one.

X
AN APPRECIATIVE JUNGLE

"FROM retailing justice we jumped to the pier to meet the circus boss, just returned from England, and before the cab had landed us at the Broadway office we had consented to engineer a brand-new deal, twofold in its incentive. First, we were to escort a slap-bang animal-show around the Southwestern circuit, penetrating the home of the frijoles and tortillas, and wrench from the childish grasp of the Aztecs enough crude silver to pay expenses. We were to go to Chihuahua, and possibly farther. Secondly, we were to pick up a troupe of bull-fighters and Mazeppa-like dons for a big Wild-West show. The latter was the real object, only we wished to invade the firesides of the Montezumas in an off-handed manner, with our mission slightly disguised.

"Well, everything went along in the rut of dull routine until after we left El Paso. Then the curiosity of the mestizos, who form one-half of the population of old Mexico, and who, by-the-way, are in a state of slavery but slightly removed from the conditions after the Spanish Mayflower tripped into the coast, began to furnish us with annoyance.

"However, we had been chambermaids too long to such outfits as our show to be bothered extensively, and although pestered we retained our health and several colonies of fleas, and had exhausted Chihuahua, and were about to close with a tempting offer to show for the winter in Mexico City, when a sun-kissed peon, with a large quantity of aguardiente concealed about his person, came to our show-tent and tried to bite his way by the rotund Vermont man without crossing our palms with silver. That's largely metaphor, as we let them in for what they had, except the alcalde, who entered deadhead. 'Take what you can,' was our motto; but the half- breed forestalled a shake-down by explaining, in badly fractured English, that he had a message for Don Hidalgo Tiberio, which he would only deliver in return for a front seat. It was written by an Americano, he said, who was in Quelta, an adjacent town.

"We yanked him within the portals and placed him perilously near the hyena's cage, and then received the note. I could see Tib was worked up over the contents, for his round face was drawn down in four curves as he digested it.

"‘Too bad, Billy,' he said, in a whisper. 'And one of them worked in Vermont once.'

"‘Poor devil!' I sighed; for I knew my irrelevant remark would make him mad.

"‘Certainly it's poor devil when a white man fresh from that blessed State is in this plight,' he snapped, his brown eyes becoming two points. 'Here, read.'

"It seems there were four 'poor devils,' all Americans. They were in Quelta, the letter said, waiting to be sent to the salt-mines for life. Now a man who knows Mexico would rent the salt-mines out to his dearest enemy and live in Hades—if he owned both. The letter was a brief one, the writer merely stating his prospects, and saying he had heard from his guards of Smith's presence in Chihuahua. He begged Tiberius to rescue him if he had any love for the children of the Star-Spangled Banner.

"Tib knew Spanish more or less, chiefly less, but he carried a gilt-headed cane that would make up the difference in effect on the average alcalde, and a quick trot to the halls of justice gave him an insight to the situation. It seems Murphy, the writer, and his friends had been foolish enough to hire out as a train-crew on the Central, and that their train, near Quelta, had run over a big-bug's hired man. Now the average peon, after absorbing all the visible supply of aguardiente, will hunt all over the map for the most outre place in which to sleep off his Alice-blue rabbits, and nothing appeals to his sordid imagination so much as a busy railroad-track when it comes to trundle-beds. But while the United States lines yearly cause the battle of Gettysburg to blush when it comes to boasting of carnage, our little brunette brother beyond the Rio Grande has a way of making it uncomfortable for train-crews when a simple life is crushed out. It isn't because a peon is highly prized as a bit of social bric-à-brac, but because, I reckon, the train-crews are usually made up of, or bossed by, Americans.

"The alcalde admitted the defendants had no course to choose, except to run over the man, but he added, with a graceful flirt of his hands: 'The man is dead. What would you have? The lesson must be taught.' He also said that the three judges who sat on the case, at first were of the inclination to let a line of barefooted riflemen toy with the quartet behind a 'dobe wall. 'But,' he concluded, 'we are merciful—we are merciful.'

"After kicking the hyena to stop his howling, Tib sat down by the bear-cage that night and thought steady for ten minutes. Then he jolted his hat over his right ear, and I began to realize we were about to become fair and merry knight-errants.

"‘Billy,' he declared, 'I could never paint polka-dots on a greyhound and believe he was a leopard if I left those men to go to the country of saline pursuits. Once we can get them out of Quelta it's a quick dash to the Rio, and farewell to the dons of the blue Pacific.'

"That was his poetry. Whenever he was stung into radical action he always talked in circus type. But he had a scheme back of it all that caused my sapphire eyes to bulge out and touch the walls of the tent. I asked him if we were to invade a lunatic asylum that we must indulge in such opera bouffe. I even doubted if Murphy and his friends would submit to being rescued by such legerdemain.

"‘I've thought it all over, and it's our only way,' replied Tib. 'The relatives of the decedent would go without fire-water a week if those sons of Uncle Sam would only escape into the open and give the bereaved family a chance to shoot them up. Why, look! They are doing real work out-of-doors, and I don't doubt but what their guards are yearning for them to make a break for liberty. If they did they would never get ten miles from Quelta. So, my way is the only way, my bosom the only haven of refuge.'

"The upshot of it all was I hustled back to El Paso, where we had some green-room effects of a new opera stored, and as fleet-footed as possible I hiked back to Chihuahua, accompanied by two big trunks. Meanwhile, Tib had sent our bill-poster to Quelta to hang up a few valentines, advertising the coming of the show, and incidentally to slip into Murphy's hand a note of minute instructions.

"This done, Tib tried to get me to go north and sit on the farther bank of the Rio and await the last curtain. Of course I wasn't for that, and he blessed me and said we would probably wind up as salt-miners. Then he directed me to throw some hardware and cartridges into the cages, and on Saturday morning, with two closed animal-wagons, we started for Quelta. We had one man who could drive chain-lightning, let alone the most erratic Mexican mule, and, best of all, we could trust him. He had lived in Mexico for years, but had never forgotten he came from the land of greatness and graft. He led the way, while Tib and I did the brake act on the second tally-ho. The rest of the show we left at Chihuahua.

"It took us a day to cover the short stretch over their rotten roads, but at last we arrived at Quelta amid a Toltec buzz of excitement, and pitched the side-show tent, as if preparing for the Sunday performance. Tib explained to the head Injun of the town, who met us two miles out of the place to make sure of the tickets, that if the rest of the treat arrived per schedule, Quelta was to enjoy a highly moral entertainment that would be the red-lettered starting-point on all Mexican calendars for all hence. And he cemented his promise with a sheaf of free passes. You can wager the mayor was there with a group of corn-fed peasants to erect the tent when we did arrive. And so the time came for us to set down and wait.

"‘My plans are built like a watch, and if it don't happen in five minutes I've missed fire,' groaned Tib, as we unlocked the covers to the carts.

"Then it happened. First we heard a yell; then half a dozen champagne-bottles opened in quick succession, and the little chapel-bell began ding-donging excitedly.

"Next, with fierce panting, four men burst through the chaparral that came up to the rear of our tent and plunged inside the white walls. I had just time to notice they were haggard and unkempt, and then in a second the wooden covers were down to allow them to enter the cages, and then snapped back in place again.

"I'm afraid, Billy,' declared Tib, calmly, as he began sorting out some posters, 'that the rest of the show won't arrive in time for to-morrow's performance.'

"Just as he said this a bevy of villagers, headed by our trusty driver, Collins, burst through the canvas, yelling and brandishing carbines and other impedimenta.

"‘Four men escaped from the soldiers, Mr. Smith, and I told the guards I thought they came this way,' panted Collins, with an expressive wink.

"‘What?' roared Tib, in Spanish. 'Law-breakers escaped! Free passes to the brave men who capture 'em. I believe they did pass this way behind the tent in the brush. I heard a crashing and thought it was a mule. My lion growled fiercely. Hark! He is growling now!"

"The gang paused in running away to hear the growl, and Tiberius, standing near Murphy's cage, hissed, 'Growl, you villain, growl!'

"And thereat a most blood-chilling roar came from Murphy's den, and the others, to make sure, began to throw in a series of yells that would cause a Bowery gallery-god to go home and through sheer envy take lessons. The crowd fell back in a wave; it simply swept 'em off their feet, sir. To cap the climax, Collins cried: 'Don let 'em get excited, Mr. Smith! Remember the three men mauled to death in El Paso!'

"After they'd gone, Tib turned to me and grinned. 'I think we'll win the trick. And isn't that Collins a jewel!'

"Now each cage was divided by a grating of bars, and in each cosey nook was one of the comic-opera suits I'd brought from El Paso. In designing these animal make-ups Tib had made use of air-chambers, so that when a man got tucked into one and the bicycle-pump had been agitated for padding, you had a real, lifelike beast, with muscles standing out like barnacles on a forgotten dredge. Of course, at the best it was a fierce counterfeit, and when the quadruped forgot and stood on his hind-legs the effect was simply stupendous. First, Tib ordered Murphy to slip into the lion's pelt, and Murphy was mad. He said he was Irish and would pose as a harp, but never as an emblem of Merry England. Tib talked to him like a hired man to a sick horse, and at last the metamorphosis was effected. Then the others were speedily transformed into a black bear, a tiger, and a hyena respectively.

"After they had struggled into their masquerades and Tib had used the pump on the air-pockets, we dropped the covers to get the tout ensemble. Dear, dear! Serious as the situation was, Tib and I sat down and cried like children. And then if you could only have heard 'em swear! All four going at once, with their front paws thrust through the bars and shaking at us. They were half starved and hysterical, you see; besides, there are cooler things in Mexico than fur suits. But Tib soothed them down at last and reminded them of what they were missing in the salt-mines, and they promised to be good and not cuss any more. As they were quieting down and we were replacing the covers, the alcalde's amazed head was thrust inside the flaps, and he said: 'I heard you shouting at the beasts, señor. Such a confusion, I had to look within. Surely, they must be devils. I must see them all to-morrow.'

"Tib snapped the barricades in place in a jiffy, and said, stiffly: 'I never give a performance unless I have all my animals. These are but the advance-wagons and tent. If the others do not arrive, I cannot exhibit.'

"‘But, señor, I have tickets. I have invited my friends. As alcalde I shall command you to exhibit to-morrow to prove you are not a humbug,' cried the intruder.

"‘That comes of profanity, Murphy,' groaned Tib, after the alcalde left us. 'I brought these suits along as a safeguard, so that if any one should get a peep the fleeting glance would not arouse suspicion. Now, hang it all! we've got to give a performance to placate the mayor. For if we don't we can never leave town. So you've got to learn your wild-wood lessons, my lads.'

"Tor mercy's sake, gimme a drink of water!' moaned the bear.

"‘A sup of th' crathur!' howled Murphy, and before we could quiet them we had to pass a bottle.

"We didn't dare allow them to remove their disguises, and between the temperature and the fleas I am afraid they passed a troubled night. But early next morning we fed them up and carefully outlined what they were to do.

"‘Above all things, Murphy, don't swear,' begged Tib. 'It's immoral, and again, lions, as a rule, eschew profanity. And don't, Reynolds, don't sit with folded arms. That's too much, even in a hyena. Crouch, that's the idea, crouch! and snarl occasionally. The tiger must lie on his side, asleep, the lion on his stomach, dignified and solemn, and the bear should huddle up in a ball.'

"Then the unthankful beasts began to protest, and Murphy and Reynolds wanted to be the tiger and sleep, but Weisman swore he'd claw the lining out of any one that disturbed his feline ease. Burke, the bear, didn't know what kind of a noise to make, and it took Tib ten minutes to teach him to say 'woof' in a bruinesque manner. Then we took each one in turn and gave the key, and made him practise his call of the wild so there would be some individuality. Then we waited for the mayor.

"I remember Tib wore a pink shirt and a suit of clothes that reminded me of a backgammon-board. But it would have done you a world of good, sir, could you have seen him walking to the entrance in his old, cheerful manner, smiling pleasantly as he confronted the rabble and explained that no show would be given until all of his menagerie had arrived. He compromised, however, by explaining that the alcalde and his friends could come in for a private inspection of the few animals now on hand, and the alcalde silenced all grumbling by telling the crowd that Don Tiberio was an honest man to refuse their money until he had his best to offer. Then Tib took up the passes and called me to stand guard while he harangued the mayor and a dozen men and women on the marvellous points of his collection.

"‘I can't see in the bloody thing,' growled the lion, as the party swept inside.

"‘Silence!' roared Tib to the king of beasts, in English. 'The villagers approach. 'Tis better to be a circus lion than a delver after table-salt, known only by a number. Remember that, my lad.' With this admonition he began to spiel to the jabbering, half-clothed jays in his unique Spanish.

"‘Fear them not, señors and señoritas. For though they rage and writhe in anger, they know their master's voice.—Look out, Burke, pull in your left leg!'—the last in English. 'They never dream of incurring my displeasure. Nero, here, your excellency, ate three men and two women before he was brought low in captivity, and has added a choice collection of thumbs and fingers to the total since then. The villagers near his wild, free home called him "Ah-Ghee-Dah," which being interpreted means, "He-Who-Eats-Men-Gladly." Growl, Murph. Ah, not so loud. Even a lion has limitations,' And the sound of the Irishman buying freedom with a series of bull-like bellows swept by me and caused the chocolate populace without to shudder.

"‘Now we come to the hyena, the most treacherous of all beasts,' continued Tib, skilfully drawing the spectators away from Murphy's cage, as that animal, I observed with horror, tried to scratch his left shoulder-blade with a most unlion-like contortion. 'His record was kept for three years by my head trainer as to the number of digits he has chewed off, then the task was given up because of its monotony. So, not too near, señors and señoritas—not too near. See him show his teeth in vain—show your teeth, Reynolds—repining for his native lair. Note his antipathy to Nero, the monarch of the Abyssinian wild, for he hates and dreads his roar.—Roar, Murph.'

"But Nero, in desperation to escape a flea, began to clamber to his hind legs, and Tib saw the move just in time to jump to the bars and smite him on the nose.

"‘Damn ye!' mumbled Nero.

"‘By all the saints! it sounded as though he spoke!' gasped a little, dried-up señorita.

"‘Ahem! His long association with men has given his hoarse growl an almost human quality,' said Tib, his face going a bit white. 'Or maybe it's because of the men he has eaten. Down, you devil! down!' he cried, jumping to the hyena's cage and striking him with his cane to distract their attention. Reynolds was lying quiescent at the time, and at the blow promptly raised his head in amazement. 'Snarl!' hissed Tib, in English, and Reynolds made good with a long-drawn hoot that sounded like a barn-owl suffering from diphtheria.

"‘These idiots will see their finish yet, Billy,' cried Tib to me, in disgust. 'It's them to the salty brine all right, I guess.'

"This caused the quartet to overdo it as they attempted to cinch freedom by cunning acting. None of them had ever read nature stories, however, and only Tib's ready cane and warning—'Back! back! Not too near!'—saved the day. 'Where I can approach with impunity,' he explained, turning easily to the alcalde, 'you would feel their cruel fangs. Ah, bite, would you?' This to the bear, who was lying perfectly quiet, and Tib gave him a poke that brought a cloud of dust from his flanks, whereat he raised his paw to straighten his head, that now was at right angles with all the laws of nature.

"‘Behold the lion about to spring!' shrieked Tib, thrusting into the ribs of the king of the forest and thus bringing him into a more reasonable posture.

"‘Fer th' love iv—o-o-o-gh!' spoke and snarled Murphy, in his rich brogue.

"‘Wonderful!' gasped the alcalde and his followers.

"But I never heard a lion use such a delightful Irish accent before or since in giving his howl of rage.

"‘Now we come to the Royal Bengal tiger, bought by me from the Sultan of Skowhegan for ten thousand dollars,' rattled Tib, rapidly, drawing his audience to the second bin. To his horror he found the royal stretched out on his stomach, legs straight behind, while the head, turned upside down, stared complacently at the top of the cage. 'Notice the wonderful elasticity of his neck,'—and snap! Tib had reached in and turned the head-piece into place. It simply swept 'em off their feet, sir. It didn't need a naturalist sharp to detect that the tiger was abnormal in some respects.

"‘Thanks, mate,' growled Weisman. 'The dust—'

But the lion and the hyena promptly came to the rescue and drowned the visitors' exclamation of wonder in a series of prolonged yells that put crimps in my tympanums even out at the entrance.

"‘Ah, he purrs, señors. He purrs, señoritas.—Purr, Weisman. At last he is in good humor,' cried Tib. Then in sotto English: 'Group your legs, you would-be suicide! Cluster yourself! It's no use, Billy,' cried Tib to me. 'I would have saved them if I could, but they won't have it so;' and all the time he was pointing dramatically at the bear. 'Kindly throw something at Murph. He's about to stand up.' I tossed a tent-peg, that didn't do the harp a bit of good, and his muttered curse was only drowned by Tib's addressing the bear.

"Well, sir, it was the most sweaty fifteen minutes I ever put in. You see, if the game was discovered, we were in as bad a box as the fugitives. And when the sight-seers began to file out I felt as limp as a rag.

"‘I shall come again when the whole menagerie is here,' declared the alcalde, on leaving. 'Wonderful and marvellous!'

"‘Scene first and curtain,' panted Tib, closing the tent-flaps leisurely, while I shoved bottles and fodder to the animals. In three seconds their disgusted faces were slipped free from the head-pieces and were busy with food and drink.

"Then we held a council of war and decided we would leave immediately while the alcalde and other citizens were having their siestas. And the way Collins and a dozen peons emulated the Arab in striking that tent was a caution. From the natives we learned the guards had got no trace of the fugitives, and that Chihuahua was being searched by inches. Tib accordingly decided to skirt the town and make for the Rio.

"We got away from Quelta all right, and whenever we met any of the home people we stopped and inquired for the missing caravan, while the inmates of the wagon let off a few howls to heighten the effect. By night we were abreast of Chihuahua and drove slowly north until morning, when we got a change of mules. Then we crept nearer freedom, but never appearing to hurry, and on the second night out we allowed the four men to ride on top of their homes in their underclothing. But with the sun they again put on their trimmings and hopped inside. By this time Tib and I were nearly dead for want of sleep; for although we let Collins slumber every little once in a while, we dared not quit our posts. At last we neared the Rio, and the men wanted to take off their suits and make one dash for it, but Tib said nay. On inquiring from a half-breed we at last learned we had only a few miles to make.

"‘Now let's go through with a rush,' I suggested, wearily.

"‘We'll have to,' replied Tib. 'I see the glitter of their shields.'

"And looking back I made out a party of horsemen galloping a mile in our rear, while the sunlight played brightly on something they carried in their hands.

"With a yell to the mules we bumped and tore along, the heavy wagons swaying fearfully as we went down a decline. Nearer and nearer crept the pursuers, their shouts now reaching us, but before they could get within good shooting distance we caught the glimmer of the Rio, where in the dry season the stream is a mere trickle. Smash went the head cart against a bowlder, and a wheel was broken into toothpicks. Then in a second we were all out, making for the rock-studded stream, while the soldiers coming up dismouted and began to take pot-shots at us.

"They had got wind of our game someway and did not seem to be greatly surprised at beholding four fierce denizens of the jungle scrambling, wading, and swimming through the stream, each armed with a rifle or revolver.

"I reached home-base first, closely followed by Collins. And, sir, I shall never forget that spectacle. There was the lion, unable to loosen his head-piece, swearing profusely in rich Celtic as he sent back shot for shot. There were the hyena and tiger, very chummy, using revolvers. And in the rear, in the midst of the danger zone, old Tiberius was ruining his show-clothes by supporting the bear by the scruff of the neck. I howled to the lion, and he fiercely turned and went back to assist my patron. Once they got Burke ashore we found a neat bullet-hole through his neck, but no arteries or large veins were cut. And I didn't feel a bit bad when I saw that two of the enemy needed the kind care of a physician when they rode away. But, incidentally, we lost one of the best animal shows that was ever foolish enough to leave the States.

XI
A CORNER IN AMALGAMATED DOG

"IT'S a hoarse hoot from El Paso to South America; but did you ever see a pink whale playing with a ball of yarn? Well, that's the answer. Tib was about as graceful as that fettlesome fish in trying to explain to the big-gun how he happened to leave the show across the line and why he did not care to frolic back and reclaim it. Naturally we were at once released from all earthly ties, so far as the circus boss was concerned, and after squeezing out car-fares for the four orphans we sauntered along to New Orleans, where we met young Santos. He was of Portuguese extraction, and his pater, we learned, was one of the head business sharps in Brazil. The more he came to know Tib the more he insisted the old chap should hie home with him and cut up in a commercial way.

"Finally my patron agreed, all our expenses being paid. Young Santos, it seemed, needed a man tinged with sanity and a git-up-and-git quality of mind to ramble up to Cavinas and obtain rubber concessions along the Beni and Mamore rivers. He and his pa were too well known as big traders to drive profitable bargains, he explained, but he figured that a brace of comely Americanos, fondly expected to die at any moment of malaria, could work many an economical riffle. The possibilities in rubber were vast, he purred, and for every caoutchouc-tree snared, Tib and I were to receive one-fifth of the profits.

"So we left the amiable States in his dark-complexioned company, little recking of the Purple Friday in store for us, and little appreciating that the simple, man-eating speculators on the Beni were yelping along a bourse as yet not awakened into activity. Our first stop was at Para, where we met the old man Santos, and with him went over the whole game.

"It didn't look very good to me after I'd learned the Beni is nine hundred miles long and navigable for half its length, but Santos had a tip the Bolivian government intended chasing along the rivers with narrow-gauge, baby railroads, and he exploded in a set-piece of verbal pyrotechnics that concessions salted now would soon see us all ennuied with gold.

"‘We for the Bolivianos, Billy,' sparkled Tib, his rotund form expanding. 'We'll garn the bough while the rubber fruit is ripe. Santos says he'll loan us his body-servant, Wogo; which being translated from his ancestral Incan tongue means "the Bug," I believe. He'll be our flute-voiced interpreter. Besides," and the old chap looked pesky self-sufficient, 'you know my simple mind is vaguely freckled with a knowledge of the Spanish jargon these unfettered children toy with. Why perturb, my boy? In a trice I'll deposit you on the Broad White Way with a thirty-three-week engagement to lunch on.'

"I insisted we didn't know a caoutchouc-tree from an isosceles triangle, and were intended by nature for the ten, twenty, thirty houses only, and that it would be but a pastime for some pellucid-eyed gazelle in a bark shirt to unload a grove of Southern pine on us.

"‘In these adulterated days,' he defended, 'no one knows the real article. If my stout stick rebounds when I chastise a tree, it's rubber. If it doesn't, we'll laugh derisively and pass on.'

"It was with this chaotic assortment of knowledge, sir, that we ultimately turned our narrow pagais into the little-known and shivery Beni, a short distance above Villa Bella, where the Bolivia boundary-line on the maps shades into a rich green.

"For several days Wogo had acted peevish. He had believed we were to eschew the Beni and run up to the Mamore missions. And when Tib insisted the real plums grew in the wildwood and ordered the rowers to right-wheel, the Bug breathed a prayer to the river-god, swore he was a Christian, and in a lugubrious chant told how the ha-ha of merry laughter had been lost in the shuffle for us, for all time. Our rowers, five brawny Moxos, as brave as lions when facing nothing larger than a messenger-boy, also lost a modicum of their interest, and on the first night after we dodged the Marmore aimlessly wandered away, not forgetting to take one of the boats.

"Wogo barked in despair when, on the morrow, Tib seized a paddle, passed a chaste resolution on the future of the deserters, and turned the remaining prow up-stream, while I recited 'Excelsior.' The Bug didn't care to leave us and encounter Santos's displeasure, but to cheer us on our way he recited unwholesome tales about the people of that section. They were the Caripuna Indians, crude hunter-folk, he babbled. He said their name meant 'Watermen,' and that for amiability the average alligator had them blushing over their deficit. I shuddered in private, but Tib laughed and promised the first palm-roofed malocca should see us gayly and safely bartering with the aborigines.

"‘It will remind you, Billy, of pictures of William Penn shaking down the natives under the Charter Oak,' he bubbled.

"But as the first streak of the gray morning revealed streamers of white mist to our sleepy eyes, we found the Caripunas had silently invaded our resting-place and in a ghostly circle were politely waiting for us to awaken.

"‘We've arrived,' I gasped, hysterically, clambering out of my poncho and scanning the stalwart forms with regret.

"‘Then we'll trade,' declared Tib, stepping jauntily forward.

"But as he extended the palm of friendship and cocked his ears to hear some jolly Massoit cough out a welcome, his arms were seized and deftly whipped behind his back. Then did Wogo, the Bug, pour forth his freshly laundered soul in a pæan of farewell. It annoyed me to note the absolute conviction in his voice as he revealed in promises to his departed sires that he soon would be with them on the golden shore and was bringing along two white señors.

"‘Don't resist, Billy,' cried Tib. 'It's just their way, I guess.'

"‘I won't hurt 'em,' I agreed, as they slipped a rawhide about my slender wrists.

"The haft of a spear, pressed firmly across my lips, discouraged further speech until we had stumbled a mile through calisayas and giant cedars and halted in what I took to be a permanent village. Here we were regaled on some pira-rucu, a huge fish disgusting to my pampered palate whether eaten fresh or salted. The meal nervously concluded, I managed to whisper to the chattel, 'What next, Bug?'

"‘Eat us like rucu,' he encouraged, the gray tints accumulating to a handsome majority in his face.

"‘Hope they choke,' growled Tib. Then, austerely, to the oldest ruffian, whom we took to be the mayor, 'I say, Massoit, what is?'

"Wogo butted in between a shiver and a shudder and played ping-pong with the talk. Then his lower jaw hung loosely in the breeze as he turned to us and assured, 'Si, señors. Eat us much like pira-rucu.'

"‘But tell 'em we've come to trade,' expostulated Tib.

"‘He asks what you got,' trembled Wogo.

"And as the chief laughed coarsely over this ironical query, and playfully kicked a tame tapir through the fire to evidence his appetite, Tib and I exchanged blank glances, and my patron screwed up his lips in perplexity.

"‘They'll never eat a blond, a cheap-haired blond, like you, Billy,' he mumbled, as they crowded us into a malocca.

"‘I don't blame you, old man,' I whispered. 'But if it only could have come in an accident, or a long, lingering illness—'

"‘Let's cogitate,' he broke in, brusquely, sinking down beside a bark parrot-cage.

"‘When—when is the event to be pulled off, Bug?' I choked.

"He paused in making the high sign of despair, and muttered, 'Dam to-morrow.'

"‘Quit that profanity, or I'll hammer ye,' cried Tib. Then, more gently, 'Why do they wait till to-morrow. Dusky One?'

"With a wealth of incoherence the Bug explained the Caripunas, like almost all aborigines and Wall Street denizens, were great gamblers, and were now shaking a few dice, or cutting the book, or tossing pennies, to decide into what family we were to be adopted.

"‘I'll never shake for the cigars again, Tib,' I moaned. 'I know just how the cigar feels.'

"‘Quiet, child,' he returned, 'I'm thinking. Gamblers, eh? Streaked all through their blood, eh?'

"Then, with face illumined, he cried, 'Billy, what does this remind you of?' and he shook the small, empty cage aloft.

"‘Nothing,' says I.

"‘Then you are unworthy to be my follower and to be eaten in good company,' he chided.

"I had no heart for this strain of talk and glided into a reverie without replying, and was only dimly conscious that the old chap was mildly cursing Wogo, who was at the entrance of the hut trying to talk in hybrid Spanish to the Nestor of our captors, that the Bug was reluctantly chipping in, and that the confab was quite prolix. Then I sat up and began to notice things. For Tib was crying:

"‘What does the ribbon say, gents? Why, it says the chief has won this lead-pencil. Allow me.' And, hang me, sir, if he didn't pass over something to Pooh-Bah. 'Now again we shake the magic box, and who wins? Why, this sweet-faced, toothless woman, a wife of our host. A genuine seal-skin pocket-book to you, madame. And yet again, and lo! this young scion of indigo nobility gets a penknife.' And through it all he was shaking the parrot-cage and reading results from the same.

"Well, sir, it caught the mob. The old chief was there to remain a fixture so long as he could receive honoraria, and to cap the finale, Tib gravely removed a spear from a petrified private's hand and gave that to the boss. You see, they couldn't understand his jabber, except as Wogo, three yards behind, tried to deal it out, but they did appreciate the old parrot-cage was cutting up Ned with their possessions, and they were curious to learn more.

"Then in his crippled Spanish, aided and abetted by the Bug, the old chap told them a lot of truths and rattled the cage incessantly. As he finished and bowed gravely, as if dismissing them, a low chorus of amazed grunts ran around the chocolate circle.

"‘Git up!' hissed Tib, as he returned to me. 'Can't you see this is a stock-exchange ticker? Ain't I just taught 'em it is heavy with the germs of chance? Now what is this?' And he tore a roll of bark into a narrow ribbon and placed it in the cage. 'Well, young man, this is the tape. It unrolls. B-r-r-r. Click! click! Tiberius Smith closes firm. Big demand for William Campbell common. Total sales—'

"‘You're crazy!' I cried, in horror.

"‘So is every speculator,' he returned, heavily. 'Lemme take your pencil. The chief drew mine as a prize.'

"Then what did that blessed idiot do but begin to kill the scanty minutes by drawing pictures on the bark. 'What's this one look like?' he demanded, indicating a lame duck learning to ride a bicycle. My reply incensed him, and he swore it was a dog.

"‘Poor devil! What of it?' I asked, dully.

"‘It's more'n a dog,' he cried, triumphantly. 'It's a symbol. It's a quotation.'

"I turned away dizzily and bowed my head. I'd tagged Tib around all over the globe from a nursling up, and had stubbed against many mutual and disheartening propositions. But the pitcher goes once too often to the well. While the cat's away the mice will gather no—

"‘Hustle out of that stupor, quick,' cried Tib, 'and make me a sheet.' And he aroused me with a hearty thump. 'You say I'm crude with the pencil, and I'll admit you are superfine. Now sketch me as neatly as possible a bow-wow, a lizard, the tooth of a water-pig, and a parrot on this strip of bark. Have 'em about a foot apart.'

"‘Why?' I gasped, grasping the pencil mechanically.

"‘Because you are now in the Tiberius Smith & Robbers' Exchange, and I'm the boss,' he thundered.

"Then, brandishing the cage, he cried: 'Can't you appreciate this is a ticker? This bark is the tape, and I'm going to give these children of evil the only real stock-exchange dope ever retailed on the Beni. Motto: In the name of American manhood live frugally, for we promoters want all the rest. We must bucket-shop our way to freedom, in other words.' Then, gliding into an excess of exhilaration, he shouted: 'What, ho, Wogo, surnamed the Bug! How goes it on the bourse '

"‘Of course we 're all crazy,' I conceded, the fever waltzing through my veins as I sketched four-footed and other junk in my best style. 'But what do you eat to get it? Let me in, old chap, so I can be happy, too.'

"‘Not a second to lose,' he whispered, in the old stage voice so replete with assurance. 'I've promised quotations. They don't know what a pencil is. Your photos will stun 'em. That pup with the broken eye will sweep 'em off their feet. Now absorb for the last time. I managed to promise the Big Brown Father that this ticker, he calls it the magic box, would tell each day how much their furniture is worth. It was a big gamble, but I told it and yet live. I talked into the cage and it gave him presents. With foolish fondness he thinks some jovial little god sits in there aching to deal him more. When they see the tape and recognize the pictures they'll mortgage the old home and bet their grandparents on what's coming next. I make under each stock a certain number of straight marks. They can't count over twenty, and their unit of value is the sweet-smelling turtle-shell. I've explained to 'em in my exclusive patois, reinforced by Wogo's nervous tongue, that the tape, the magic ribbon, is about to tell 'em to-day what their stuff is worth. See, I put ten marks under your pup, which means he is worth that number of turtle-shells. D'ye suppose they can resist betting against the morrow's quotations? Hark! They're sweeping onto the floor of the market. I'll add the baseball scores in another week, if we're alive.'

"And bless you, sir! What does that old rascal do but prance to the door with the parrot-cage under his arm. And the style of him, as he puffed out his cheeks and brushed back the too-curious, would have done you a world of good. His aplomb was simply cold storage as he began pulling out the tape and even tried to emulate the dot and dash of the real clicker.

"‘Something doing in Dry Lizard Preferred, boys,' he began, in a deep, pool-room bass. 'It opens heartily at three.' And he allowed them to peep at the tape and admire my very best lizard.

"Evidently they had never conceived of a picture before, and they jabbered in astonisment and their eyes sparkled as they observed the selling-price. In a second the gamble lust peeped from their eyes, and I could see they were instinctively resolving themselves into bulls and bears.

"‘B-r-r-r,' purred Tib, as he unrolled more bark bosh. 'Here we have Water-Pig's Tooth Consolidated going at two. Click! click! Stand back to receive the latest in Amalgamated Dog. As I live, it's up to ten, with the price still climbing.'

"Well, sir, you'd never believe those innocents would twig so quickly. I reckon that simple exhibition changed their whole lives. Eating an adjacent tribe lost its savor. They knew the values would fluctuate daily, and each beetle-browed capitalist sneaked aside to plan a raid on his neighbor's pet stock. Talk about frenzied finance and the wolf gnawing at the cottage door! Why, those Caripunas were wizards at the go-in, and the old chief was the biggest sport in the outfit.

"‘We must let John W. G. win,' I whispered, after the crowd had retired, each to count his dogs and lizards.

"‘Never,' says Tib, firmly.

"‘But he holds the high justice and the low,' I remonstrated, as he fed me fresh bark. 'He is the chief.'

"‘Therefore must be kept on the frayed edge of uncertainty,' whispered Tib. 'He 'll keep us healthy so he may recoup his losses. But if he ever makes a ten-strike he'll cut us off behind the ears to cinch his gains. Draw a heap of pictures, and I'll slip in the values as proportion seems to demand,' he added, drowsily. 'It 'll be a hard day to-morrow and heavy trading.'

"By the dim light of a smoking fire I sketched animals half the night, and had the cage loaded to the muzzle when I climbed into my hammock. It seemed rather low down to tap the wires and gull the speculators, but, as Tib said, we must hold the balance of power, and feeling crooked I went to sleep.

"We had hardly finished our savory rucu when a great clamor told us the game was on, and setting his jaw to the last notch the proprietor of the Tiberius Smith & Robbers' Exchange toted the precious ticker to the door and threw out his chest.

"It was a gallant scene to see the mob crowding about and anxiously waiting. The first shot was just a tease for John G., as we now familiarly dubbed the chief, and he danced a sprightly can-can of joy as Tib cried out, 'Dry Lizard Preferred goes up to nine,' and tore off the tape and tossed it to the mob.

"A low croon of sorrow decorated the wake of a young margin player as he sadly carried an armful of losses and dumped them, barking, crawling, and snapping, at the feet of the plunger.

"‘Puts John in good fettle,' chuckled Tib, and as if in answer, John bellowed loudly something that sounded like 'Skowhegan—New Jersey.'

"‘All right, John. Cheer up. The worst is yet to come. Water-Pig's Tooth Consolidated drops to a song,' yelled Tib; and I grinned as the man who patted me with his spear gave a groan and sold his summer stock of beans to keep afloat.

"Dear, dear! I never would have believed the spirit of the thing would get so thickly into Tib's bones. He acted as if he'd like to take a flyer himself. By this time we had a mental inventory of every pup and turtle-shell in the street, and could give a man's rating to a tooth.

"‘I'm going to have a circuit taking in all the tribes on the Beni,' panted Tib, as he fussed with the tape. 'We'll hitch on rubber and clean up the whole busy mart.'

"‘I'll be satisfied with my scalp,' I reminded.

"‘I'll get you incorporated, and they won't dare—Hullo! John is short on Parrots Limited, as I live! It's time to rasp him, I guess. First half of the second, boys, and two men out. Parrots Limited walks to eight.'

"A wild roar from the chief as he dragged his nervous orbs over the bark terminated with his hurling a spear at Wogo. Mercy! but wasn't Tib angry! He waltzed forth and told John all about himself in a manner that would make a canal mule dimple in pleasure. The chief bleated back and Wogo shivered in and explained, 'The Big One would know, señor, why he loses.'

"‘Tell 'em all,' thundered Tib, 'that this is a brace game and we play no favorites.'

"I don't know in what version his proclamation arrived, but it seemed to please the rank and file, and in thirty seconds the mob had bet our wild-eyed mortgagee to a stand-still.

"Then, as a bit of diplomacy, Tib announced that seats in the exchange cost two dogs per, payable to the chief, and John gradually smiled and said something about the 'Wabash-going-turnips-Monday,' and promised to brain the speculator who failed to pay up instanter. But to drag rock-salt across the raw grain, Tib next proclaimed:

"‘Amalgamated Dog slides to eight.'

"And the dogs, still warm from the chief's proprietary kicks, were turned back to their former owners, plus several more. And I was now firmly convinced we were through our little experience.

"‘Why did you? How dared you?' I murmured, as the chief struggled to get at us.

"‘He must be taught not to welch. I want him to feel to-night, when eating baked pup, as if he was bolting a government bond,' returned Tib, grimly, but holding the tape so he could shift it to a life-saving figure if necessary. 'There! He's calming down. The tall, sparsely clothed man has quieted him. It's his brother, Wogo says. He's the original Henry H. R. of the ring. He's been scalping a few pints of beans and an odd dog or so on every turn this morning. Watch him. He's more dangerous than the bluff, quick-tempered John. He just loaned a minor a dog to put up in margins and has collected a pup as interest. Hm! Let's see. What's his rating?'

"‘He's got pig's teeth by the bushel,' I whispered.

"‘Ha! Already, gents. Something stirring in Tooth Consolidated. Now watch the tight-wad, Billy.' And the bit of bark he tossed them whip-sawed Henry into bankruptcy.

"Well, well, you never saw a man so amazed. He'd played such a close game he believed no one could annex his roll. It was almost pathetic to behold his tristful tears as he dealt out the teeth, seven necklaces going to the delighted John.

"‘Guess I ain't a favorite, eh?' chuckled Tib, as the chief pressed forward and patted us each in turn.

"‘Maybe,' said I, 'only, Henry is the shrewdest trader in the street, and if he can forge a mortgage on any one's turtles he'll get back with a rush.'

"And to our annoyance he borrowed two parrots and a monkey and caught Amalgamated Dog on the rise for four pups. As the chief was stung for two of these it was a good wager he would either kill Tib and me, or the successful manipulator.

"‘I tell you, Henry is greater than we at this game,' I whispered, as I noted him carefully examining the different bits of discarded tape and trying to get a line on averages.

"‘Tut, tut,' laughed Tib. 'He's bankrupt. What he cleans up in the future will be on wash sales. He caught me napping, that's all. The royal house must be crowded from the running. If Henry ever gets the throne he'll short-circuit us. Now, gentlemen, attention, please.' And for five minutes the market was kept teetering and a dozen of my pictures were consumed. The changes came so close and were so narrow that the crowd was wildly feverish, and danced back and forth in a tumult of expectancy, making their wagers and crowing and groaning as Dame Fortune took her cue from my patron. But Henry stood aloof with lack-lustre eyes and mechanically pulled the ears of his meagre winnings.

"‘He's had enough,' chuckled Tib, and he turned to gloat over the chief, who now waded in and banged the wrong side of the market for a dozen parrots. 'Wish you could draw the replica of a bean. Henry is a millionaire in beans and we'd sting him to an empty vine.'

"‘Better stick to industrials and let bread-stuffs alone,' I warned.

"‘Maybe, but I love to annoy him, it makes him look so sad. Now, gentlemen—b-r-r-r! Click! click! Dry Lizard at four. Parrot Limited at three. B-r-r-r! Correction: Make Dry Lizard read five, with … Tweedledee now pitching for the Giants. Whew, Billy, but this is a nerve-racking game! Wonder why Henry was chinning with those two bears so long.'

"‘He's about to cut up didoes,' I murmured, over his shoulder. For really, sir, while J. W. G. was spectacular and could agitate his fat figure in true Monaco form, when compared with his silent and ingrowing brother he didn't shut out quite so much light as a silver three-cent piece. Instinctively, I knew Henry had it over him like a mile of blue sky.

"Tib, too, now scented danger and kept looking around for Wogo, who had strayed into the throng. 'Where's the Bug?' he whispered, hoarsely. Then cheerily, to deceive the mob, 'Cincinnati one, Boston nothing—in the eighth. B-r-r-r! Send Bug to me on the gallop. Click! click! Dry Lizard at six and Amalgamated forges ahead half a point because of favorable conditions in Russia. Where the deuce is Wogo?' And I trembled to note the old chap was getting a bit rattled, a bad sign, I can assure you, sir. 'Purchase of foney Gainsborough for three millions by an American in London booms Saginaw City bonds to a hundred and twelve. Amalgamated declares a dividend of three pups. Oh, punk!' And Tib paused, breathless, just as Wogo sneaked forward.

"'Trouble with the wire, gentleman,' announced Tib, loudly, and then exchanged a hatful of liquid Spanish with the Bug. As he got the last word he barked at me, without turning, 'One on the dog, Billy. Mark it down to one. Already, gentlemen. The chief dreamed last night that all his dogs grew very small. One of his wives just told Wogo. And he intends to interpret it to the contrary and bull the market. Hustle, oh, hustle, as I must begin my patter. Great Scott! Click! click! B-r-r-r! If it hadn't been for the Bug he'd have cornered Amalgamated Dog to the limit. Make it drop to one. Is it loaded?'

"I sobbed a tremulous affirmative, for now all was staked, and he began cantering about this focal stock in a saucy circle. Dear, dear! We couldn't see it coming. No one could. But, oh, it was waiting for us. As Tib gracefully waved the cage and allowed just a teasing bit of the bark tape to peep out, the half-naked gathering breathed deep and fiercely. None knew, or cared, how the quotations got into the cage, but each appreciated the arena would soon be dotted with the ruins of the unwise. And the chief was the biggest plunger of all, and his reckless demeanor in bulling Amalgamated made them scary. Yet some one was quietly covering all his offers, but who, we could not see.

"Then as the throng shook spear and fist and elbowed for room, my patron smiled wanly and began with Pig's Tooth, which dropped two points. Next came Lizard and Parrots, fluctuating just a wee bit, and no one as yet had made a big killing.

"‘Now, gentlemen, something tart in Amalgamated,' warned Tib, backing away a few steps and pausing to grin at me over his shoulder. Then indicating the fat, apoplectic chief, he lisped, 'Watch the crowd go down.' And he slowly fed out more of the fateful tape.

"Every gambler in the ring knew an hour ago a dog was worth eleven turtle-shells, and as this was the favorite stock, the next minute meant ruin or opulence and bone finery for many a humble hut.

"‘B-r-r-r!' began Tib, looking very solemn, while the chief clinched his hands and chattered away like a fractured Norwegian. 'Click! click! dot, dash, dot. Whew!' and he raised a hand impressively.

"‘Amalgamated Dog closes at one,' and an upraised digit interpreted the worst.

"Well, sir, they were stunned, and never made a move or a sound until they had read the tape. But such a husky roar as a full realization crept home! A decline of ten points!

"‘He's ruined,' howled Tib, trumpeting through his hands and ducking a spear. 'The Exchange remains closed indefinitely if the chorus don't keep him from us.'

"‘Great billiards,' I acknowledged; 'but what is the matter with Henry R.?'

"For as the chief bit and struggled to approach us, his skinny brother stepped out a slow, ponderous dance, punctuated with short, brisk yelps of gladness, and minced his way towards us and bowed mockingly. Then he began to harangue the mob, and Wogo, who could catch it in spots, went limp at the knees and whined that Henry had played the bear side with his bean capital and was now a millionaire in pups. Not only that, but he had cornered Amalgamated so thoroughly that the entire street would be dogless if he wasn't named chief in the place of his broken brother.

"‘What is?' I cried, as the circle narrowed and no rainbow stole in view.

"‘B-r-r-r!' worked Tib, desperately, and all paused at the old familiar sound. 'Tell 'em, Wogo, the little medicine in the cage wishes to repeat, as there is a mistake.'

"In some fashion the Bug conveyed this intelligence, but Henry, fearing a trick, raised a shrill clamor and begged for some one to loan him a spear. His brother, however, ceased his pow-wow as he realized we were offering to recount, and helped hold the mob back.

"‘Sneak to the river, Wogo, and pinch a canoe,' hissed Tib. Then waving the ticker and dancing madly into their very midst he distracted their attention, and as I watched his agility in dull amaze he further cried, 'Avaunt, Billy! Fade away! Click! click! B-r-r-r! Sneak!'

"And, Lord forgive me, I sneaked. I'd never have quit him, only when he said anything in that voice I was there to jump. And forgetting how ignoble it was, I ripped up the scenery in a mile sprint to the Beni. As I panted to the water's edge there was Wogo, the Bug, and a canoe.

"‘The fat señor,' he howled in delight; and, turning, I was overjoyed to behold Tib's round form bouncing through the trees with the brunette mob at his heels. He reached us a hundred feet in the lead.

"‘Jump!' I yelled, as he hesitated and turned and fumbled with the blessed parrot-cage for a few seconds, and then hurled it in their faces.

"‘They'll be after us,' he choked, as we plied the paddles.

"Wogo grinned and shook his head and kicked a spear at his feet. Then we knew he had destroyed their navy.

"‘Why did you tarry?' I gasped, as we tore through the water.

"‘Couldn't bear to think of Hen making such a clean-up,' he panted. 'I changed the quotation on Amalgamated to nineteen. John W. G. is now on velvet. Hark!'

"And a deafening cheer up-stream told us they had paused to count the marks, and that the Beni's boldest plunger had come into his own again.

XII
THE BASEBALL GOD

"IT was a long, dreary run down to the settlements, and Wogo took French leave at the first hint of civilization. Then Tib and I jumped one of those one-horse river-steamers and ate up the miles to Obidos. We were going right through to Para and catch a boat for somewhere, but at Obidos we found young Santos on his way up the river, and we foolishly stopped to have heap big talk. I was nervous, as the old chap showed an inclination to tarry, and under the petals I softly reminded him how glad we had been to flee to the East.

"‘But we were talking about the gold-fields of Minas Geraes and Bahia,' he explained. 'Do you realize, child, that in addition to the hundreds of thousands of dollars in gold there are forty thousand carats of diamonds annually exported from the Brazilian fields?'

"I observed I didn't care an old-fashioned rap if there were a million. I wanted to go home. But at this point Santos chipped in and quickly dispelled any visions my patron might have had of leaking into the diamond-fields to absorb a scuttleful of bright-eyed gems, and then cantering merrily back to port before any one could ring in an alarm. According to his say-so, the desirable weed of all evil was firmly tied up by English capital, and independent harvesters were heartily frowned upon.

"Oh, I ought to have got wise and wrenched the dear old boy away when the cub finished his coffee and observed, 'If you're satisfied your quest is impracticable, I'll propose something different.'

"I ought to have got wise, but I didn't, and only sulked as Tib inquired, 'You would advise a virgin field, seeing all these pastures we've been discussing are nailed down?'

"And that was just what the brat suggested. His proposition was that we should pursue our search for precious stones in his company up the Madeira. He told us that he'd often heard stories of clay puddings, with diamond plums, in the Blue Hen Valley in the Tarijara district. The only drawback, he explained, was the natives' unhappy reputation for eating one another. But odd ideas as to table etiquette, Tib declared, could never keep him from nature's jewelry-shop.

"‘My boy,' he said, after we'd returned to our hut, 'I do not doubt but what these Mundrucu, or Blue Hen men, or whatever they're called, are crude in their tastes and will gladly devour their grandparents when the larder is low; but we won't plan on becoming chummy with them, and I guess we can turn the trick without figuring in a salad. While they are not a jovial, whole-souled people, they are, thank Heavens, few in number. For see, the census returns show that in all the State of Amazonas, with its seven hundred and thirty-two thousand, two hundred and fifty square miles, the population is but two-tenths of a person per mile. That's what I call a scattered population. When you figure out the squaws and children, it would be queer if we couldn't easily dodge the remaining decimal fraction. We only need about one mile to browse in, and a fortune may be contained in one yard of earth.'

"I balked, and was for jumping to New Orleans and picking up some plantation medleys for the New England trade.

"‘Child,' pleaded Tib, 'just this one fling with fortune's dice. Santos was up there last year, and he'll get through all right this trip. Thousands travel up and down the Madeira each season and it's safer than Broadway. There's no danger until we branch off to the Blue Hen Valley. We won't carry a band with us—just sly in—and if things look rocky, we'll trip a merry morris back to the settlement. Do you think I would place your young life in hazard?' he concluded, reproachfully, and then, probably remembering that he had done so about once a week for ten years, he added, 'that is, without saving it.'

"Two days later we started on our long jaunt with Santos.

"The trip up the Amazon was uneventful and exceedingly tedious, and both Tib and I were delighted when just before reaching the mouth of the Madeira we shifted over into a small craft propelled by Moxos and set off up a side-creek. Even here there was little to vary the monotony. The scenery was uniform. Immense stretches of stonewood, cinnamon, and bow-wood screened the river-banks. A casual glimpse of the aborigines demonstrated clearly that they hadn't received the latest styles. Every time we met some of these beggars, Remigio, our captain of rowers, would sniff his squat nose and, glancing complacently at his bark shirt, growl: 'No Christianos!' My courage was considerably weakened when he explained through Santos that the many side-streams which emptied themselves into the Madeira all flowed from a wholly unknown country. He also pointed out a sand-bar where the season before three Bolivians had been captured and carried off by the Indians. After that the dark, oily waters of each tributary, now and then washing down an empty Araras bark canoe, were to me fraught with some terrible menace.

"And while I was in the dumps Santos announced that the psychological moment had arrived at which to invade the Blue Hen Valley. The low, clear-cut cornices of the Blue Hen Mountains showed off to the right, and as the land separating us from them was an open plateau carpeted with a short, tough grass, Tib decided we should leave the winding river and cut straight across country.

"Santos promised that he would pick us up two weeks from date, on his way back from Jauca; and wringing his hand we packed up some fodder and trinkets and left him. We had no guns, as we had come to dig and run, not fight.

"Well, for three days we tramped steadily towards the mountains. On the morning of the fourth day the trouble began. Tib said he was tired of preserved meat and was going to bag one of the water-fowl that we found everywhere in great numbers.

"‘I never saw a blue hen before, but they must be good eating,' he remarked, as he drove a rock into a flock and downed one.

"As he did this there was a fearful howl, and a cloud of long reed arrows hurtled by us. Before we had time to clinch our nerve we were surrounded by twenty fierce-faced gentlemen, dressed carelessly in bone necklaces, bone ornaments, and girdles of red toucan feathers. They were further adorned with blue clay plastered about their flat mouths, and with red feathers which they wore in their ears and nostrils, as well as in their long black hair, and they easily looked like nightmares. Tib and I were ready at sight of them to believe them cannibals, and expected nothing better than to speedily find ourselves salted down for a rainy day.

"The president of the delegation had a little powwow with the other Trilbys and then waved his spear, and we were hustled along towards the upper end of the valley, the brown beggars yowling some plaintive medley all the time. They carried the blue hen with them, and whenever their eyes caught a glimpse of it they beat their breasts and howled and whined in a perfectly ridiculous manner. A three-mile trot brought us to a bunch of low huts with palm-leaf roofs, and there the whole chorus tripped out to greet us. The squaws were much taken with Tib, I reckon because he was so plump; they kind of side-stepped me as being good only for a sandwich. But when the chairman held up the hen and threw a little Russian at them, their curiosity gave way to rage, and several expressed a kindly desire to hold an autopsy.

"‘I guess, my boy, that when I heaved that rock and hit the bird I hit their gospel,' groaned Tib.

"And that was the layout. We'd unintentionally shattered their whole religious fabric when we gunned for roast fowl. They doped us out as unbelievers and wanted to free our spirits over a well-prepared hecatomb. Tib offered to pay for the biddy, but they didn't understand him, and an old hag began to sharpen a vulgar-looking knife and croon a bit of folk-lore song, in which the nasal tones predominated. We were shoved into a dirty hut of bark and hides and left to ourselves for the time being, though the building was surrounded by guards. The first thing Tib did was to discover a pretty palm-leaf basket in the corner. He examined it and found it contained a skull and some miscellaneous bones.

"'That settles it, my boy, they would eat the father of the drama. I thought grandma's necklace was formed of the crooked teeth of the water-pig, but I can see now the molars once belonged to neighboring tribesmen, perhaps relatives.'

"In spite of the horror of the situation, Tib managed to keep up his spirit. He admitted that it was a disgrace to be eaten by such ignoramuses and that he should always feel ashamed of himself. 'But cheer up,' he cried. 'Tiberius Smith has never been eaten yet and doesn't intend now to contribute himself for a pink tea. I'll try and think of something before the curtain goes up.'

"'If we could only cut and run to that stream and make a raft, or steal one of their canoes, we could float down to Borba; that is, if an alligator didn't get us,' I groaned.

"‘I'm sorry I brought you,' observed Tib, gravely. 'But let's to business. Here's our pack with fish-lines and hooks, some dried beef, and general tommy-rot. And, oh yes; here's six of those hand-bombs we use to explode at the evening performance of the circus. I thought we could use them to signal with if we got separated. Red, green, and yellow are the colors. They were in our baggage that Santos brought up to Obidos. Take three, but don't use one till I give the word.'

"‘I reckon these people are the Mundrucu, all right,' I observed, pushing the basket with my foot.

"‘I'm afraid they are,' sighed Tib. 'Head-hunters. Did you ever stop to think what a queer fad that is?'

"‘No,' I groaned, 'but I realize that you were away off in dividing these folks up into decimals. The population seems to be looking up.'

"‘Census-takers are liars,' declared Tib. 'Or else they've rung in repeaters from another ward.'

"‘Those large, smooth, open places on the map aren't all English lawns,' I moaned.

"Then we sat dumbly and nursed out despair. At last Tib broke the dismal silence by crying: 'I wonder what those imps are up to?'

"This last was called forth by a shrill shouting outside. We peeped through the narrow opening past our guards, and saw the heathens were playing a crude game of ball. It wasn't handball, nor was it baseball. One tall pest hurled the sphere at a man with a club, and it was the duty of the latter to hit it. When he did, he ran, and whoever got the ball threw it back to the pitcher. I don't know what would have happened if the batter had missed. Tib said they'd eat him. The game reminded me of my youth and two-old-cat, and we couldn't help admiring the dexterity of the batter, who evidently was the chief of the tribe. No matter how swiftly the ball came he would give a jump away from it, or towards it, and bang! 'way down to the bleachers. I remembered that the North American Indians have been given to this form of sport from the time of the white man's first coming, and I suppose it is common to all the tribes below the equator.

"‘Billy,' cried Tib, after we had watched their antics for some time, 'I'm going to make a grandstand play. That rugged sprite of a pitcher ought to be released, or else sent to the bench. Old Cocoa has hit him for nineteen singles and eight home-runs inside of five minutes. I'm going to join the nine and show 'em how our boys can play.'

"‘You throw a ball?' I gasped.

"‘Can I?' and he smiled complacently. 'Why, in the days of straight pitching I pitched a game for the old Red Stockings when the score was one hundred and ninety to one hundred and forty. Close game, I tell you.'

"‘The batter out there can cart away all the straight balls any one can dish up to him,' I reminded, sadly.

"‘But not curves,' grinned Tib.

"‘You curve?' I murmured.

"‘I do, my child,' he affirmed. 'Two years ago I wished to create a Ten Thousand Dollar Beauty's part in a little baseball drama I was to star in, and I played with a village nine all through the summer, just to get the atmosphere. And do you know, little one, I got onto the knack of tossing up grape-vines in a way that would make Cy Young look like a last year's rose-leaf. Now you stay here and watch me capture the cup.'

"Before the guards knew his intention he had picked up the skull and was out of the hut and walking gravely towards the old chief. The guards didn't like to leave me, and as Tib was moving towards the crowd they contented themselves with a college yell of warning. When Tib walked up to the chief, and, placing the skull down for the home base and pushing His Ivories into proper position, motioned for him to stand ready to strike the ball, the old boy was stunned.

"But he came to after a bit and howled and banged his club on the ground and called out to his men. Instantly two rushed Tib down the field in front of the grinning base and gave him the ball, while the others stood on the side-lines with arrows drawn to the head on their long bows. Tib, with his back towards me, was now standing directly in front of me, and, without turning his head, cried out: 'Maybe it's good-bye, Billy. The scalawags mean to shoot if I let Othello hit it.'

"In a flash I realized the meaning of the ready bowmen. Hiawatha was enraged at Tib's presumption and was going to have him punctured the minute the first hit was made. It was grewsome, I tell you. There was the old devil, gnashing his teeth and tapping the grisly skull in an ecstasy of impatience to smash the ball. There were the bowmen, all anxious to get the first chance at the pitcher. There was the old lady with the big knife, scurrying around, brightening up the fire, and singing a cheery carol, happy at the prospects of having a stranger for supper. And last, there was Tib, short and comfortable, peeled down to his underwear, posed on one toe, carefully examining the ball.

"And do you know those savages cured me of all liking for the sport. I never pass a vacant lot and see the kids tossing ball but what I shiver, and yet in my knickerbocker days I was fond of the game. But here was a time when a hit meant two lives and the bleachers were determined that that hit should be made. Never willingly will I look on two nines crossing bats. And to this day I detest chickens; I never see a gallinaceous biped but what my hand seeks a weapon.

"‘Cheer up, Billy,' he called over his shoulder. 'The leather is almost as good as a league ball. Now learn how to throw an out-curve.'

"Then with fearful contortions he waved his arms, doubled up his fat form, and threw a ball that had all the promise of cutting the skull. My heart rose in my mouth as the old chief smiled, closed his eyes with satisfaction, and swung for all he was worth. And he missed it.

"But so sure were the men that he was going to score that, when he struck, they all took a pot-shot at Tib. Fortunately he had anticipated this and had dropped to the ground. Two lines of reed arrows kissed each other in passing over him. Then he sprang to his feet, and the way he called down Old Cocoa and the bowmen would have done you good, sir, to have heard. And the chief was mad. He hopped a double hornpipe; smashed in the top of the skull, and then began on his men. You see, sir, his pride was hurt and he dressed 'em down beautifully. They were scared as bluebirds and all drew back and rested on their bows. Then Tib cried out to me: 'Now if I can get a fair shake, I'm going to pitch a thirteen-inning game. If I've got any friends on the side-lines, I'd like to hear their voices cheering, as it heartens me. Here goes a simple drop.'

"Bless you, it entirely took the crowd off their feet. The batter literally wallowed in the grass. When he saw that ball humming along as true as a die, he just gritted his teeth and swung himself into the air and came down with a crash.

"‘Hooray!' I yelled, in my excitement. 'Two strikes! No balls! Go it, Tibby!'

"Hang me, if that rascal didn't turn and, with one hand on his breast and the other at his back, make me a stage bow and blow me a kiss. A chocolate-drop returned the ball, and with a bellow of rage the batter pranced to wipe out his disgrace. It was a rising in-shoot, and from where I stood I should have diagnosed it as a corkscrew. After Tib delivered it he turned aside and put one hand up to his smirking mouth, as if he were ashamed of having done it. The ball ducked the club and brushed the old gentleman's jugular. A howl of amazement went up from all hands, and grandma dropped her knife and began to bump her head on the ground. The chief, too, looked a bit frightened.

"‘Guess I've got a glass arm, eh?' cried Tib. 'That's pretty rotten, isn't it? Oh yes.'

"The batter frowned at his club, muttered something that sounded like the key-board of a type-writer pronounced all together, and grabbed his nose-ring. Then he chatted away for a while to a bone ornament on his wrist and seemed to find some more courage.

"‘He thinks he's big medicine now,' remarked Tib, rubbing the ball on his jeans. 'Just observe the erratic orbit of this new-fangled out. It's been called quite a teaser in the States. Dear old States! How I wish we were back there, living in Christian fraternity with Mike O'Daffy, the boodle alderman; and with Slitzenberger sending out for another pail of suds! Well, ready for Act III.; curtain!' And the new-fangled out was released. Unlike the others it was thrown square at the batter's stomach. He did not budge, but with a grunt of satisfaction presented the flat side of his club and tried to bunt it. The ball swerved and passed two feet outside the plate. Well, Tib just sat down and laughed.

"If you could only have heard the old man swear! He threw down his club, cussed the niggers, cussed himself, and then took a fall out of the little bone god on his wrist. Then I woke up and began to root. I forgot the guards, and danced out in the open and gave a rowdy-dowdy-zip-boom-bah class yell. In my more hopeful days I had few equals as a coach. I could see my joy-talk was putting new blood into Tib, and he kept bowing and scraping to imaginary grandstands. The chief didn't try to stop us. He just looked sullen and waited for us to get through. It was the Baseball God against the God of the Blue Hen, and he was quite a square old sport, once you forgot his gastronomic stunts. After I'd lost my wind and Tib had stopped mincing about in the pitcher's box, the chief rattled off a few eeny-meeny-miney-mo sentiments to his god and again swung back his club for another foozle. Dear, dear! He had never heard of curved pitching and of course he stood no show from the go-in.

"Tib then tossed up a ball so slow that I could have sworn a babe might have lambasted it. But such a curve! It loafed up to the plate, and just as Mr. Hen exclaimed 'wow' with much satisfaction it dropped a bit and wriggled by. Then I gave another college yell, and Tib pinned on imaginary bouquets, while the chief took another whack at cussing. I guess he'd forgotten some of his ancestors in his previous efforts, for this time with concentrated mind he seemed to be dipping into the dry bones of the dim past, and he rattled the skeleton of every forebear as he tore down the macadam. When he arrived in the nineteenth century he was in rare fettle, and for pure form he had a circus boss beaten to a tender mush.

"But now I could see Tib was taking more time in sending the ball, and every once in a while he doubled up his arm as if it ached.

"‘"When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide
Flagons of home-brewed ale, …"

he murmured.

"‘ Tired, old man?' I choked.

"‘A little. I wish you knew how to curve 'em. But, then, the other nine would probably kick if we changed batteries. Oh, I'm good for a few more.'

"The chief struck twice at the next one and barked his shins. He was so angry he bit his flat lips through till the blood oozed out and perfectly matched the hue of the toucan feathers in his fat nose. Then Tib settled down and pitched for our two lives. Slow ones, followed up by rifle-bullets; bow-legged ones, chased up by rainbows, and so on, always ringing in the changes just as the Hen thought he had doped out a winning combination. A wonderful love for my patron now filled my soul. He was pitching to save my life, and there was something infinitely encouraging in the way he cocked his head and smiled at me. Then I noticed the gray in his hair and remembered he was old enough to be my father. His face began to look drawn and his lips trembled, but they never lost their smile. I could give him none of my youthful strength, and it was very hard to stand there and watch him go it all alone.

"‘Can you keep it up?' I stammered.

"‘Hard work playing against nine men and the umpire,' he replied, cheerfully, sending in one that was so full of ginger as almost to cause the batter's eyes to pop out of his head.

"The sun was sinking now and Tib motioned to it and signed for a rest. But old Beetle Brows howled out a negative reply and significantly pointed to the bowmen. Then he gave them some order and they straightened up.

"‘Listen, Billy,' gasped Tib. 'When the night comes it will come all at once and in two seconds be as black as your immediate future. Be ready to cut down the grass to the river when I let him hit it.'

"‘They'll shoot the minute he hits,' I cried, in anguish.

"‘My dear boy, they are going to shoot anyway. He's crooked. He's tipped 'em off to turn me into a pin-cushion when the sun-rays say good-night. But it's one of the bombs, not the ball, I'm going to let him hit. So be ready to place yours where they'll do the most good. Are you on?'

"I said I was, and just as the sun dipped, Tib prepared to throw an easy straight. Our lives this time depended entirely on the batter's making a hit. Straight, and not too swift, the hand-bomb, substituted for the bunch of leather, sped, and smash! The Blue Hens had made the first and only hit of the day. But such a hit! Bang! and a dozen colored balls of fire radiated about the batter's head. One or two arrows whimpered by, but the most of the gang had fallen on their faces.

"With a crazy yell I drove my three bombs at the bowmen and saw each one explode. Tib let drive another at the chief, who sat stupefied on the home plate, and it took him square in the forehead. Then as the night fell like a blanket we ran for the river. In passing the old woman, who lay prostrate by the fire, I saw in the evil glow something on her necklace glitter. Before I knew it I had wrenched it from off her throat.

"There was no pursuit. We blundered on through the darkness until we came to the river and found a canoe made of one broad piece of bark, laced up at either end in a sharp point. One night and a day we paddled on, with nothing to eat but raw fish. At times we were hemmed in by walls of metamorphic rock. Now we were tossed over rapids and only came through by luck. Again the floating vegetation threatened to end our flight. And all through it the fear of the Blue Hen men was upon us, although Tib showed it not. At last we reached Vista Alegre, where Santos found us three weeks later. While waiting for him I discovered the necklace in my trousers-pocket, and on examining it observed seven large diamonds mixed in with the horrid bone ornaments. Tib said it was the best-paid game of ball he ever pitched.

"But it was a game I never wish to see again; for the medicine of the Blue Hen god was very strong.

XIII
FOR THE ZAPOPAXI CUP

"NOTHING would tempt us to follow any more of Santos's suggestions, and we left him at Vista to take advantage of the company of several Bolivians who were returning home. For the last time Tib and I passed up the awful waters, only now we were not alone and unarmed; nor did we pause until we had entered Bolivia. At La Paz our friends said good-bye and we jogged on to Arica, the port they borrow from Chile. There we picked up a coastwise steamer and glided up to Callao. Of course we were not capering around with no set purpose.

"It was this: Tib decided he must have been fed on four-leaf clovers when an infant and had been inoculated with much good luck. Else why our diamonds and the two recent evasions of a tropical grave? He insisted that if I'd stick to him I would live forever. Only he was too wise to try diamonds again, or to carry his pitcher too often to any other Brazilian well. And now his heart was full of Peru and its treasures. But it was not until we had hit the stubby Central Railroad at Callao for a one-hundred-and-thirty-six-mile ride over a tunnel-infested route across the Central Cordilleras to Oroya that he opened his heart and explained we were bound for the Cerro de Pasco silver-diggings. He had learned in port that several English nabobs were kicking because they suspected somebody was passing things out of the window in their absence. So Tib intended to loll about in the middle distance and get a bird's-eye view of the situation, and then hop in at the right moment and plank down our baseball receipts and buy out the disgruntled capitalist, and then camp right there and watch the investment grow.

"You see, the mines in the Cerro district separate mother-earth from about a million ounces of white junk every year, and if any speculator should decide his share of the loot was too microscopic we stood a chance of buying into a good thing.

"Thus we jumped the stunted railroad and were pleased on reaching Oroya to find a choice and convivial cluster of Yankees and Johnny Bulls, all civil engineers, busily endeavoring to explain to the directorate of the Peruvian Company why vast sums of coin spent in an attempt to connect Oroya with the Pichis River had failed of any radical results. I'll talk guide-book sufficient to say the Pichis is the head of navigation leading to Iquitos on the upper Amazon, and freight was then being carted from Oroya to the Cerro diggings, some fifty miles, by llamas and mules.

"When we bobbed into the spirited debate, Tib, of course, must expand and peddle out a little wholesome advice to the isosceles triangle sharps. He'd never studied engineering, he modestly confessed; but he insisted that a man who had routed big shows through the cotton belt, who had collected admittance fees from gun-laden mountaineers, and who knew just how much English to put on an elephant's head when that animal is butting the beast wagons out of South Carolina mud, ought to be able to sprinkle a few germs of helpful thought on almost any perplexing situation. Well, they certainly took to him and his sparkling, brown-eyed ways, and an English tea-prince named Breusy was so captivated that he swore we should make the trip to the mines in his ninety-horse-power, six-cylinder, swifter-than-chain-lightning touring-car, the Bally Bloomer.

"‘But can you chauff?' I asked, suspiciously, after drawing Tib aside.

"He looked at me regretfully for a moment, and then sighed, 'Child, after you've once laid a gasolene trail with me and have seen my lily-like form drooping over the rudder, you'll never ride behind another pathfinder.'

"And as it resulted, he came near to being a prophet; for during several hours in the immediate future I was destined to abandon the anchor of hope and anticipate only a nameless grave. But his hearty assurance stilled my throbbing temples and I went with him to inspect the machine.

"The Englishman had sent it up by train, intending to astonish the natives with a few hill-side stunts. But after soberly scanning the repulsive foreheads of several adjacent mountains he changed his mind, discarded the gingerbread top and two of the three seats, and contented himself with rushing his dismantled car over a few fast miles in a little less than nothing on the decent five-mile stretch of highway that subsequently leads to Tarma.

"‘I'll fetch it back in a few days,' said Tib, as we jumped into the remaining seat and the descendant of an Incan emperor meekly lashed my shot-gun and the lunch-hampers on behind.

"‘Keep away from the east,' warned Breusy, as Tib gracefully gave her the slow speed. 'We hear the Huancas have been seen near Pasco.'

"‘Tut, tut,' smiled Tib, gliding into the middle speed and worrying the wheel.

"‘Toot, toot,' said the announcer, and amid a friendly salvo of wine-incited cheers we were off for a sixty-six-mile spin over the remains of an ancient road-bed thrown together probably by the Incas.

"In spots the trail was good, but generally we were kept busy dodging five-ton blocks of lava that were scattered munificently over the landscape. For you can't throw your hat anywhere in that region without tagging a volcano.

"‘Simply great!' cried Tib, as he reversed a lever and stopped so quickly that our machine boldly kissed the brow of a gigantic pill we unexpectedly met in gracefully slinking around a curve.

"‘Sure we're going right?' I queried, as my eye caught what seemed to be a forking of the highways.

"He asked me if I trusted him, or not, and I said I did at times; and to show his disdain for my personal opinion he chucked us into the third speed and took advantage of a long, narrow ribbon of turnpike to the right to test the Englishman's eulogiums on the car. I began to wish we'd taken the other branch, but his round face and bright brown eyes looked so merry as we scampered along I forgot it all.

"Then the grandeur of the thing stole into my veins as I gazed at the papa and baby mountains on all sides and realized it was given to us to be the original motor-car Columbuses to travel a path that had required several generations of aborigines to construct.

"Just think of them working for us! Actually exceeding union hours that Tib Smith and a Campbell might zip along on the decayed results. Then I remembered we had been fracturing the scenery for more than an hour without once veering to the north, and I sought to dig my companion out of his joyous reverie by pointing at the sun.

"‘Of course it can't always last,' he sighed. 'We'll turn about soon.'

"As he surrendered something spluttered villanously, and he stopped the car so suddenly that I was snatched to my feet and found myself gracefully hanging head-down over the cow-catcher.

"‘Tire busted?' I cried; for all I knew about motor-cars you could brusquly thrust into the bandaged eye of an invalid and cause no hurt.

"He grumbled something about a disconnected wire and the contact-box and hopped out to burrow lovingly under the car and to tickle the mechanism.

"‘Two things I never understood,' his muffled voice panted. 'One is a woman and the other is an auto. Gimme the wrench.'

"‘Maybe these folks behind can help us,' I suggested, innocently, as my eye caught sight of a clump of men afoot just surmounting a rise.

"And, great Scott! If you could have only heard him give a series of farewell taps with the wrench and could have seen him shoot from under that vehicle and balance his round form on the back of the seat!

"‘Help us, child!' he groaned. 'They are sure cure for the auto mania. They're Huancas!'

"You could have balanced an unabridged dictionary on the tips of my upstanding hair, sir, as I heard those fearful words. And I never saw a person so thoroughly emulate the snail as did Tib when he descended and slowly adjusted a pair of blinders.

"‘Don't bother to do that,' I stuttered, as he stepped in front and began cranking.

"My remonstrance was followed by a shout from behind, and I knew the children of ill-nature had spotted us; and as they shouted they halted and leaned negligently on what I took to be spears.

"‘They've probably been following the gasolene smell and are surprised to find such queer game at the end of the run,' gasped Tib, dropping again to crawl under the wagon.

"‘She won't go?' I asked.

"‘I'm not doing this because of a love for mechanics,' his voice murmured. 'Sound the honker if they start for us.'

"He had hardly spoken before the statuettes awoke to manly vigor and began to trot slowly forward. I turned on a few hoarse bleats and was overjoyed to see them turn to stone again.

"‘Guess they're afraid,' I said, hopefully.

"‘They'll get used to us in time,' growled Tib, dragging himself out and jumping for the crank.

"‘They have,' I shrieked, as with one accord the intruders leaped forward, permitting us to see they were big, brown men with the bump of benevolence entirely wanting, and that their breakfast-food biceps enabled them to toy with their spears most gracefully.

"‘Good -bye, old man,' I sobbed, mechanically trying to loosen my shot-gun.

"‘Chug-chug,' went the dear old machine, and Tib yelled, 'A11 aboard, you idiot!'

"As he dragged me to the seat and jerked on the animation the head idol hurled a trident that just nicked the tail of the car. I'll swear it was as large as a telegraph pole.

"Then with a recklessness that seemed a sure promise of ruin my old patron yanked the vehicle in and out among the bowlders as deftly as you'd steer the baby's go-cart along the asphalt. And every second I expected to hear the dull protest of a wounded tire.

"‘We'll leave 'em,' I mumbled, in his ear.

"‘Runners!' he choked, swallowing his share of a collection of ashes. 'Trained runners! Beat—horse.'

"I turned, expecting, despite his ipse dixit, to find us drawing wholesomely away from them, but to my horror beheld the strained, triumphant face of one demon within twenty feet of our hind wheels, and his firm gaze sent my timid orbs to the right-about.

"Actually, sir, I was frozen. Then I gave one piercing yell, so shrill and touching that the head-man nearly stumbled, while Tib, thinking I had been punctured, moved to throw us into the low speed. Then he appreciated the cause of my inquietude, and gluing his eyes on the train let out about seven notches.

"How we bounced! How I poured out fervid thanks for the brave American tires! For, although the Bally Bloomer was a French car with an English master, her rubbers were bought over here.

"Of course it wasn't on the cards that any man could hurdle a car as Tib was doing without going to join all of his departed forebears. We both knew it, and yet the old sport kept up the pressure and grazed chunks of lava slag by the width of a rooster's eyebrow.

"‘Can I chauff!' he choked, hysterically, bowing his bare head so the whistling wind parted his brown locks at the crown and revealed a dollar-sized piece of his scalp.

"I turned again and saw we had left them some distance, and was beginning to cheer when Tib cried, 'Forgive me, Billy, but it was the wrong road. This will never take us to De Pasco.'

"His lament was caused by our dipping down a slight grade, where the path ended apparently in a dull brown morass, with the way between horribly peppered with bowlders. And then I surrendered silver-lined hope and realized the swift-footed banditti behind would surely bag us before night.

"‘Swamp?' I gurgled.

"‘No; lava!' barked Tib.

"And that's what it was—a sea of lava, furnishing moderately smooth tracking where the main stream had poured down from a near-by baby volcano. On either side of this gloomy aisle the lava blocks were huddled like crouching demons torn from a kid's nursery book of horrors.

"And while dodging the gauntlet of slag and snags in reaching it we saw our pursuers were gaining and were spreading out to prevent our making a détour.

"As if a flank movement in the Bloomer were possible in that stone jungle! But maybe they expected us to try flying.

"‘The only way,' cried Tib, renewing his grip and advancing the spark to the limit as he held her nose straight for the frozen river-bed that led up into the crater.

"Dear, dear! but it was fearsome.

"All my canny Scotch courage dwindled away to the size of a pin-head as we shifted to the slow and breasted that grade. Tib said it was about a fifteen-per-cent. grade, but I'll make my affidavit it was at least a million.

"Breusy hadn't said, however, that the Bally Bloomer could climb up the side of a house for nothing, and I could have hugged her as she swarmed up the ascent with the hostile demons in our wake running as steadily and easily as automatons.

"‘This is Zapopaxi,' bawled Tib. 'A cup-cone and extinct.'

"‘In?' I yelled.

"He darted one last look behind him, and although the goggles hid his eyes, I knew by the shrug of his shoulders he believed he had played his last card.

"‘We go in. Too bad!' he cried.

"And the wind whimpered so I could barely catch it. He recklessly released one hand from the wheel long enough to give my clammy palm a farewell morituri squeeze.

"Then as the heathen gave a yowl of amazement we careened over the top and were at the mouth of the juvenile crater.

"Then, sir, as Tib gave a whoop I nearly fell from the swerving, bouncing seat. For the crater was very small and for all the world like the saucer track we occasionally see at the Garden for endurance races. Midway between the crumpled, weathered edges and the mouth of the pit, where the sides broke off and descended abruptly, was a ribbon of lava that apparently formed a complete circle.

"To revert to Tib's war-cry, no sooner had he given it than he slowed up in the short passageway leading to the track and commanded me to get to the rear on the luggage. As I mechanically obeyed and knit my hands into the ropes, the bewildered Huancas appeared in view and drew up to see our finish.

"There was no room to turn about, else we'd have rammed 'em. Tib saw the situation in a glance, and, bracing his feet and sparking up, shot us forward as if out of a gun, to be plastered against the slanting walls of the crater. It simply took 'em off their feet, sir. For never having seen an auto, or the saucer-track stunt, they simply had to write us down as tinsmiths or fairies. Yet they had their ancestors' nerve and were determined to see the performance out.

"I could never decide how many laps it was to a mile, or whether it was so many miles to a lap. Tib afterwards said the track was under two thousand feet in diameter. I only know we had whizzed the circumference twice, with as many momentary views of the brown men's astounded faces, before I dared to loosen my grip and could realize the car was riding easier.

"‘She's made a mile in forty-three,' shrieked Tib. 'Lucky the top's off.'

"Then I began to use my eyes, and saw the lava made a decently smooth race-track, although at the outer curve, opposite the opening, there was a bunch of lava slags, or bowlders, that necessitated our rising a bit. I would fix my eyes on that, and, whiz!—we had passed it.

"‘Low bridge!' mumbled Tib, as our wheels flirted a shower of ashes in the chief's face.

"And sure enough, when we darted by again a cloud of spears cut the track behind us and flew towards the mouth of the crater.

"‘Hip-pocket,' hoarsely reminded my patron, and I had sense enough to reach forward and relieve him of a blessed revolver.

"When we next cut the opening I precluded any more target-practice by pumping in three shots.

"This caused all spectators to leave the track-side and crouch behind bowlders. I reckon, sir, their hiding-places gave them a suggestion.

"For on the next whirl around, the father of the amiable family thoughtfully rolled a four-foot bit of lava across the cinders. I could have sworn we were all in when I saw the morsel bounding down.

"But by a hair-breadth it cleared us, and Tib yelled, 'Shot-gun!'

"As I was now used to the motion and felt safe in lying on my stomach, I managed to work the double-barrel piece clear, and as we hummed along for the next lap I enfiladed the nearest fortress with a goodly pinch of shot.

"You know, sir, you can't do any trap-shooting when skimming in a dizzy circle in excess of express-train speed on a track so steep that to slow up means to roll into a sewer. But the weapon made a goodly noise, sounding like several thousand cannon as the black walls caught the detonation and gleefully played ping-pong with the echo, while the shot scattered and ricocheted. The great danger was I'd ignite the trail of gasolene vapor, now encircling the track, and burn or blow us up.

"‘What next?' I bawled, creeping to the back of his seat.

"‘Down!' He slumped forward and I fell prostrate just as a rope swished over the car.

"And hang me, sir, if one of those track stewards, concealed with a bolo at the opening, hadn't been childish enough to try and net us. By good luck his first cast missed, else there would have been a broken neck in the family. As we pounded around for the next circuit I reclined jauntily on my side and rested the revolver on the edge of the car.

"Just as I picked the trigger he made the throw. And, dear, dear! the rope caught around a four-inch projection where the top had fitted on, and it was just the same to him as if he'd snared the Fast Mail. He didn't know what to do with us once he'd got us. As a compromise he went sailing over our heads for the hospitable mouth of the crater. I didn't see him land.

"Then for the first time I raised my head and took a long look through the vapor and dust at the old boy.

"He was only half seated. One knee was on the bottom of the car, and his round form was humped in a huddling posture over the wheel. The back of his neck showed blood-red as the sun cut through the clutter and kept tabs on our whizzing.

"I began to realize it must be nerve-destroying to keep the eyes focussed on that terrible spoor, let alone being annoyed by the grandstand, and I also appreciated it was only his steady hand and sure orbs that were intervening between me and the crater on one hand, and the spectators on the other.

"‘Can you hold out?' I cried.

"He bowed his head for answer, until his forehead almost touched the rim of the wheel, and I believed he was slipping away, but when we reached the bowlder he skirted it as neatly as of yore, though every swish threatened to tear the tires loose.

"‘Hang on! New wrinkle!' he warned, as we left the menace.

"The new wrinkle was to ascend still higher when we next reached the bowlders and glide out on a narrow shelf, smooth of surface, that dribbled along for some thirty feet before dipping again.

"And in that brief environment the king of all chauffeurs stopped the Bloomer and for the first time he rested.

"Directly across was the exit from the track, and Tib panted that he had observed the switch when passing that opening the last time.

"‘It looked good to me,' he gurgled. 'I had to take the chance. Bloomer's a great actor, eh? Find a bottle of lime-water, or oil—anything that's wet.'

"‘You're simply great,' I blubbered, as I pawed over the hamper. 'Simply great. I'd rather be killed with you than any man I know of.'

"And he certainly looked heroic in my dependent eyes as he found his mouth through the dirt, then paused and passed the drink over to me. Yes, I drank first. I was that dry I'd have stolen the cup from the parched lips of my great-grandfather.

"Yet, it wasn't all selfishness. He was older than I, and had always looked after me like a cat after a new kitten, you know. Besides, I knew he'd never dampen his throat until I had set the example.

"‘You're all there is and seven over,' I choked.

"And the smile that cracked his incrusted face was beautiful to see, sir. Honestly, it almost made me forget the Huancas, who were now howling in a frenzy of excitement at our radical defy to all the natural laws they were ever acquainted with.

"And the style of him, as he staggered about the machine, toying with the sparker, tapping this and trying that, but pausing in it all to pat my cowardly back.

"‘Never loosen your grasp on Hope,' he croaked. 'We'll have the cup yet. Can I chauff?'

"‘Stay here all night?' I asked. For it was mighty comforting to be quiet, now that the scenery had stopped rushing around and my head began to get normal.

"‘About five seconds,' he growled, hopping to his seat and pointing above.

"There, just along the sky-line, a fine dust of ashes was floating up, and a few bits of slag were beginning to rattle down.

"‘They've arrived,' he shouted. 'All aboard!'

"And as a shower of rocks and spears punctuated the position we had been loafing in, he gave her the chug, and we began to roll to the end of the shelf.

"It was horrible, you see, for we didn't know whether there was a final drop or a gentle decline, until we reached the limit. Then a steep path leading down to the track welcomed our questioning gaze, and Tib gave her the limit, so we hit the raceway like a bullet. Next, it was turn almost a square corner and clutch the wall of the circle.

"My hands formed three links in the ropes over the luggage, but my feet were free and towered above my patron, as I neatly balanced on my neck, giving the foiled foe the impression I was standing on my head.

"In fact, the manner of our going dazed the enemy to such an extent that we whirled by their new position twice before they bethought themselves to resume the spear-hurling pastime. With the same kind of an encore at the mouth of the exit, life was fast assuming a dubious tinge.

"‘Shot-gun!' exploded Tib, hardly audible above the fearful rush of the dust-laden wind and the panting of the car.

"‘Shot too fine. No good,' I cried, almost whimpering.

"He straightened with all his old-time grace and threw back his shoulders, and I knew by the tilt of his dust-covered brown face that he was pleased with some inspiration; then above the yelling of the natives, now intent on the dual bombardment, I caught the one word, 'Olives!'

"‘He's daffy, dear old chap!' I sobbed.

"‘Olives!' he repeated, loud and clear.

"And as I dusted my eyes and tore up a few brain tissues I saw a light.

"Olives! To be sure. And rip! my right hand had torn open the hamper. Ping! this very carefully, so as to jolt no glass on the track, and I had cuffed off the head of a bottle of the bitter, green balls. They were small and hard and each contained a flinty interior.

"Say, sir, you never saw a neater fit for my double-barrel than that same acrid fruit. In a thrice I had one crouching in each tube on top of a shell of shot, and as the chief, now more audacious, arose to his feet above our late resting-place, holding a rock the size of his ugly head, I banged away with both barrels, and by luck, or good intention, nailed him through the shoulder.

"My scorched throat endeavored to set up a feeble cheer, but Tib stopped me by hitching nervously in his seat and nodding his head for me to crawl forward. I did so, and he cried:

"‘Gasolene—nearly—gone. I'm—all in. Can't—follow—track—any longer. Load, we'll—try the—pass. Rain—drops—thunder—big—storm—rotten—track.'

"Well, it had to come to that. We couldn't keep up that careening around forever. I was so stupid I had not realized it.

"We must quit, cup or no cup.

"He passed the exit for what I believed was the last time, and his manœuvring of the bowlders was far from his usual form. I doubted if he could hold the narrow ribbon back to the opening again, but the olives were dropped in place.

"‘Dark!' I cried, for it suddenly fell very gloomy.

"‘Sulphur!' he boomed, ripping by the avenue of escape without trying to land it.

"‘Next time,' he warned, settling lower over the wheel, while the shadows in the cup seemed to render the track a matter to be taken largely on faith.

"And the fumes of sulphur as we passed the bowlders on our farewell visit were fearful. We appreciated the darkness, and a dull rumbling sound, now swelling and rolling on our nearly deaf ears, was not thunder, but one of those kindly earth vibrations, so common in Peru, that cause diminutive volcanoes, no matter how long extinct, to occasionally blow sulphur and accentuate the general cussedness of the region.

"Now we were at the opening, and with a choking, hysterical sort of a tearful hoot we turned the corner, the blessed old car prancing along for thirty feet on two wheels before we struck an even keel and likewise a group of the Huancas. Tib had mechanically sounded the honker when we wheeled towards freedom, but the warning bleat had conveyed no intelligence to the ignorant ears of the bare-breasted besiegers.

"Thus with fair warning and a double bang from the gun we taught them a new experience as the Bally Bloomer tossed them aside on either hand. It simply took them off their feet, sir.

"And say, if a merry-hearted chauffeur enjoys running across his friends in town and would drain the goblet to the dregs, he ought to plough a furrow through a brown bunch of sinewy-built Huancas.

"Of course it jolted the car horribly, but Tib's grasp was now iron as we emerged into a patch of clear air and took the jaunt down the hill-side to the lava-beds in a rush.

"The machine was now making just one long, smooth purr, working as slick as silk, and I had just proclaimed we had won the Zapopaxi Cup for sure, when I not only heard, but also felt, a dull rumble. I turned round and saw a cloud of yellow dust hanging over the baby's head.

"My first thought was the crater had come to life, but Tib bowed his brow and cried, 'Earthquake.'

"And such a jolt as followed!

"It struck us just as we reached the top of the ascent leading to the ancient road. Our pathway rolled and shook like a carpet, and the car in conquering the summit groaned and racked fearfully. Across the lava-bed, behind, the earth yawned in a long, black, steaming fissure, and the whimsical smile, I was joyous to observe, separated us and the paralyzed Indians.

"Doubtless they believed their assaults on the Puff-Puff god were to blame for it all, and I'll wager if one of the startled devils could get a sniff of gasoline to-night he'd kowtow and expect his native soil to corrugate in extreme displeasure.

"And the Bally Bloomer through it all seemed to pick her own way, and well she need, for the dust was something almost beyond all endurance. My eyes quickly grew punk, and only the goggles saved Tib. Why we didn't bump into an obstacle will never be known. Everything was sicky and hazy, and I can only remember hearing Tib shout:

"‘About ten miles left in her. We've got—'

"But what we were to do was never finished, for with a flare the machine became enveloped in flames, and I found myself astride of Tib's back as he retained the wheel and the blaze strung out behind us. Then we jumped for our lives, and the Bally Bloomer boomed sturdily into a convenient ton of slag, gave a choking sigh, and flopped over.

"I could have wept, if my entire system hadn't been so dry, to see the faithful old lass give up the fight. I forgot the natives in sadly gazing on the ruins. If they saw the combustion I reckon they put it down to our devilish way of making an exit. Anyway, they did not come near to disturb us.

"Three days later two hungry and begrimed men staggered into Oroya, and the rotund one, approaching Breusy at the door of the club, extended the blackened wheel and wearily said, 'I thought you'd care to have this to remember her by.'

"‘Breusy gravely adjusted his glass and scanned us closely, and then tenderly examined the relic.

"‘Aw, thanks, fearfully,' was all he said.

"But after we'd told our story and were voted to be the winners of the Zapopaxi Cup, breaking all crater records, he gave it to us as a trophy. Incidentally, we lost the diamonds, which I had been wearing about my waist in a belt, and so it was farewell to any hopes of becoming bloated capitalists.

"But somewhere up there in the débris of the Zapopaxi table-land, in the shadow of a naughty baby cone that sometimes smokes, is the twisted gear of what once was a bully racer, whose skeleton in future ages may puzzle some astute archæologist, who never so much as heard of a crater endurance-race.

"And thus Tib and I wearily returned to Callao on borrowed money, possessing nothing but the knowledge that the Vermont man was a ribbon-winner of the major magnitude and had lowered all auto records from the old earth's belt-line to the ultimate seal-covered bit of ice. And because of it all you may possibly realize that my soul ever since has abhorred the innocuous asphalt spin about the village green, and that after that experience I have no heart to honk into any picayune collisions.

XIV
A FEW VOLCANIC DOG-BISCUIT

"ONCE back in Callao we began looking bout for some means of earning a daily crust. Tib was fearfully impatient to escape the town, but never once did he mention the fortune I had lost from my insecure belt. From a plane of plethoric affluence, you see, we had dropped to absolute poverty, and realizing I was the innocent cause, my head drooped like the homesick petals of an abducted wild-flower. Breusy had forced a loan on us, although my patron hated like sin to take it, and we could have had passage-money to any place if the old chap hadn't been so stiffly independent. As it was, we took enough to run us economically for a few weeks, and from sun to sun Tib was combing the town for something with gilt on it. He framed up a half-dozen different schemes and as quickly discarded them.

"‘There's good money in each, but they're not soon enough,' he explained, cheerily. 'What we must have is a quick remedy, no slow, lazy spell of convalescence. Now if I can get that concession and sell it—but what's the use. It's a hollow dream. Let's go back to the hotel and take a nap. Nothing so inexpensive, when you're out of a job, as slumber.'

"But as we turned our steps into the ranch where we were stopping, what should be presented to us but a big yellow envelope, having faintly etched all over its fat surface the familiar Big Tops and the snappy assertion it was the best ever.

"Tib smothered his agitation and calmly consumed fifteen seconds in opening it. Inside was an elegantly engraved draft calling for all kinds of money, and the brief proclamation: 'If Tiberius Smith will write home, all will be forgiven. Come to 'Frisco by the next boat and meet my manager. Sacred white apes in India. Does it sound good?'

"‘We will catch the steamer to-night, child!' cried Tib, as he fondly gloated on the eccentric signature of the circus boss. 'We are reprieved, and we must fetch him his dear old apes, or leave our bones for jade ornaments in Indian land.'

"Now the India jaunt would not have been worth the telling if Breusy hadn't stumbled in upon us at the last minute, and, in discussing our destination, asked us to look up an old pal of his if we should happen to wander into Burmah. The man's name was Danby, and by a coincidence Tib had already met him. He was passing through New York on a globe-trotting stunt, and became entangled in some contretemps here, and Tiberius entered from the right wing and performed a thrilling three-dollar rescue. It was nothing to be remembered, especially when one appreciated my patron had filled in his active life doing those sort of things. But the idea sank into Danby's head that Tib was his sword-brother, and occasionally he had written long, solid, stolid letters renewing his sense of appreciation.

"When we were managing the London office of the big show we met him again, just after his marriage to a little, pink-cheeked woman, who always thought of him in capitals. At that time he was busy crating up his household gods, preparatory to moving into his newly purchased home in Burmah, on the banks of the Irrawaddy. I never could understand how a man able to live in Manhattan should choose a site that gave him promise only of being eaten up by a new breed of flies, or of being stung by a serpent with a long Latin name. But Tib was pleased to recall him, and in his hearty way promised Breusy we would drop in for a pipe if we happened to strike his country.

"From Callao to Panama and then on to 'Frisco we ransacked our memories for Indian lore, and by the time we landed on good old American soil, where the fishing was great in '51, we had our plans all perfected. Consequently it required only thirty minutes of the sub-boss's time to conclude all details, and on the next day we were afloat for Shanghai.

"It was the same old trip, and I was heartily ennuied before we struck Hong-Kong. Then, down around that sore thumb of a peninsula and up to Calcutta. There we struck it rich, as we got a tip from the consul that a whole invoice of white apes had just been received at one of the depots. In a trice we had the trick turned and the bric-à-brac neatly stored away on a home-bound boat.

"Ordinarily we would have quit right there, but remembering Danby we studied the map and located him thirty miles from Bhamo. As we felt entitled to a bit of a rest—dear, dear! how many times I've started out gunning for rest and quiet with that man—Tib wrote a short letter, and as soon as a reply could be received we were urgently invited to visit him and his wife. His bungalow, he said, was three miles from the nearest plantation, and somehow I drew the inference that our coming would fracture some kind of a monotony. As I read his epistle I fell to wondering what on earth an Englishwoman could find to enjoy up there alone with her hubby and a dozen of unwholesome coolies.

"No dropping in to tea, no theatres, no lawn-parties, just a sun-baked existence minus the latest fashions. I remarked that the lady must be lonely at times, but Tib waxed enthusiastic and spoke learnedly of the scenery, of the sport of hunting wild animals in the company of a rajahputra, or some other wild elf, and many other diversions peculiarly suited to feminine tastes.

"So I held my peace, and Tib wrote a hasty note saying the Campbells and Smiths were coming and would work up the Irrawaddy with all possible speed.

"Now the longer we remained in India the more Indian-like did Tib become in his attire and language. He addressed me as 'sahib,' and reckoned all our expenditures in annas, and told me I was a surajah, or a sepoy, according to whether he approved or condemned some of my boyish remarks.

"‘Now for the last leg, sahib,' he cried, gleefully, resplendent in an impossible turban, which, together with his rotund form and merry, Vermont face, caused even the niggers to smile, and we hopped across to Rangoon.

"Once there, I insisted on a few days' rest before making the final spurt, for, although young and lithesome, I could never stand a hegira as could Tib, who was solidified by many long travels.

"While recuperating and preparing for the trip up-country, a letter from Danby found us. He was immensely pleased to know we were coming, although one not versed in the characteristics of the average Briton would never have absorbed that impression. But realizing that he was one of those careful, conservative fellows who, if you saved the dearly beloved life of his grandfather, would color up and say, 'Aw, thanks, old chap,' we read between the lines and knew he was impatient for our arrival.

"The only thing to mar the placidity of the journey was when we were leaving Mandalay. It was then that the native agent for the freight depot overtook us at the gang-plank with a small box and asked if we would deliver it to the English sahib, and would the sahib be very careful of it?

"‘What is it? Gold?' asked Tib, quizzingly.

The agent salaamed very low, and, backing away, replied that it was not gold, and that the contents of the box were indicated on the cover. As the little boat crept away from the landing, we were interested to read: 'Handle with Care, Dynamite. From Beeks & Dungrove's depots, Rangoon.'

"‘Drop it overboard,' was my earnest advice, for I felt very shivery.

"Tib started to do so, but paused and remonstrated: 'No, it's inconvenient, but doubtless Danby wants this or he wouldn't have sent for it. It might be weeks getting to him by the runners, and of course the company wouldn't accept it as freight. We'll say nothing about it, and I'll keep the length of the boat between us, so if it should go off you'll be left to notify the Vermont papers. There's no danger if we don't fuss or get frolicsome with it.'

"Later we decided that Danby wanted it for road building, as in his letter he had mentioned that he was laying a highway and that the rock bothered him quite a deal.

"Well, to arrive at Danby's plantation we had to make the last forty miles in a small boat rowed by coolies, as the little river-craft had broken down. We met Danby, baked to a fine chocolate color, several miles down-stream on the watch for us, and he was overjoyed to behold us. But beneath it all I thought I detected an air of restraint,

"Tib also noticed this, and at last asked him if our visit was inopportune, if he had lots of company, or if his wife were ill.

"‘Nothing like that, old chap,' he replied, gravely. 'But, to be thoroughly honest, some of the Dacoits are acting nasty up here and may make a raid from the hills at any time. If my coolies stick by me it's of no consequence, as I've sent a runner to Bhamo for the troops there, and the Shan robbers will be cleaned out of this district in short order. To be more honest, I'm selfish enough to be glad to have you here, as you can help me stand 'em off if they come ahead of the troops. And it will calm Alice's fears. She's the only English lady in sixty miles of the valley.'

"Well, I've no need to say that this was a situation pleasing to Tib. The possibility of succoring a gentlewoman caused his brown eyes to twinkle, and he smote the box of dynamite smartly, then remembering its irresponsible nature he brushed it tenderly, as if to take back the blow. And he swore that nothing could delight him more than to be a minute-man when the foe was approaching.

"Danby's face cleared wonderfully, and he shook hands with us both warmly and declared we were 'a real good sort,' and that he would always remember it. Then he noticed the fireworks, relieved Tib, and cursed the station agent for passing the truck on to us.

"By this time we came to his plantation. It was pleasantly situated in a little valley, bounded on either side by wooded spurs of the steep hills that ended abruptly on the right banks of the stream. The bungalow was built back a bit from the river, in a small clearing on the hill-side, facing the west, where the view was certainly mellow.

"It was now near sundown, and the teak-trees showed purple on the surrounding heights. On the strong log veranda the English lady, all in white, looking very frail and much out of place in the wild environment, stood to receive us. She was more demonstrative in her greeting than was her husband, and instinctively took to Tib as a pillar of strength.

"That was the magnetic way of him. He was like a physician in a sick-room, radiating confidence.

"‘Mrs. Danby,' he said, bowing over her hand in his graceful way, 'your husband tells me some of the Shan people threaten to be rude, but I don't think you need feel a bit worried.'

"‘I'm not very much afraid,' she asserted, 'but the coolies are. They have taken to the woods, and I should be nervous here alone with Sydney. But now you and Mr. Campbell have come, I shall feel perfectly safe.' And she smiled in a most delightful manner.

"Her mention of the coolies caused her husband to frown a bit, for the servants were an excellent barometer as to any trouble that might leak down from the hills behind us. When he called for a boy to remove the box of dynamite, only Mike, an interpreter appeared.

"Mike said he regretted to announce that all of the sahib's dogs had run away to the jungles. As for himself, bah—and he spat in the direction of the hills. Might the graves of his ancestors be defiled if ever he turned his back to the half-caste hill robbers.

"And yet Michael's eyes shifted uneasily as the warm breeze caught the jungle leaves two hundred yards away and rustled them softly.

"While waiting for a bite to eat, Danby, his feet on the veranda railing, told us of the Dacoits and explained how they were robbers by profession from their very birth, being similar to the Thugs in their amiable intentions on organized society.

"If through some freak of nature, he said, the germ of honesty develops in a Dacoit youngster, he is looked upon as a black sheep, a disgrace to the family, and his own parents drive him forth with thongs until he can experience a change of heart and come back purified and repentant, a man worthy of his name and caste, a robber. Thanks to the government's activity, he continued, the Dacoits have a harder life to live every year, and are slowly going the way of their first cousins, the Thugs.

"It seemed all strange to me, as we sat there and sipped our whiskey-and-soda and smoked the native tobacco, to realize that back in the jungle, perhaps watching us even then, the Shan people, with their strange notions and long knives, were waiting patiently to gather us in. And I remembered that somewhere beneath my feet was quiet Broadway, with its occasional knock-out drops and sometimes a belligerent policeman.

"It eased my mind to a degree to learn that there were several rifles and shot-guns inside the bungalow, but as I noted the dry, thatched roof, inviting arson, my fears returned and I believed there would be a little inferno despite our combined efforts if the beggars rushed us under the moon.

"‘But the soldiers will be here by to-morrow afternoon, and that will end it all,' laughed Danby, as his wife brought out the tea things and placed some civilized food before us.

"This obvious fact, that even her domestics had fled, caused another wave of uneasiness to sweep up my spine and ruffle my back hair.

"‘No chance of your runner being held up, is there?' asked Tib, keenly, as he stood by the rail and scrutinized the deep foliage.

"‘Why, yes,' confessed Danby, slowly. 'That's what bothers me. I ought to have sent two or three. But if any one can get through, Shingah Lal can.'

"‘And yet if they are as near as that, why weren't we stopped from coming here?' asked Tib.

"‘Because you were coming here and not leaving here,' replied Danby, in a low voice, so that his wife might not hear him.

"‘I see,' smiled Tib. 'Kind of a trap, eh? Well, I've been in others worse than this, and I've always got away with the bait.'

"And, sir, as if in mockery at his little boast, a long knife hurtled from out of the shadows somewhere and stood trembling in a veranda post three inches from his head. In one jump we were all inside, leaving the untasted supper spread invitingly on the bamboo table.

"Then the jungle gave up its secret, and a score or more of half-naked forms, the quaint tattooing on which showed quite plainly, now sprang into view, shaking their weapons and accompanying their gesticulations with fearsome cries and yells.

"To add to the babel, about a score of dogs, gaunt and wolf-like, dashed into the clearing, and, with greater temerity than their masters displayed, ran up near the bungalow and began showing their fangs in a real disquieting fashion.

"‘Don't waste a bullet on the curs,' cried Tib, restraining Danby's trigger-finger as one of the brutes jumped boldly on to the veranda and began bolting our supper.

"And while Mike barricaded the doors and windows, with one accord we three began dropping lead into the heathens. They disappeared like magic at the first volley. Then the sun sank.

"‘If we only had a light out there!' moaned Danby. 'They'll rush us in the dark.'

"‘I fear we'll have more light than we want,' whispered Tib. 'Unless they are thoroughly untutored in cussedness, they'll try to burn us out.'

"Danby turned, looked at his white-faced wife, and groaned. Then Tib pointed to the moon appearing over the teak-trees, and told him to cheer up as we should have plenty of light.

"As he said it a dozen forms huddled together, dashed around the house from the rear, hugging the walls of the building, and before we knew were gone in the gloom again. But each in passing had deposited a bunch of fagots against the base of the bungalow.

"‘So that's their game, eh?' mused Tib. 'I thought they'd come the Seneca Indian trick with a flaming arrow into our roof-tree.'

"‘Stand by!' shouted Danby, and we sprang to the rear and sides of the house, for from three directions a man with a flaming torch was running towards us, intent on starting the blaze.

"Danby saw them first, and dropped his man before he had advanced ten feet. Tib nailed number two as he got dangerously close to the tinder by a plunging shot. And even then the kicking rascal tried to hurl his torch upon us. But, although I fired twice, my messenger delivered the goods and scuttled to safety before the others could pick him off.

"Well, sir, the crackle of that little sheet of flame froze me. But Tib, before we knew what he was at, threw open the side door, and, running nimbly around the corner, kicked the bonfire to the four winds and was back again with three pups hanging at his heels.

"It was all done in two winks of the eye. But Tib was mad. Not mad at the Dacoits so much as he was at their dogs.

"‘Did they hurt you?' wailed Mrs. Danby, as we wrung his scorched old hand and tenderly patted out several smouldering coals on his coat.

"‘Not once,' he growled; 'but how can the fire-company answer a box if those brutes are to remain on the watch to eat him up?'

"And then the full import of the dogs' presence appealed to us. A sally might be made to stop the flames, as the Shan people seemed to have no firearms. But it was a serious proposition to play the hook-and-ladder act with twenty curs waiting for a bite.

"Furthermore, the pests were certainly wise; for they now formed a ring about the two doors and growled heartily. The Dacoits encouraged them with shrill cries, and while we were debating if it would do to waste our precious ammunition on the beasts there came another fagot rush. Only this time two of the hewers of wood remained with us, as Tib expressed it, in statu quo.

"‘Billy,' he whispered, 'I'm afraid, unless something unusual happens, they'll get us before morning. If they do, try to get Mrs. Danby to the river, where you may find a boat.'

"Here he was interrupted by a prolonged howl from the jungle, and a myriad of lights appeared on the border of the wood.

"‘Don't shoot until they approach,' commanded Tib, at once detecting the ruse, which was to get us to empty our guns and allow some of them to dash up to the bungalow.

"We could see the lights rush back and forth, weaving in and out, but we held back our lead. Then, from opposite directions, four of them started for us, with several more in the rear to take their places if they should fall.

"They were certainly fanatics, all right. And yet this time, by some very clever shooting, we stopped them more easily than we did on the first occasion, and the brush was not set afire.

"‘I guess we can check 'em unless they all come in a bunch,' decided Tib, wiping the smoke and powder from his face.

"‘It's all up,' hoarsely growled Danby. 'We have only a round of cartridges apiece.'

"You'll admit, sir, that was discouraging, and even old Tib struck his head in despair and sat down to think. Next, to my great surprise, he jumped up and began to whistle a gem from a comic opera he once floated. I concluded his mind was affected.

"While Danby and I were watching the innumerable lights dodging back and forth in the forest, he stumbled to the back room. We had no light in the house except what filtered in from the moon, and by a stray ray of this I saw that Danby's face was sunken and clammy white. He had a woman with him, you know.

"‘Tib,' I choked, 'can't you think of something?'

"‘In a minute, dear boy. Wait till I feed these dogs,' he replied, and I stiffened in amazement to note a cheery strain in his voice. Then I heard him: 'Nice doggie, good doggie! Doggie, doggie, doggie! Does he want his supper? Naughty Bruno. Don't be a glutton, Bruno, let Fido have some.'

"‘For God's sake, man, come in here and help us fire the last round!' cried Danby, tense with fear and passion.

"Tib came in on the run, carefully wiping his hands with something.

"‘Could you see a dog at the edge of the clearing?' he asked, sharply.

"‘Ay, all too well,' said Danby, turning from his loop-hole in wonder at the query.

"‘Good!' ejaculated Tib, picking up a revolver. 'Mark me, both of you. When you see a cur with white flanks making for the wood, drill him through the body. But on your life don't shoot till he gets to the edge of the jungle, and then through the body. Remember what I say!'

"‘Stark mad,' whispered Danby, despairingly.

"‘Hardly,' cried Tib, who had overheard him. 'But I've fed that pup about four sticks of your dynamite. I fed it in little pieces, covered with toothsome oil, and he bolted it bit by bit, and it never touched even the sides of his gullet in going down!'

"‘Fed him dynamite!' I repeated, dully.

"‘Sure! And now I'm going to feed some to a black brute with a shaggy white head. Then to scare them off, for the good Lord only knows what will happen if they get to romping about our back door! Remember the two, white flanks and white head!' And he was back on the run to take up again his job of chef to the canines.

"I could only fall against a table in a stupor. Danby swallowed convulsively, and then muttered, 'Rum cove!'

"Soon a chorus of yelps announced that Tib was feeding out some more tidbits. Imagine the situation if you can, sir. Fixing up four-legged mines, each one a thousand-fold more dangerous than the hound of the Baskervilles! And what if one of the loaded pups should jump against a post or a stone!

"‘Be ready!' warned Tib. 'Number two is loaded. I'm going to try to scare them away with my revolver. One little fellow got a nibble I'd not planned on, and I don't know which one it is. So I'll shoot over their heads. It won't do to explode a bowwow here, as you well know.'

"A shrill whistle from the concealed marauders saved this waste of cartridges, however. Evidently the foe grew suspicious at the noise made by the dogs and believed we were poisoning them. The whistle caused the brutes to stop their yelping and turn towards the jungle. A repetition of it had them wavering, and the third call sent them all scurrying off in a bunch.

"‘Now look sharp!' cried Tib. 'White head and white flanks! Through the body, you know, to jar that stuff into action. Ah, the white head leads the pack!'

"Bang! Bang! The Englishman and I fired together, and the white-faced dog howled in agony and rolled over.

"Then, bang! boom! And Tib's shot struck him full in the stomach and sent a cloud of dust and twigs heavenward, while the other pups paused in dismay at beholding such extraordinary behavior in a companion. As to the white-head himself, he had disappeared in fine particles.

"‘Quick!' gasped Tib. 'White flanks! Side to us!'

"Danby pinked him as if it were at target-practice, and as white flanks was loaded the heavier of all, his departure was simply a volcano.

"‘Had the inspiration when I happened to sit down on the dynamite. Bless the agent for giving it to me!' murmured Tib, exultantly.

"‘Deucedly clever, don't ye know,' muttered Danby, going as limp as a rag in a second.

"The silence in the forest was deathlike after we fired the two mines. Evidently the Dacoits were somewhat perplexed.

"‘Where's Mike?' asked Tib, suddenly. 'Quick! Now's the time to clinch this!'

"We found him wrapped in a rug, groaning industriously. We yanked him forth and Danby stood ready to kill him or anything else Tib might order. Our leader, however, unfastened the veranda door and dragged Mike out among the supper dishes. 'Can he make 'em understand?' asked Tib of the excited Danby.

"‘The rascal can talk any dialect in the hills,' replied our host.

"‘Good! Now, Michael, cry out to those people and inform 'em that if they don't leave here immediately we'll explode 'em as we did their howling pack of dogs.'

"Mike, in a quavering voice, gave the necessary information, and soon some one replied from the woods.

"‘What does he say?' I asked.

"‘Oh, sahib, he says if you brought his pets to death by the devil's thunder you are mighty and much to be feared. But he says he has seen guns shoot shells that burst, and he knows it was one of those that killed the dogs, and that there is no magic about it.'

"‘It needs just another touch to convert 'em, and we haven't got a single dog in reserve,' groaned Tib, sadly.

"‘But there's one dog still intact,' I reminded him.

"‘Yes, yes, Mr. Smith, the little dog!' urged Danby.

"‘But, hang it all, I only know he was little and that a big pup bit him in the ear when he dodged into the banquet,' lamented Tib.

"‘Little dog, mutilated ear!' I cheered.

"‘Why, say, that certainly does identify him,' cried Tib.

"‘Tell them, Mike, to bring forth a little dog with a bloody ear if they want further proof,' commanded Danby, throwing forward his rifle.

"‘No, no,' cried Tib, 'no gun-play! They'll only think we're shooting exploding-bullets or something. We must make them explode him.'

"‘But how?' I gasped.

"‘Tell 'em to trot him out,' commanded Tib, to Mike.

"The interpreter gave the order, and soon answered. 'They say, sahib, they have the dog,' explained Mike.

"‘Tell 'em to strike him on his side with a big club at least ten times,' directed Tib.

"And would you believe it, sir, those men did, or started to do, as Tib had ordered? I reckon they were curious, or else believed that no magic would result until the tenth blow, or maybe they decided we were trying to bluff them. Of course it was tough on the dog. At the first smart rap we heard him yelp, and the robbers shouted derisively. But the second blow we were not permitted to hear.

"Instead, there was a dull report, and I believed some one besides the pup had been taken away. It was not so loud an explosion as the other two, and I remembered Tib said the little one had swallowed only one piece of the dynamite.

"But it had a great effect. There was a brief silence, followed by yells of fear. Then a trembling voice addressed us once more.

"‘They want to know sahib, if the big dogs will disappear with a greater noise than the little dogs,' explained Mike.

"‘Always,' affirmed Tib, firmly.

"‘They ask, sahib, if you will withdraw your spell if they go home and never return,' continued Mike.

"‘Tell 'em yes,' directed Tib. 'Only if they cut up again here, or elsewhere, I will fill 'em as full of devil's thunder as I did the dogs.'

"‘Sahib, they go,' proclaimed Mike. And they did.

"‘Can't we have that tea now?' asked Tib, playfully, as Mrs. Danby threw herself hysterically into her husband's arms.

"And when the soldiers, met on the road by the runner, came next day, it was to find the trouble over and the Danbys packing up to return to the settlements.

"‘For,' explained Danby, 'I can't live here without roads, and now that my guest has used up all my dynamite, I can't have the roads.'

XV
SOME MODERN GLADIATORS

"AFTER conveniencing the Englishman and his sweet lady, Tib and I mapped out a little scamper over Europe, I wagering a Broadway supper I could take him to some spot on the Continent he was not familiar with. If allowed to make the experiment, I reckon I would have lost, as I'd picked out a cosey corner in Bulgaria, which I subsequently learned he had once summered in. But when we reached Bombay we were met by further orders from the main-spring, asking that we undertake a little African tour, something with leopards in it. This was old work for Tib and me, and although all our plans for dodging the guide-book in Europe were smashed, he displayed no disappointment as he prepared for the sail across the Sea of Arabia to the hunched-up shoulder of Africa, where we shifted to a south-bound boat.

"Once arrived, Tib promptly obtained permission to net anything on four legs in the Congo State, we paying a handsome premium on all victims shipped. He also took out licenses in Uganda Protectorate, and for the East Africa Protectorate. You'd suppose those stamping-grounds would suffice to fill all the menageries under canvas, yet Tib began to lose all interest in them when we drew near to the Uganda border and he heard of Lake Bango country, which is encompassed by the big Magli marsh. That region is under no protectorate, and although the inhabitants were said to be replete with disagreeable sentiments towards strangers, the old chap was crazy to visit it. The fact it was forbidden ground to the blond race only conjured up in his mind all sorts of eccentric quadrupedal possibilities; and when our head man shivered in the brazen sunlight and said Feeney Scraws existed solely to kidnap foolish transients, and added that fugitives from that realm had related fearsome nursery tales about man-eating white leopards, I knew the dice were juggled for our going to the Bango.

"An anxious inquiry on my part drew forth the information that Mr. Scraws was probably the most accomplished assassin in all Africa. He was so cruel he ought to have been a dentist. He was a native chief, the head man chattered, a Professor of Unpleasant Practices. The white traders gave him his name, it being a travesty on some Arabian appellative. He was further described as one of those amiable individuals who just dote on slaughtering folks. And he was the fay we were taking chances of not meeting. Why, say, I reckon the dust on his conscience was seven inches thick. I told Tib it was bad enough to get chummy with various disagreeable forms of deaths in just trying to catch wild life for a show, without skiving our margin down another degree by inviting the acquaintance of that highbinder. But he simply laughed, and reminded me of the innumerable times I had not been killed, and kept on his way.

"But when we reached the Uganda border almost all our porters threw down their packs and demonstrated they possessed about as much sand as an invalid meadow-lark. It did no good to twit them of the deficit, however, and although Tib's reproaches were about as sweet as a wormwood factory they remained firm, stifled their pride, and insisted they would have naught to do with Feeney Scraws and his children. They would wait on the border until they had read our obituary notice, but cross the line they would not. Several eight-bore rifles as bribes finally resulted in a handful of Zulu boys sticking by us, but we left most of the baggage behind with the scared ones.

"Thus with a very slim entourage we drew near Mr. Scraws's boma, as the native village is called, and began hunting the fever-laden marsh for white leopards.

"Now that I am out of that business, I'll explain that much of our success in trapping the untamed people of the tanglewood was due to a powerful ammonia pistol, much like those used to-day by cyclists in hesitating ugly dogs. Tib had improved the article as ordinarily made until it would shoot fifteen charges of the strongest kind of dope, and our employer often utilized it in quieting caged animals in place of the crude hot iron. One slug of that stuff, as prepared by Tib, would send the average striped cat or lion off to slumber-land for several minutes, and the patient on awaking was usually very docile. Tib always claimed he could construct a repeating-rifle that would carry enough of the nectar to lay low any male elephant that ever waved tusks.

"Well, we made the east shore of Lake Bango, undisturbed, and as the hunting was as thin as an almshouse stew we picked up some native boats and crossed to the west side. The sinister aspect of the country chilled me, sir, despite the terrible heat; else, maybe, it was a touch of the marsh fever. Anyway, when my boy, in his quaint patois, tried to tell me how Chief Scraws was reputed to pick up much pocket-money by selling his guests to Emi Bey's people up north, my nerve vanished and I begged Tib to turn about.

"He studied the approaching shore steadily for a few minutes and then observed: 'Too late, my child. I think our host awaits us; the trees are alive. To retreat now would mean a swarm of them upon us, for they have a few bark ferries on the beach, I note. Brace up, and try to infuse a little self-respect into our simple followers, as I fear they have forgotten their ancestral pride and will do us scant credit.'

"And all the while we were slowly drawing ahead, the blacks paddling mechanically, their eyes rolling abnormally as they sought to pierce with fascinated gaze the threatening, rank foliage, now very near. And just as I had finished a survive-or-perish harangue, a cloud of Feeney's magpies burst into view and even waded out up to their shoulders to meet us, so warm was their cordiality. Tib had lighted a quinine cigarette and stood in the bow of our yacht, seemingly unaware of one six-foot midget shrieking in his ear and flourishing an axe about his rotund form. I tried to be a good understudy, and the galley-slaves were so thoroughly frightened they sat like cigar-store Indians. As the boat grated on the rocks Tib jumped ashore, thrust his hands into his pockets, and gazed about for the head pirate.

"‘There he is, Billy—the man with the face like an inflamed nightmare. Jovial, whole-souled-looking chap, eh?' and he nodded his head carelessly towards him we both knew to be Chief Feeney Scraws.

"His face was heavy and oblong, and every specie of cussedness that had ever attracted attention had carved its initials between his low forehead and sharp chin. His crease of a mouth was smiling, but his eyes blazed with a pure green lustre. They made me think of emeralds. We afterwards learned that in nationality he was a polyglot, containing the worst of all races; and every drop of blood in his miserable carcass sat up nights trying to devise some bit of deviltry that would cause the other corpuscles to blush with envy.

"As I was studying our host Tib flicked the ash from his anti-fever cheroot and sauntered up to him and stuck out his hand as if he expected to hear the chief say, 'Welcome home!' Instead of that, Feeney grabbed the palm of friendship in one black claw and with a hoot of rage held the old chap fast, while with his other talon he lifted a short axe.

"‘Don't make a move, Billy,' warned Tib, in a low voice, as with his free hand he reached in his pocket and produced his last cigarette and lighted it.

"The moral effect of this simple little act swept the chief off his feet for the moment, sir. He lowered his weapon with a grunt of chagrin, or wonder, and released my patron. It was lucky thus, as I was unarmed, all our guns, except our ammonia pistols, being in the boat. And I reckon if I had shot Feeney, Tib and I soon would have overtaken him in spirit-land; for the mob was unusually demonstrative.

"‘Keep near me and walk slow,' cautioned Tib. 'Any show of fear means the emergency ward.' Then he mopped his brow and motioned for the chief to lead us to some shade. It was coolly done, and some lone corpuscle of our host's tainted blood began to admire the old fellow's nerve, as was evinced by the swift gleam of his green eyes. It was fleeting, but we both caught it, and Tib murmured over his resolute shoulder: 'We've got him puzzled a bit. Wouldn't he make an elegant wild boy! I'd almost prefer him in a cage to a white leopard.'

"I remarked I would prefer him at the bottom of the Bango, well surrounded by his subjects, and then the assembly turned and began making away from the lake. We walked beside the chief, although he scowled and motioned for us to fall in behind. Tib pretended not to understand the hint and we kept our places in the chorus. When we came to a boggy spot and had to jump it Tib never hesitated to rest his plump hand on Feeney's shoulder for support. And the chief's rage at this familiarity was intense to witness, sir. He simply stopped and dashed his axe into a tree and let out a series of yelps you could have heard in Uganda.

"‘I'll chasten his proud spirit,' grinned Tib. 'Any millinery display of white feathers will mean an immediate clinic. Tread on his heels a bit.'

"This command seemed to me to lend itself to funereal environments, but I obeyed, and would have been brained instanter if Tib had not stepped in between and in the traders' lingo called a halt. Although the chief stayed his hatchet arm he jumped enthusiastically up and down several times in an ecstasy of pique and knocked one of his body-guard senseless with the flat of his axe. The fellow would have received the edge, only the blade caught in an overhanging creeper. Tib smiled in approbation, and to further show his approval gave the prostrate warrior a hearty kick.

"But Mr. Scraws did not possess a reputation for being thoughtfully and exquisitely cruel for nothing, and after a short session of storm-signals his merry face was distorted into a smile, and he clapped us both on the shoulder amiably and indulged in spasmodic chucklings.

"‘You've done the trick,' I remarked, admiringly. But the face Tib turned on me was puckered with apprehension.

"‘I fear you are in error, my child,' he protested. 'When Brother Feeney laughs way down in his stomach there's something stirring for the spectators. We had him dubious at first; now he has decided just what he's going to do and it tickles him. And, I guess, what agitates his risibles wouldn't take any prize in a Vermont parlor entertainment.'

"And Scraws's fearful good-nature continued as we left the wood and came out into a little clearing where the odoriferous village was baking. Once in the opening he patted my arm affectionately, and then dropped to the sward and writhed in merriment.

"‘Maybe he isn't so black as he's tanned,' I whispered, hopefully.

"‘Kindly observe how his followers receive his evidences of good-humor,' suggested Tib.

"And hang me, sir, if Feeney's men weren't all of a shake! The squaws, too, who ran up to meet us, no sooner saw their master enjoying his little joke than they began tearing their hair and scuttling for cover. Feeney, choking with mirth, called a warrior to approach. This man rolled his eyes in despair and gave a tree a farewell rap with his head before obeying. His legs wabbled as he dragged himself forward and kneeled. His boss tapped him coyly on the pate with the axe-handle. It seemed to me the chief ruffled the address longer than was necessary and was loath to desist. But with a sigh he finally lowered his comforter and the sweat rolled from the crouching figure's limbs.

"‘Why, look at the black imp's eyes!' murmured Tib.

"And Feeney's eyes were blood red.

"‘Not what you'd call amiability,' I suggested, with a shudder.

"‘Certainly not the innocent jollity of childhood,' groaned Tib.

"At this point the chief gave the warrior some command, and as if reprieved from death the subject sprang to his feet and motioned us to follow him. The chief, still decorated with his hideous smile, nodded for us to obey, and as we were led to a hut in the middle of the glade he kept us company and bowed us within with much mock humility.

"‘Too intensely polite,' snorted Tib, once we were alone and the opening filled up by the backs of two giant guards. Then he added, thoughtfully, 'But my ancestors weren't Green Mountain Boys just for notoriety's sake, and he'd have a run for his money if I had a gun.'

"‘They are busy about something,' I remarked, as the sound of falling timbers and the guttural cries of the men beat against the hide sides of our prison.

"‘I guess it is something elaborate,' admitted Tib, trying to peer through the opening; whereat the guards pushed him back.

"It's needless to say our little cosey-corner was getting warm with the doorway closed. But the warriors, sitting back to us, not knowing but what they'd get a knife or a kick in the neck at any minute, demonstrated how dear to their hearts were Feeney's orders, and we got no fresh air. There they were when the sun vanished and the tropical night rushed in. Then torches were lighted outside and the bevy of villagers still kept at work, while above the clamor we occasionally heard the hearty laughter of the chief and knew the point of his joke had lost none of its savor. Evidently he was preparing a four-page comic supplement in five colors; and the very knowledge that he was outdoing himself kept slumber on the side lines.

"And as if I didn't have enough to fret over, Tib began to go light-headed from a taste of the swamp fever, and talk rapidly in a hectic-flush kind of a voice. 'We don't know what it is, but you can anticipate it is very complete and finished as to detail,' he mumbled, as the sound of the laborers grew scant in the coming gray of the morning. Then, 'Good-bye, My Sweet,' he began to babble, in his clear, seven-story tenor, as our guards silently rose and left us.

"‘I say, old chap, don't,' I begged, 'It's almost sacrilegious.'

"‘You silly jade,' he quizzed, the red spots on his plump cheeks now glowing as if stamped with a stencil. 'Great Scott!' next he muttered, while I sat with despairing head ensconced in my hands. 'I guess, my child, I've a touch of the fever. Hum! and now I've got 'em. Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, walk in. One hour in the big animal tent before the first act in the triple sawdust arena. This is Gooseberry, the man-eating lion. See him—'

"‘Oh, quit,' I cried. 'Can't you see you're going daffy with swamp suggestions?' For my little seance with the oven heat and shivers of the disease had left me peevish.

"‘Just as you say, my child,' he replied, humbly. 'Maybe old Tib is cross-eyed mentally, but hang me if he doesn't look like a lion. A figment of the—'

"And great Scott, sir! I turned, and if there wasn't the bulky, befringed head of a big male leo in the narrow aperture of the tent!

"‘Tib!' I shrieked. 'It's real!'

And at that my patron pealed forth one resonant roar that caused the massive beast to snarl and spring back. 'Where's the keeper?' he cried, again going a bit flighty. 'The idea of letting him out to scare the women and—I forgot. It's real.' Then he put to rout his imagination for a moment and swayed to the opening and scowled as he fixed his attention on the present. 'We stand about as much of a chance as an old-fashioned safe in the hands of a gang of yeggmen,' he mumbled.

"The timid peep I stole over his shoulder, reinforced by the rising sun, revealed for the first time what those captains of industry had been doing. During the night they had enclosed us and our villa in a palisade of young trees and slabs of bark; while at the other end of the corral the tawny form of our recent visitor walked nervously back and forth with slow, gliding step. Our host had prepared a little Roman holiday, and it was the anticipation of this treat that incited him to chortle so merrily on yester-eve.

"‘We're the newer, better breakfast-food,' explained Tib, as he tried to wipe the nightmare from his eyes. Then he gazed on me cunningly and demanded, 'Don't play it too strong on the old man, Billy. I feel doped; but is that—or is it not—'

"‘It is,' I gasped. 'For my sake come out of it. It's real.'

"‘Enough to scare a scarlatina germ into being sterilized?' he lisped. 'And, oh, for the touch of a Maxim gun and the sound—'

"‘We've only our pocket-knives,' I reminded, going so limber I had to clutch his hysterical shoulder for support.

"My grasp seemed to jolt him towards reason a bit; for after looking at me inquiringly he appreciated the situation and said, more soberly: 'We must show 'em the early martyrs weren't the only hardy people, Billy. Pocket-knives only, and— By Lake Champlain! We're both doddering idiots! Hurrah!'

"Of course, if he was going to shy away from sanity in that way, it didn't make much difference what happened, and it sent the tainted blood to my own belfry, and I sobbed: 'All right, old lion. Come and eat us. Why be poor and hungry when you—'

"‘Shut up!' he roared. 'We have the ammonia guns. Quick! See if they are loaded!' Then, more slowly, 'If that bee would keep out of my head I'd teach 'em that the spirit of Spartacus still loafs about in old New England.'

"‘Please be sane,' I begged, my head going cool again. 'A lion is all I can stand. My gun's loaded.' And my heart gave a mighty thump as I yanked it forth and found its bulb filled to the limit with Tib's ex-special brand of dope.

"As he produced his pistol the fever returned, and he patted the barrel waggishly, and then mumbled, 'I only hope the lion that eats me won't ever fight or have any quarrels with your lion.'

"‘There's only one,' I remonstrated, slapping his shoulder.

"‘Very well,' the old chap assented, apologetically, 'if he comes one at a time he can never get through the door.'

"It was a mighty tough combination, you'll admit, sir—the lion and Tib's erratic delirium. It was more trouble than an unmarried man ought to inherit. 'Only one, remember,' I begged.

"‘Just as you say, Billy, but I can see two,' he insisted, mildly. 'One's coming towards us; t'other ain't. Which shall we shoot at?'

"And bless you, sir, there were two lions. I thought at first I'd caught his hallucinations and half expected to see a pink giraffe crawling up my shirt-sleeve. But it was real. The audience, to enliven the scene, had let loose another tease in the pen.

"‘One at a time and a huge surprise for each,' cheered Tib, swerving on his pins a bit.

"But even this shadowy chance was eliminated, for as he spoke our hut vanished. The rascals had fastened a line to the top and had yanked the meagre shelter over the barrier. There we were in the open, with a fringe of black faces mocking us over the fence.

"Tib stood with his mouth ajar in astonishment. Then he drew me aside reproachfully, and whispered: 'Don't try to humor me. Tell me the truth. Did that really happen, or was it a delusion?'

"‘A11 real,' I howled, clutching his arm.

"‘I always like to know,' he explained, gravely. Then he cried: 'In the name of the Continental Congress— Don't shoot too quick!'

"For the big, eight-foot male, accompanied by a four-foot tail, was creeping towards us on his belly, while his pal stood and watched the proceedings with morbid curiosity, and as calmly as if it were a mail-order business.

"We separated about ten feet and crouched ready to spring aside, and as the ammonia repeaters were held in the palm of the hand, Feeney, shedding tears of unrestrained joy, had no intimation we possessed the masked batteries.

"‘Be sane,' I again implored, but Tib, kneeling with both hands steadying his gun, cast me a whimsical smile and fluttered his head as if amused. And the red spots on his cheeks didn't look good a bit.

"The king of the wild-wood, probably empty of stomach and hungry enough to eat a whole tribe of white men, now began knitting his claws and agitating his tail for a record-breaking jump. He put his head close to the ground when giving his class cry, and this caused it to rumble and reverberate intensely.

"‘Take him!' cried Tib, and with a numb heart I squirted a charge of the soothing-syrup and noted it ruffle his breast.

"And although it did not hit him fair, it pestered him and weakened him, and he struck between us and whirled undecidedly in a circle. Then Tib staggered forward and idiotically made a grab for his highness with his left hand, while with his right he tried to send home a settler.

"‘O wiji gah!' bellowed the populace, never having seen a lion so misused before.

"And their eight-footer, seemingly oblivious of Tib, began humping himself in a narrow circle, with me at the centre. If Tib let go and fell I knew the beast would make the circuit and be upon him before he could get out of the way. For his every jump possessed all of the hilarious energy of a fast-freight train.

"‘O wagh!' yelled the spectators, as the dizzy pair sped by the second quarter, with the favorite about to break.

"‘Hang on and sprint faster,' I encouraged, dancing wildly in my hysteria.

"‘D'ye—think—I'm—trying—to—throw—this race?' retorted Tib, in jerks, over his shoulder, as his heels cuffed only the elevations and his fat form snapped playfully into a horizontal position.

"Then from down the lists came a roar that re-echoed even above the hooting of the mob, and I turned to see the other cat, a female, smaller and maneless, bounding up the aisle. This nerved me to jump onto the race-track and send two shots full into the mouth of Tib's steed, and as the mischief-maker rolled over and sighed sleepily my old patron was flung at my feet.

"Number two didn't pause to indulge in any funny stunts. Disregarding all frills and fancy crouches, she gave one more bellow, and with her four legs flung wide, and the sun's rays turning her yellowish flanks to old gold, sprang for Tib. The old chap, although panting heavily, calmly planked her twice in mid-air and had a third prescription ready when she landed. And as the sleep-germs began to work, the spectators were simply swept off their feet, sir, to see their ill-advised lady man-killer trip a morris on her hind-legs, spar at the atmosphere, and then come down with a crash.

"My head was swimming dizzily, but I gave a cheer of defiance, and, standing with one foot on the prostrate monarch, viewed with pardonable pride the paralyzed assemblage, while Tib copied my pose on number one.

"'Habet! habet!' cried Tib, grabbing me by the hand and leading me gracefully forward in front of Feeney's opera-box as if I were the leading lady. And we both bowed easily with a bright sparkle in our fickle, fever-lighted eyes; and Tib bowed even more deeply with all his old-time curtain grace, as Feeney, in pure resentment, tried to bite his axe.

"Then the galleries began to cheer, realizing we were the best pages ever torn from a materia medica. I reckon, at that moment we completely filled in the foreground, middle distance, and background of all their joss dreams, and if it hadn't been for Mr. Scraws they'd have made us a present of all Africa. You see, we'd done it so quiet. No noise, no rudeess, just an inclination on our part, and their biggest champions were put to bed. We were little tin gods in their eyes, and their yelping now took on more of awe than venom. But Feeney didn't appreciate our growing popularity and foamed at the mouth. Then he barked an order.

"We were still scraping a modest hoof in mild deprecation of the encore when the squaws began bobbing their heads violently and I was inquisitive enough to shyly turn and look over my shoulder.

"‘Attention!' I cried, and Tib wheeled just in time to see our host's orders had resulted in another rude cage being unloaded through an opening in the paling, and two more beasts entered.

"These started towards us on a canter, and to my horror I observed Tib was frittering away the precious seconds in gallantly kissing his moist digits to a bevy of frenzied valentines, presumably the wives of the chief.

"‘For my sake!' I had just time to invoke, when the lion in the lead turned at an acute angle and got very close before I could pull the trigger. I overshot. But Tib, ignoring his annoyer and after foolishly chanting some lines about 'Lions to right of 'em, lions to left of 'em,' pivoted and raked my villain by a neat snap-shot. And the next thing I knew I was sailing high enough through space to peep over the top of the enclosure. It seems I was just one jump too slow in dodging, and the brute managed to collect the back of my shirt in passing.

"My return to earth jolted the breath from my lungs, and I had to recline and watch Tib face his fate alone. I knew he must have ducked when enfilading my footpad, and by the way the survivor was performing I realized his second shot had not been wasted. The snuff-colored dream vaguely brushed his ample paws against his muzzle and gave one the impression of being intoxicated. Yet true to his original design, he gravely sauntered towards Tib and made a clumsy leap. But two quick shots full in the yellow eyes announced his exit, and after I'd gained my feet we both sank down wearily on his muscular flank.

"Well, sir, I reckon Central Africa never saw such a perfectly astounded set of natives as in Feeney Scraws and his little ones. There were four of their king pins quiescent and we lolling lazily back on the biggest. We had laid them to rest as easily as a laughter-loving chauffeur runs down a crippled beggar with a sixty-horse-power smoke-wagon. Naturally it made the crowd nervous, and the yowls they let out would have frightened a pumping-station into hysterics.

"‘Will the lions show fight when they revive?' I panted.

"‘Will Feeney ring in actors until we've used up all the dope?' Tib asked, thoughtfully, in return, mechanically giving our cushion another desuetude drop. 'This anger-killer won't last forever,' he added, moodily. Then the swamp-light stole into his eyes again, and I knew some quaint conceit was addling his brain.

"‘All down, Feeney,' he cried, cheerily, dancing towards the paling. 'Set 'em up in the other alley.'

"I pulled him back and tried to quiet him, while the aborigines yelped as if afraid of the round, laughing man who hushed lions to sleep. The black hands no longer were shaken at us in derision, but instead were pointed in hesitation, and by the gesticulations and rolling eyes I knew the people were petitioning the chief to hold up his thumb.

"‘I'd like a nice, cool drink from old Champlain,' rambled Tib, playing carelessly with his lion's whiskers. 'O1d Vermont! Recall those lines—I remember, I remember the house where I was born? I can't, but I could if there had been lions in it.'

"‘He's about to play another card,' I warned, giving the nearest lion another shot.

"‘We've four lions now,' ruminated Tib, proudly. 'Say, Billy, did you ever try to do a sum in lions? Now, in adding three columns of lions, when you have two to carry—'

"‘They are opening the barrier again,' I groaned, giving my patron up as a hopeless slave to purple pipe-dreams.

"‘Tib reeled to his feet and tore open his shirt and peered under a shaky hand down the line.

"‘More lions,' he said, simply.

"‘White leopards! Two of 'em!' I corrected.

"‘Hurrah!' he shouted, and I believed him thoroughly crazy again. 'They looked leopards to me,' he cried, 'but I thought I must be fuzzy again. So I said lions. But white leopards!'

"And he waltzed me around joyfully. 'We must have 'em. Isn't this luck!'

"‘Awfully good luck,' I despaired; for I knew a leopard was as formidable as a lion or tiger and harder to dodge.

"And the brunettes along the fence evidently were now determined to stick to their gods through one more whirl, and forgetting their recent fears began to shout exultantly. It sounded like a Russian college yell, and Tib tossed back a little circus talk and dragged me in between the two sleeping pups nearest the centre of the arena.

"The big cats, white with dark polka-dots, about five feet in length and with abnormally long tails, now saw us, and after a few preliminary snarls began circling the palisades, desirous of pouncing upon us from behind, true to their feline idea of propriety. I wanted to get my back against the stockade, but Tib, with less strabismus in his intellect, restrained me. We'd seen enough of leopards to realize these beauties had been kept in a cage and were used to men, and we believed they had been starved for just some such purpose as this. Yet it was evident they weren't anxious to come too near our breastworks. Then an old lady, probably with a local reputation as a witch-doctor, rose behind her boss and flung her skinny arms aloft and bestowed a few imprecations upon us. The cats began to get bold. The crowd believed it was due to the spell cast by the lady. Anyway, as we were like a hot hand-out to a famished orphan on Christmas Eve, the evil brace were game to try and net us.

"The audience went wild when the twin spotted ones left the barriers and dragged themselves towards us, inch by inch, as if the proceedings were very secret. It was like betting money on the home nine when the umpire is your friend and lives in your village. And to add to the festivities the lions began to wriggle and act uneasy. We realized they were about to awaken.

"‘A yah, jali!' shrieked the Romans.

"‘Give 'em another nullifier,' I cried, in Tib's ear, indicating the quartet of sleepers.

"‘Except this biggest one, he telephoned back. 'I may need him awake.'

"And friend Feeney, believing it was the last act, threw back his head and laughed in low gurgles. His blood-curdling jollity seemed to jerk the head tabby into radical action, and a streak of white marked her spring.

"‘Missed!' I yelled.

"‘Rotten,' cried Tib, as he also scored a zero, and the target lighted on our uneasy parapet.

"Then the breastworks came to life.

"And, say, sir, if the dope had quieted old Nero so far as we were concerned, it didn't preclude his having a little argument with puss. Screeching and roaring they rolled over and over, while the other cat looked on in amazement.

"‘Nail her!' directed Tib.

"And ping! I did, at a distance of twenty feet. She whacked her paws against her nose in vain, for the aroma would not down, and while thus engaged Tib ran in and gave her her congé.

"Then we turned to watch the duel, just in time to see the cart-wheel of beasts strike the barriers fairly opposite the chief's lookout.

"There was a crash, and the whirling, furry forms bounded out into the audience.

"As the orchestra-circle emptied in flight, Feeney, indigo with rage, raised his axe to hurl at me, who was nearest. But Tib did a little rainbow stunt with his gun, and as the gentle shower fell on Feeney's nose he lost interest in things, ditto his balance, and toppled over and down onto the fighting animals. The leopard promptly resented his intrusion with a tap of her paw, and the lion also found time to bestow a hearty cuff.

"As the two rolled away in the forest we enjoyed a good scrutiny of the now quiet ruler. It didn't need a medico-legal expert to diagnose he had cast his last vote.

"‘Somehow, I like him best this way,' murmured Tib, pensively.

"By this time the natives had all fled, evidently satisfied we were fairies with evil intentions.

"One old hag, even in her fright, could not resist the temptation to turn in her course and hurl a nervous spear at her prostrate master.

"This simple act of courtesy cheered me wonderfully, as I didn't believe the gang would feel much hurt because Scraws had made his exit. We were not taking any chances, however, by loitering. We found our boys snugly yoked together ready for a slave jaunt north, and with their aid managed to sling the still insensible pussy on a pole. We left the lions, and with only the cat to show for our pains we recrossed the Bango and picked up our reserve force.

"Since then I see the Bango district has passed under the control of the Uganda Protectorate.

"So, I reckon, our little act in the arena was productive of some good outside of furnishing this country an opportunity to inspect at popular prices the only prize white leopard in captivity.

XVI
WITH CASTE AGAINST HIM

"AND this is the swan-song. It begins with Cape Town and ends in an uncharted isle somewhere southwest of Australia. The telling recalls to me a new phase in Tib's character. It presents the spectacle of the old chap falling in love. While it was always impossible to conceive of him as married and settled down, it was characteristic of him to indulge in a hopeless predilection when immodest Cupid did loose the arrow. For while always touting the American girl as the best feminine line of goods in the world, what did my patron do but get foolish-hearted over the daughter of an English lord. And she, with all her insular, burglar-proof prejudices, was compelled to see him at his best, sturdy and resourceful, when all others failed her; is compelled to-day to remember that superbly dramatic finale in which he and she monopolized the spot-light; and whenever she rejoices in the gladness of living, so often must she think of him and humbly repeat that her world is better, much better, for his having crossed her path.

"Possibly the trick could have been turned without him, turned in a prosaic manner with a certain amount of vulgar blood-letting and at a great expenditure of gunpowder. But I think not, nor can she. For when a lovely girl is the stake, whether a lord's daughter or a queen from the masses, it is always advisable to finesse; and Tiberius, if slightly melodramatic, solved the unlovely problem as only he could—that is, in an unusual manner.

"To return to the details. We had reached Cape Town and had started a goodly amount of four-footed, snarling wild-wood gear for home when Tib found an opportunity to indulge in his peculiar faculty of rescuing the weak and unfortunate from a hateful predicament. The recipients of his hearty favor were the members of a busted 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' outfit, who had foolishly left the New England circuit to follow a scalawag manager abroad, and who now were left stranded high and dry in Cape Town. When Tib ran across the derelicts he immediately offered to pay their fares home, via Australia, as well as good wages, providing they would tour the big island under the impetus of his dollar-drawing supervision. He figured we were free from circus control for a while, and in returning to his native heather intended not only to delectate his countrymen, but corral a few scudi on the side.

"Every one did a high hurdle to accept the unexpected offer, and we set forth on the Kalanke, one of Lord Blam's boats, running to Adelaide. Once we were well under way on the fifty-four-hundred-mile scamper, Tib began to evidence the last streak of indomitable assurance I was ever privileged to observe. He began by making a slim, teary woman, who played Little Eva, believe she wasn't sea-sick. 'Why, child,' he cried, the first afternoon out, and drawing up his dear, rotund old form and looking more enthusiastic than any real-estate dealer you ever kenned, 'don't linger over the present physical inconvenience of our flight. Don't even hesitate. Imagine you feel like emulating the lark because of this chance to reap in the savory salads of Australian greens. Try and picture, if you please—and kindly throw away that devilish lemon—Opportunity, clean-shaven and bald-headed, gliding by your door in a seventy-eight horse-power romp-cart, in the last speed and at the mirk hour of midnight, with you chloroformed and locked in your gilded cage. Picture me with a jiu-jitsu strangle-hold on Mr. Oppo, detaining him until you can come to, slip on your Horse-Show gown, and scuttle down and relieve me by macing him into captivity. Then you will be feasting your magnetic orbs on a tinge of truth. Why, the people out there will be so worked up over your 'Papa, dear papa, set Uncle Tom free,' that they'll nightly wreck your hotel with showers of gold.'

"Thus, day after day, he cheered up the discouraged with that kind of breakfast food, and even convinced Little Eva's husband, Clarence, that he wouldn't be massacred for snapping the whip on Thomas. Once the troupe were in fettle he began daily rehearsals in the second cabin, and I began to anticipate a record business. The company was several degrees below punk in theatrical ability, but Tib had a way of taking a fourth-rate speed nag and training him up to the conviction he was a trifle faster than an electric current; and he did the same with that mediocre, simple, honest, and ill-advised bunch of misfits.

"The boat was one of Lord Blam's new line, and besides passengers she did a big freight business and was now carrying horses and farm implements to the colonies. Besides our adopted children, however, she had but few passengers, as it was the dull season. And we hadn't cuffed the deep blue more than four days when Tib met the girl.

"She was a radical English type, all blue eyes and peaches for complexion. Soon I observed the old chap was neglecting me to haunt her usual promenade like a mosquito. He and I were travelling first-cabin, as we always did when we didn't walk, and the scarcity of other affluent bipeds made it more easy for him to approach her. She was an only daughter, it seems, making a flying trip to Adelaide, where her pa lay ill. Besides a wooden-faced maid, the captain of the boat was her only body-guard. But as Tib had the captain hypnotized at the go-in, he soon managed to formally address himself to Miss Mary.

"She was about as approachable as the Antarctic Circle, and was the first bit of peerage I had seen floating about alone. As to speaking to her, I would as quickly have thought of attempting to get chummy with a ton of ice. But a man or woman had to be armor-plate to withstand Tib when he threw himself, and at the end of the first day's essay he made her give away in a few molten ha-ha's. Then she got mildly interested in him, and I knew he was delving into romance.

"It soured me to be deserted, but when from my loafing-place I overheard him giving his Vermont ancestry an old-chateau environment and carefully painting the good old days at The Oaks, and bragging of his father's pack of hounds, I knew aristocracy wanted to crawl into a safe-deposit vault and slam the door, or get scalped. I reckon he could jam more poetry and pâté-de-foie-gras breeding into his round form and look more dreamy truth from his brown eyes than any man that ever made a crowded house believe a poor show was a good one. He was the best ever, I assure you, and if Little Eva hadn't butted in and asked him to come and hear her rehearse dying I reckon he'd have won a few plighted troths anyway. I shall always believe he had her clinging to the ropes when Eva made the fatal stab.

"'Do you know those people in the second cabin?' demanded her lordship, in an eighty-two degrees north kind of a voice.

"Tib groaned and tore his brown hair, but bravely admitted he owned them. 'I'm only a showman,' he cried. 'The vase is broken. I've got the bell and it's back to the low stables.'

"Well, he felt mighty bad over that woman. It wa'n't her titled pa, or the poorly fitting coat of arms; it was just a case of She. When he was talking to her he forgot he was only a showman. He believed all about the old, ivy-covered manse and the hounds. Why, I even heard him call the pups by name. And his father, I reckon, never saw anything more blue-blooded than a sheep-dog.

"But Eva's début in fracturing his dream thoroughly awakened him, and best of all restored him to me. 'My old heart got foolish, boy,' he remarked, as we resumed our chumming, 'but it's beating all right now. I never felt soft on a woman before. Lord, what a mess of lies I have inflicted on the poor lady! I know I'm a few years her senior, but I keep my age locked up in the baggage-room, and if it hadn't been for Little Eva—but there! Quit it. Never mention it. It's over. Curtain. All men, I guess, encounter a daffy spell at some time in their lives, and lucky is he who is near a bar when the fit comes on. Now I'm the showman again and mighty proud of it, and we'll go in and see Little Eva die.' But I noticed he did not discard a handkerchief she had dropped.

"And Miss English was mad. She scolded the captain for presenting Tib, and told him her father would do things once we'd sighted old earth. And the captain was on the anxious seat, for her father was his meal-ticket and had delegated him to fetch out his daughter O. K. But on the next night we began to forget it, when we steamed into the heart of a flying wedge of terrific winds.

"I decided that if ever we got ashore it would be to have the folks come down to the beach and look at us and say, 'How natural they look!' Some of the gingerbread works were carried away the first night of the blow, and whenever the wind let up a bit the live-stock would throw in a few ensembles that made one pray for more breeze. Yet the boat behaved well, and if something hadn't happened to the propeller we'd have come through in rare form. But when the chief engineer began to parade out his kit and try to mend things while standing on his head I knew the game was getting serious. Now we were bumped by every billow, and I heard a petty officer whisper that we were being driven far from our course.

"At last the kick stopped, or else we'd slipped out of the storm zone, and at about three o'clock in the morning we dropped anchor near a dear little island that the captain couldn't name with any degree of exactness.

"The anchorage was so good and the water so smooth that our engineer said it would be easy to take the boat to pieces and put it together without losing even a shingle-nail. Well, you can indulge in a small wager that we were all up and happy when we came near enough to smell the land. The sky was clear and peppered over with incandescent lights, and Tib felt so good that he waltzed up to the She Saxon and observed, 'I regret you have been inconvenienced by the storm.'

"Say, she just turned and dragged her two sapphires up and down his anatomy as if he were a seven-leaf clover. Then she stabbed him four times with as many glances and turned and walked forward to the captain. Cap wheeled around with his lips pursed up to say something unwholesome, but seeing who it was he swallowed it, and it hurt. Then she asked something in a low voice and he shook his head slowly. Then she stamped her hoof and he seemed to give way. At last he called a man to him and gave some orders. The next thing we knew a boat was dropped and she was being rowed ashore by four sailors.

"‘Isn't it rather dangerous to let the lady go ashore?' asked Tib of the captain.

"This gave the captain a fine chance to ease his mind, and he did it by pouring out his whole heart to Tib in a comprehensive flow, but Tib was so round it all glanced off. Cap told him that Miss Mary had gone ashore to get rid of his presence. Tib shuddered. Then the cap reminded him that a British skipper takes sass from no one except the owners, and ordered him back with the rest of us. Another gilt-braid sneaked up and told Tib the cap meant nothing, that he was only feeling cross at being delayed. As to Miss Mary, he swore she was as safe when guarded by the four tars as she would be on her father's deck. Besides, the island was probably vacant, he added, and she would take a short stroll on the beach beneath the stars and then return. But Tib was uneasy. He said no one could ever diagnose the disposition of the average cut-up residing on an Oceanian isle. 'Billy,' he concluded, 'I'm cut to the heart. She won't even look at the same ocean with me.'

"In about an hour's time, just as the sun was lazily crawling out of his bed of blue, there came to our ears a loud cry from the beach, and we could see some dots bobbing up and down trying to act intelligent. In two jumps the captain shot off in a boat, and, without seeming to touch land, was back again on the run.

"The lord's daughter had been carried off by the natives, was the startling intelligence he fed out to his officers. It seems she wanted to walk up a little hill and get a view of the sea, and, although the sailors protested, she had ordered them to remain behind; and, like idiots, they obeyed her. Then they heard a smothered scream and ran to the rescue, only to meet with a shower of spears and clubs and to witness a large band of barefooted tax-payers making off with the skirts. One of the sailors had his arm broken, another had a spear through his shoulder, and all were badly bruised and battered. The captain was crazy. He ordered his men to arm and rush to the rescue. At first he was going to lead them, but some of his officers soothed him down a bit and made him see his place was with the boat. It was not only necessary to rescue Miss Mary, but the tub must be in condition to carry her away when she was recovered.

"But when Tib asked permission to join the posse the captain broke loose again and swore he'd have the boss in irons. If it hadn't been for Tib it never would have happened, he cried. I chipped in then and reminded him her lordship was too high and mighty to hunt for an exit just to avoid a mere man, and I closed with the stars and stripes and our consul in Australia. This distracted his attention a bit, for he forgot Tib in swearing at our consular service.

"‘Billy,' groaned Tib, 'I guess the cap is right, and I'm to blame for her going ashore. But these volunteers will never get her by hunting the brownies with a brass-band.'

"Well, we put in several long hours of waiting, and then two men returned and said reinforcements were needed, as the men had discovered a large village a few miles inland, which they didn't dare to attack alone.

"‘Guess you'd better let some of the passengers chip into this game now,' advised Tib.

"The captain began to rave again, but, seeing that the men left were needed in making repairs, he had to give in. Just then some more of the crew came back to the beach, and, once aboard, panted that the colored folk were getting aggressive, and wouldn't even wait to be attacked.

"‘To the boats, men!' cried the captain, while the steward served out howitzers.

"Before the order could be obeyed the officers and the rest of the gang rushed down to the beach. Their news was worst of all. They said the heathens had produced her lordship in view of all and had threatened to kill her if her friends didn't beat a retreat.

"‘If we show violence she's lost,' sobbed one of the men.

"The captain was dazed. He was brave enough and would gladly fight to the last gasp; but he didn't want to recover Miss Mary dead. He tried to mumble something about strategy, and Tib caught it. It was the psychological moment for him.

"‘If you'll turn the management of this show over to me I'll go and get her,' he said, simply.

"Some jeered him in wild anger, some eyed him in amazement, and others were ready to grasp at any suggestion.

"‘I mean it,' he repeated, firmly, drawing up his fat form and beginning to radiate heart waves. 'Force will avail nothing, except to kill the lady. Do as I say and let the galleries back me and a few of my men, and I honestly believe we can turn the riffle.'

"Discipline was lost sight of as all clamored for pointers. 'Hoist up a few mowing-machines from the hold, drop twice as many horses over into the surf, while the carpenters are knocking together a float. Then ferry the grass-clippers ashore and have your mechanics put them together. That's the scenario.'

"Some said he was crazy, but I believed he would win out if they let him alone, and the captain asked if he intended to palm off the mowers as machine-guns.

"‘If they can't recognize a mowing-machine the chances are they are not conversant with Maxims,' growled Tib. 'No, I'll play 'em as mowing-machines and take a medal at that. I believe they'll be big medicine to the untutored.'

"Of course the captain pooh-poohed the scheme. He said the niggers would kill the lass before the paraphernalia could be thrown together.

"‘And while you are doing zero and can think of nothing to do, they may kill her,' cried Tib. 'And her blood be upon your head. Mine is the only plan that has been advanced, and it is practical. It's unusual, but you can't impress these folks with shot-guns. It's got to be something unhackneyed in the way of scenic effect. If I had an airship I'd use that. But I haven't. I'm not trying to boom these mowers by advertising 'em. But by using 'em we can stagger the banditti. We can start in three hours if you'll only give the word. I shall want a full chorus to tag along with the batteries. You lose nothing, unless it is I and some of my friends and the machines. So, unwind the red tape and start things.'

"‘Hoist 'em out,' commanded the captain, and the gang caught Tib's enthusiasm.

"‘Now, who's game for a little romp?' asked Tib, gently, of the actors, his brown eyes collecting in two needle-points. 'I want my own men for the leading parts in this game. Now, who's impatient to go?'

"Of course I said I was. Little Eva's husband said if he could have one drink he would play puss-in-the-corner with the devil, and Uncle Tom was on if he didn't have to black up. For the other operator, Tib selected a young fellow that was coming out to hold down a stool in his father's branch house in Melbourne, and he readily agreed to chip in if he could have time to write something pathetic to his parents. Tib reminded him the postman wouldn't have time to collect the mail before we returned, and so the five of us made ready. The captain ached to go, but realized he must remain behind with the rear-guard.

"I was for grabbing up a papaw root and dashing blindly into the weeds, but Tib held us all back as he outlined his scheme more fully. The mowing-machines would dazzle the natives, he contended, and while he and his men were trifling with the aborigines' superstitions the captain and his bullies were to rush in, surround the captive, or else cover Tib's retreat once he had rescued her. And, say, you never saw men work as did those boys on the Kalanke. The donkey-engine was mounted in a trice, and the big crates containing the mowing-machines were yanked out on deck. By that time the carpenters had put a raft together, and the clippers were soon ashore with a bevy of mechanics impatiently waiting to get in their work. When the different parts of the machines had been assembled and joined each to his neighbor, some half-crazed draught-horses came through the surf and were promptly rounded up. Then boxes of harness were ripped open, and there we were, as gay a cluster of charioteers as ever you would meet outside of a star production of 'Ben Hur.'

"Tib, as the head Mazeppa, jumped onto the first auto and tested the gearing. Then with his hat tipped jauntily over his right ear he reminded the captain that the crew was to loiter not too far in the rear, but always out of sight of the enemy, until we gave the signal to advance—three pistol-shots. Then he cried, 'Cutter-bars up!' and away we clanked around the base of a low hill.

"We had received tips as to the course to take from the four sailors, and it would have done your heart good, sir, could you have seen us in that bringing-in-the-sheaves effect. We only needed wide-brimmed straw hats, with handkerchiefs knotted carelessly about our throats, to be the village heroes in the average rural melodrama.

"The land, lucky for us, lay flat and hard-baked by the sun once we were around the hill. Then Tib's good sense in picking his own men was demonstrated. Always in the lead as we trundled over the hard ground, he had only to move his hand to cause us to catch the signal and obey. Back of us, scuttling through the occasional brush, was our body-guard, and the glint of the sun on the gun-metal was a wonderful antidote for homesickness. In advance a fringe of woods told where the English girl was held captive. We expected to encounter outposts, but I reckon the foe measured our love for a woman by their own standard and couldn't conceive of a man risking his life to save a squaw.

"At last we struck the shade, and, sure enough, found a broad avenue between the trees, just as the boatswain had mapped out. Then came another level stretch, only not so long as the first, bounded by a slight rise. It was just beyond this that the village was located. We approached as slyly as we could and cautiously gained the top without being interrupted. Just below us was the encampment, consisting of several scores of low huts. They were arranged like the spokes of a wheel, with broad streets radiating from the centre. The voters were having a big powwow, and they made so much noise that they had failed to catch the sound of our steeds or wheels.

"‘Now, children, list,' commanded Tib. "I'm going to drive straight ahead. Billy will wend his way to the right and pick up the first spoor, followed by Simon Legree, who takes the second trail. Uncle Tom takes the first left aisle, followed by young Add Six and Carry Two. And we'll form a cluster, God willing, in the centre of the exposition, where there seems to be a commodious green. Attention! Cutter-bars down! Forward, trot!'

"And we five chauffeurs dashed into the hippodrome in the most ridiculous fashion. Tib bounced up and down like a rubber ball, and to fall from the seat meant a badly sliced up white man. But the effect was stupendous. I reckon the brunettes never before gazed on such wags as we must have appeared to be. Bang! smash! we rode through their rotten village, and the machines needed oiling. Of all the rasping, clattering noises you ever heard, sir! Black nightmares rushed to get out of the way as we cleaned out the lanes.

"Snip! snip! and Tib had shaved off the corner of a mud villa. Crunch! and Simon picked up a totem-pole. Every tooth in those five cutter-bars was working, and the collateral we chewed up didn't do 'em a bit of good. But, as Tib said, it was only a one-night stand and our game was to sell tickets and ramble away. So on we careened, the horses wild with fright, now and then the shears picking up a brown toe as some devotee fell prostrate In his flight and babbled a cast-iron prayer to some burglar-proof god. It simply swept them off their feet, sir. Before they woke up we had entered the middle square.

"And if there wasn't her lordship trussed up between two poles, white as death!

"‘If you'll pardon the bucolic style of my turnout, dear lady, I should be felicitated to have you accompany me back to the ship,' cried Tib, cheerily, as he slashed her free and held her so she would not fall. And during it all he was apparently oblivious to the frescoes of black faces staring in stupid awe in the background.

"‘Can it be I'm saved!" she whimpered, brushing back her hair with an uncertain gesture.

"‘Tut, tut!' cried Tib, heartily, as he took her hand and tripped lightly towards his chariot. 'I guess there's no danger. These people are simply crude in their deportment, and evidently believed you some wandering goddess and would detain you awhile.'

"‘You are a brave and a good man,' she choked.

"‘I guess your hosts think me the devil. Excuse me, lady,' salaamed Tib.

"‘Never a man took greater risk,' she sobbed.

"‘An "Uncle Tom's Cabin" company, lady, will take any risk, or anything outside of a church that isn't cemented down,' replied Tib. 'Whoa, Montezuma! Now hop up here on my knee. These bronze pieces will come to their senses in a second.'

"And when her lordship jumped up into his arms the wonder-stricken gang gave a howl and came out of their trance. We countermarched those rigs so that Tib had the lead in quitting the plaza, but not before one big buck, attired in a war-club and a workman-like spear, gave a grunt of disapproval and raised his trowel behind Tib's back. I had been expecting one of them to draw to that card, and while his arm was pulled back I pinked him from the hip, and it was night so far as he was concerned. But they didn't mind crowding into hell so long as they could regain the woman, and my shot took the bellicose out of only one of them. And as we swarmed up the rise they came yowling along behind us, disturbing the peace in a variety of ways. But just as Simon Legree fired three shots in quick succession a fringe of strained-faced tars popped over the crest in front, preceded by the busy end of their repeaters. Under cover of their wholesome diversion we gained the top and bounced down on the other side.

"Just as everything began to look cosey and home-like my pair of Jaspers decided they were afraid of the ocean, and hang me if they didn't turn about and caper back right in the face of the dancing spearmen. I couldn't hold 'em, and so I just dropped the cutter-bar and pulled out my junk, hoping at least to muss up a few before I was registered.

"Then a mighty cry behind me caused me to turn, and if there wasn't old Tiberius coming along after me like a madman, his machine jumping and swaying, and he with reins in his teeth, a big gun in each hand, yelling through the leather like a fiend. I had never seen him aroused to that pitch before. He had tossed her lordship to the sailors and was back to play in my drama. And as the heat of it got into my blood, mingled with a passionate liking for the old chap, I added my war-cry to the general effect and insanely urged my brutes onward still faster.

"Then came a shock and all was nothing. When I recovered my senses we were well out to sea and old Tiberius had been left behind. They told me how I had received a blow from a club and how he had drove on and on and had pressed the frenzied mob back, fighting like a demon, until the rear-guard could advance and drag me to the beach. The last seen of him was when he swept over the hill in a swirl of weapons and plunging men. I begged the captain to put about and return, but he was obdurate. Nor would he listen to the hysterical pleading of her lordship. And a species of madness coming on me, I tried to take the wheel from the pilot, and then collapsed. When I awoke again I found I was in Adelaide and had been ill a long time with brain-fever. In the mean while, her lordship's people had fitted out an expedition to rescue my patron, but even as I was convalescing it returned unsuccessful. The commander said he learned the old chap had died in the fight.

"But I now know he was a liar and a coward and made no search inland. For since then I have heard queer stories about the savage people of Michmil, as the island is called, worshipping a new chief, a white man, who rides about in a man-devouring chariot. They worship him and fear him, yet never allow him to visit the coast. And I know that ruler is Tiberius and that the mowing-machine is his chariot, and I know, since he has won clear of death by his old, indomitable spirit, that he is looking for me and wondering why I do not come. And I am now going back to find him."

THE END

This article uses material from the Wikipedia article  Metasyntactic variable, which is released under the  Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.