{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26995/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26995","id":"gutenberg_26995","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26995","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: American Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fiction","Short stories, American"],"text":"Produced by S. Drawehn and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                        Montezuma's\n                              Castle\n\n                             And\n                              Other\n                               Weird\n                                Tales\n\n                         [Decoration]\n\n                              By\n\n                          C. B. CORY\n\n                           NEW YORK\n                       RALPH S. MIGHILL\n                        70 FIFTH AVENUE\n                             1899\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: OFTEN AT NIGHT HE SPOKE WITH FIERY ELOQUENCE. P. 128.]\n\n\n\n\n                        MONTEZUMA'S CASTLE\n\n                               AND\n\n                        OTHER WEIRD TALES\n\n                               BY\n                         CHARLES B. CORY\n         Author of \"Dr. Wandermann,\" \"Hunting and Fishing\n                        in Florida,\" etc.\n\n                            NEW YORK\n                        RALPH S. MIGHILL\n                         70 FIFTH AVENUE\n                             1899\n\n\n                        Copyright, 1899\n                       BY CHARLES B. CORY\n\n                            PRESS OF\n                     Rockwell and Churchill\n                         BOSTON, U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n                               TO\n\n                        Charles K. Crane\n\n                      AUTHOR AND TRAVELLER\n\n           WHOSE NAME RECALLS MANY PLEASANT MEMORIES\n\n                           THIS BOOK\n\n                          IS DEDICATED\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                          PAGE\n\n  MONTEZUMA'S CASTLE                                         7\n\n  THE AMATEUR CHAMPIONSHIP                                  23\n\n  THE TRAGEDY OF THE WHITE TANKS                            43\n\n  TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT                                     55\n\n  THE STRANGE POWDER OF THE JOU JOU PRIESTS                 75\n\n  AN AZTEC MUMMY                                            78\n\n  A LESSON IN CHEMISTRY                                     90\n\n  AN INTERESTING GHOST                                     102\n\n  THE MOUND OF ETERNAL SILENCE                             116\n\n  THE STORY OF A BAD INDIAN                                127\n\n  A QUEER COINCIDENCE                                      135\n\n  THE STORY OF AN INSANE SAILOR                            152\n\n  THE ELIXIR OF LIFE                                       173\n\n  THE VOODOO IDOL                                          194\n\n  AN ARIZONA EPISODE                                       205\n\n  ONE TOUCH OF NATURE                                      218\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n                                                          PAGE\n\n  OFTEN AT NIGHT HE SPOKE WITH FIERY ELOQUENCE  _Frontispiece._\n\n  THE CASTLE IS BUILT ON A LEDGE ON THE SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN   7\n\n  THE SMOKE CONTINUALLY OOZED FROM ALL PARTS OF HIS BODY   106\n\n  THE MOUND OF ETERNAL SILENCE                             118\n\n  JUDSON'S MAP                                             119\n\n  TIXINOPA                                                 127\n\n  MALITA                                                   130\n\n  A SILVER COIN * * * ONE EDGE HAD BEEN FLATTENED AND A\n    HOLE PIERCED IN IT                                     152\n\n  THE GREAT DOG * * * RESTING HIS HEAD ON THE COWBOY'S\n    KNEE                                                   218\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE CASTLE IS BUILT ON A LEDGE ON THE SIDE OF A\nMOUNTAIN.]\n\n\n\n\nMONTEZUMA'S CASTLE.\n\n\n\"No,\" said the curiosity dealer, \"that mummy is not for sale. I had too\nbig a job to get it.\"\n\n\"Tell me about it,\" I asked.\n\nThe curiosity dealer carefully closed and locked the case, and then\nmeditatively rolled a cigarette.\n\n\"Well, it was this way: you see I was out after snakes and other natural\nhistory specimens. I had a special order from a chap in New York for\nthree hundred snakes--he wanted some big rattlers. I think I sent him\nsome that pleased him; anyhow he paid for them all right. I had a\ncustomer who wanted a rattlesnake with a very big rattle, and I fixed up\na snake for him on this trip and sent it to him afterwards. It had one\nhundred and eighteen rattles! I glued a lot of rattles together, and by\ntaking off the buttons it was pretty hard to see where they were joined.\nThis rattle was more than a foot long.\n\n\"There was another Eastern chap wanted an ibex, which he said was found\nup in these mountains. It had light-colored horns curved over at the\ntips like a chamois and striped legs and eyes that stuck out like an\nantelope. He had heard about the ibex and wanted a pair. I told him I\nhad often killed them, but they were hard to get.\"\n\n\"What is an ibex?\" I asked.\n\n\"I'll be hanged if I know,\" answered the collector. \"But there are\nfellows in these mountains who say that there really are such animals,\nand if he wanted to have an ibex, and had to have an ibex, I might as\nwell get him an ibex as anybody else, even if I had to make one.\n\n\"But to get back to my story. I had a big outfit on this trip and I\nexpected to get a lot of curios one way and another, what with snakes\nand animals of various kinds, besides all the things that I might pick\nup in the way of baskets and Indian relics, which might prove salable.\nMy outfit consisted of two wagons, five horses, and I had a Mexican\nalong to look after the teams and do the cooking.\n\n\"After being out some two weeks we found ourselves near what is called\n'Montezuma's Castle,' up by the Verde. There are a lot of caves\nscattered about up there, supposed to have been made by the Cave\nDwellers, and many of them had never been touched or examined.\n\n\"I had an offer of good money for a mummy, and had tried making them\nfrom the bodies of Indian children, but I never could get them to look\nreal. The bones are not crumbly enough, and the rags which the real\nmummies are done up in are pretty difficult to imitate.\n\n\"I was mighty anxious to explore the big caves, so off we went to the\nplace, and I tell you the old ruin they call 'Montezuma's Castle' is a\ndandy, and don't you forget it. The castle is built on a ledge high up\non the side of a mountain which hangs over at the top. The only way to\nget up is by ladders or ropes, and it is mighty hard to get there even\nthen.\n\n\"Right near there, on the face of the high cliff, there are a lot of\nfine old Cliff dwellings, and some of them are more than one hundred\nfeet from the base. These cliffs are straight up and down, sometimes\nnearly smooth, but often with narrow broken ledges here and there on the\nface of the wall.\n\n\"One particular cave which seemed to be a rather large one was about\nfifty feet up, and immediately below it were two or three small ledges,\nwhich, after I had looked the place over, seemed to me to be\nsufficiently wide to hold a ladder; and I came to the conclusion that if\nI wished to explore one of these caves I had better try the one in\nquestion.\n\n\"In my outfit I had two large tents, nine by fourteen, and the poles of\nthese tents, it seemed to me, would answer very well for ladders if I\nconnected them by pieces of rope. It was not necessary to make the steps\nvery near together, and by cutting notches in the poles and tying pieces\nof rope across I succeeded in making two very good ladders, one fourteen\nfeet long, with the two top poles--one from each tent; and two small\nladders, each about seven feet. I made these last from the four upright\ntent poles, there being two to each tent, as you know.\n\n\"The foot of the cliff was rough, and the first fifteen feet or so we\ncould climb easily to a broad ledge, then there came a space between\nnine and ten feet in height, which was as smooth and perpendicular as a\nwall. Here my first ladder was put up. Two small ledges above this, some\nthree feet apart, and a wider ledge four feet higher, allowed me to\nclimb up, without the use of ladders, to another ledge.\n\n\"From here I ran another small ladder up to a ledge which was between\ntwo and three feet wide; from this ledge to the entrance of the cave was\nabout twelve feet, and my fourteen-foot ladder answered finely, but the\ndifficulty was, it had to stand so straight that it was rather ticklish\nbusiness going up; one could not help feeling that a slip or a little\nbackward jerk would topple it over into the valley below, and as from\nthe ledge where it stood to the bottom was some forty feet, a tumble on\nto the rocks would prove most unpleasant.\n\n\"However, my Mexican, Antonio, held the ladder, and by very careful\nwork I succeeded in reaching the mouth of the cave and crawling in. I\nhad no sooner entered than I felt pretty sure it had never previously\nbeen visited by any one since the original inhabitants left it. The\nfirst thing I did was to take a stout piece of twine from my pocket and\nfasten the end of the ladder to a piece of rock. Then I felt easier.\n\n\"There were numerous bits of broken pottery scattered about and one\nnearly perfect specimen. Besides these there was a very interesting bit\nof stone carving. These things I gathered together and placed in a heap\nnear the entrance. I then went back and, taking a small hatchet which I\nhad brought with me, commenced to dig about in the floor and pretty soon\nfound this little child mummy.\n\n\"By the time I had taken it out I was pretty thirsty and hot, as you may\nsuppose. I was careful and did not hurry matters, and the cave was like\nan oven.\n\n\"Wrapping the little mummy carefully in a big handkerchief which I had\ntied round my neck, I untied the twine from the ladder, and lowered the\nbundle slowly down to Antonio, my Mexican, who was standing at the foot\nof the top ladder. It reached him safely, but while he was untying it I\ncarelessly dropped the end of the string. I went back, however, and\ngathered up the other relics, intending to take some of them down with\nme and then come back for the rest if I could not manage them all the\nfirst time.\n\n\"While I was looking them over I heard a crash and the sound of tumbling\nstones, and looking out I saw that the ladder had fallen, and commenced\nto curse Antonio for his carelessness; but imagine my horror when I saw\nhim throw down the bottom ladder and then run as fast as he could\ntowards the camp. My first and only thought was to pay Antonio for his\ntreachery. It was evidently his intention to leave me safely housed in a\nplace from which I could never escape alive, and start off the proud\nowner of the two wagons, five horses, and various valuables which he\nbelieved my boxes to contain.\n\n\"My revolver was still in my belt, and hastily pulling it I commenced\nshooting at the running figure, now some sixty or seventy yards distant.\nThe first bullet knocked up a cloud of dust about three feet to his\nright and a little ahead, the second was still worse, but at the third\nhe turned sideways, staggered on several paces, and fell among some\nloose rocks in a way that must have been unpleasant. He tried to get up\nagain, but I now had his range pretty well and hit him again with the\nsixth shot; after that he lay pretty quiet, although I thought I saw him\nmove his arm once or twice. I reloaded, having plenty of cartridges in\nmy belt, and began shooting at him again. This time I hit him three\ntimes out of six shots, and as he had not moved for some minutes I\nconcluded that he was dead.\n\n\"Then I began to think over how I was going to get down. I was very\nthirsty and it was tantalizing to see the water down in the valley\nsparkling in the sunlight. It looked very clear and refreshing.\n\n\"I thought and thought, and the more I thought the more hopeless it\nseemed to me to plan a way to get down alive. There was one ladder still\nstanding,--the second one,--but there was a space of some thirty feet\nbefore I could reach it. I had absolutely nothing, not even a string, to\naid me in getting down.\n\n\"There was no use hoping for help from any one, for the place was rarely\nvisited, and it might be weeks before any person would discover that I\nwas there. I was getting more thirsty all the time, and, at last, I\nhated to go to the mouth of the cave, hot as it was inside, because the\nsight of the water nearly drove me mad. I amused myself by occasionally\ntaking a shot at Antonio. I had his range down pretty fine, now, and\nrarely missed him. It was getting late, and the sun had long since sunk\nout of sight. Above the mountains there was one tall peak which I could\nsee up the canyon. It stood out in the sunlight bright and shining, even\nafter the canyon had become quite dark.\n\n\"As the sun sank lower and lower the darkness crept gradually up until\nonly the very top was left a shining point. For a few minutes it shone a\nfiery red and then the light was gone like a huge torch which flickers\nand goes out.\n\n\"Then the night noises commenced: the incessant, maddening croaking of\nthe frogs and now and then an owl.\n\n\"Did you ever hear the frogs in Arizona?\"\n\nI responded in the affirmative.\n\n\"Well, then, you know something about what they sound like, and know\nthey can give Eastern frogs cards and spades and beat them easy. But you\ndon't know what they sound like when you are _really_ thirsty!\"\n\n\"Probably not,\" I answered.\n\n\"Well,\" continued the curiosity dealer, \"I knew nothing could be done\nuntil morning, so I lay down and tried to sleep. I was very nervous and\ncould not help fearing that in the night I might walk in my sleep or\nroll to the mouth of the cave and tumble out. I do not think I really\nslept at all, but lay in a half-dazed condition until it was light\nenough for me to see things in the canyon below.\n\n\"Strange to say, I was not hungry, although I had eaten nothing since\nthe previous morning. My whole thoughts were concentrated on the one\ndesire--something to drink! I thought and pondered, trying to think of\nsome possible way to get down! At one time I thought seriously of\njumping to the ledge below, but I knew that it would be impossible for\nme to stay on it even if my legs were not broken by the fall, and that\nto jump meant practically to commit suicide!\n\n\"At last a thought occurred to me that I might possibly make a rope out\nof my clothes. I had a large pocket-knife and a hatchet, and no sooner\nhad the thought suggested itself than I commenced to undress. My canvas\ncoat, shirt, and trousers and some thin underclothes constituted my\nentire wardrobe, and by carefully cutting them into strips wide enough\nto bear my weight, and yet narrow enough to give sufficient length, I\nsucceeded in making a kind of a rope with which I hoped I could succeed\nin reaching the second ladder without broken bones!\n\n\"I could not work steadily, as it was impossible for me to avoid getting\nup and now and then walking about the cave. I suffered so with the heat\nand thirst, that the hope of escape alone kept me from going mad. At\nlast the rope was done and tied together with various knots. It had a\ncreepy sort of stretchy feeling when I pulled on it, but I had no\nalternative but to trust to it,--it was that or nothing, and nothing\nmeant death from thirst in a very short time.\n\n\"I succeeded in fixing the hatchet firmly into and across a cleft in the\nrock where it was split, and it gave me something to tie the rope to\nwhich I was satisfied would hold my weight. I tied the end of the rope\nto the hatchet handle and threw the other end down, and was mighty glad\nto see that it reached within four or five feet of the middle ledge.\n\n\"I was stark naked excepting my shoes, and I tell you it was no easy\ntask letting one's self down over the sharp edges of the rock. Every\nmoment I expected one of the knots to give way, and I shall never forget\nthe feeling which came over me as I swung myself clear of the ledge and\nhung swaying on that improvised rope which seemed to stretch and grow\nthin in a way which sent cold shivers running up and down my spine. It\nseemed a year before I reached the ledge. I went down pretty slow,\nsparing the rope as much as I could by supporting part of my weight by\ndigging my toes into every little crack and crevice I could find, but I\ngot there at last, and when I did, I sat down on the ledge and cried\nlike a baby.\n\n\"Well, that is the story. Of course I got down the rest of the way all\nright, or I wouldn't be here; but I don't know as I would have done it\nif Antonio had pulled down the second ladder instead of the bottom one.\nHe was evidently in too much of a hurry to do the job up right. After\nreaching the second ladder, it was no kind of a trick to slide it down\nand use it over again. The first thing I did when I got down was to run\nas fast as I could to the river and drink as much water as I dared, then\nI lay down in the water and enjoyed it. Talk about your Paradise\nCocktails--they are not to be compared with that Verde River water which\nI tasted that day!\"\n\n\"Antonio?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, he is there yet, I believe, although I have never been back\nsince to see, and I hope I never will. My first experience among the\nCliff Dwellers was all sufficient.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE AMATEUR CHAMPIONSHIP.\n\n\nI.\n\nA committee from the Phoenix Athletic Club and one from the Prescott\nClub had met, and after considerable discussion had arranged a match to\ndecide the Amateur Championship of Arizona.\n\nAs the Phoenix and Prescott clubs were far and away the foremost\nathletic organizations in the Territory, the contest was looked forward\nto with a great interest, especially as an intense rivalry existed\nbetween the two cities.\n\n\"Let the contest be fair and square on both sides,\" said Smith, the\nchairman of the Phoenix committee. \"Let each club send its best man,\nwho is strictly an amateur, of course, and a member of the club, in\ngood standing, and let the best man win.\"\n\n\"Them's my sentiments exactly,\" responded Johnson, the chairman of the\nPrescott committee. \"Fair play and honors to the best man, say I! I did\nthink of sending a young fellow I know in our club who took some\nsparring lessons in 'Frisco last year, and is quite clever; he's a\ngunsmith by profession, but the trouble is he has been teaching the boys\nduring his spare time when he could get away from the shop, and that\nmakes him a professional, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"It does,\" said Smith, \"and I am glad to find you are as particular as I\nam in such matters; let me tell you, it is a pleasure to meet a man like\nyourself who tries to be fair and square, and to take no advantage of\nanybody. Let's take something.\"\n\nDuring the next few days there were anxious meetings of the committees\nin charge of the arrangements. A certain man well up in sporting\nmatters went to 'Frisco as a committee of one, representing the Prescott\nClub, to hunt for talent; at the same time a brother of the chairman of\nthe Phoenix committee, who kept a bar-room in Chicago, received a\nletter which caused considerable discussion between him and his partner,\nand several interviews with a certain short-haired, thick-set individual\nwho frequented his place.\n\n\"What I want,\" said the letter, \"is the best man you can get. Some one\nwho is a sure winner, and can punch the stuffing out of this amateur\nduck from Prescott. Don't make a mistake, and do not spare money. Get a\nstar, as the boys will bet all they have on him, and we do not want to\ntake any chances.\"\n\nThe following week the chairman of the committee of the Phoenix\norganization received a letter from his brother in Chicago, which\ninformed him that for two hundred dollars, and expenses, they had\nsecured the services of a well-known professional, but one who had never\nbeen West, and who, they were sure, could \"lick\" anything which could be\nproduced, professional or amateur, on the Pacific Coast. He had\ncommenced training, and they could rest easy, and bet as much money as\nthey wanted to.\n\nMeanwhile the Prescott Club's representative had made a rich find in San\nFrancisco, in the shape of an Australian professional who had just\nlanded and was therefore not likely to be recognized. He had a record of\nnumerous victories in his own country, and cheerfully undertook, for the\nsum of seventy-five dollars, \"to knock the bloomin' head off any\nbloomin' duffer,\" anywhere near his own weight, that might be brought\nagainst him.\n\nThings went along merrily, letters were exchanged between the chairman\nof the two committees reporting as to the progress of their\nrepresentatives.\n\n\"Our young man,\" wrote the Prescott leader, \"is doing very well, and I\nhope great things from him. Naturally we want to win, and have secured\nthe best man of good amateur standing in our town to represent us. He is\na drug clerk, and his mother objected pretty strongly at first, but she\nhas been talked over. There will be a party of at least one hundred of\nus go down with him, and I hope you will have front seats reserved for\nus. Most of the boys feel inclined to wager a little on the success of\nour representative, but he himself does not feel very confident of the\nresult. Upon my return I found quite a strong feeling in favor of having\nthe young gunsmith represent us, but, after my conversation with you,\ncould not for a moment countenance any such proceedings on our part.\"\n\nTwo nights following, the Prescott chairman read the following letter\nin answer to the one which he had sent:\n\n    TO R. W. JOHNSON, ESQ.,\n       _Chairman of the Committee\n             for the Prescott Athletic Club_,\n                              _Prescott, Arizona_:\n\n      DEAR SIR: I am glad to hear that there is considerable\n    interest taken in the forthcoming match. Boxing is a noble\n    art, and this coming contest will no doubt help to boom both\n    our clubs. There is a great interest taken here in the match,\n    and I warn you our man is getting himself in the very best\n    condition possible. He is nervous, of course, this being his\n    first appearance in an affair of this kind. He is a clerk in\n    a bank, who has lately been engaged by my friend Robinson,\n    and therefore does not get as much time for exercise as\n    perhaps would be wise, but Robinson is an enthusiastic sport,\n    as you know, and has arranged to let him get off several\n    hours each day. We look forward to a great contest, and I\n    certainly feel that the winner may fully consider himself the\n    Amateur Champion of the Territory. We shall take great\n    satisfaction in reserving the one hundred seats you ask for.\n    I think you will find all the money ready for you in the way\n    of bets that you will want. Our population is made up a great\n    deal, as you know, largely of miners and ranchers, and they\n    are inclined to bet recklessly. I cannot close without\n    congratulating the Prescott Athletic Club for the energy and\n    enterprise they have shown in this matter. May the best man\n    win!\n\n                                         Yours, etc.,\n                                                  J. SMITH.\n\n\nII.\n\nThere was a great crowd packed into the ring of the Phoenix Athletic\nAssociation on the evening of the contest. Seats were at a premium, and\nthe fight had been the principal subject of conversation for days. The\ntwo principals had met and been introduced to one another, just before\ngoing to the scene of the contest. Both were dressed for the occasion,\nand I tell you they were sights! The bank clerk had on a collar so high\nthat he could hardly turn his head, a high silk hat, long black\nfrock-coat, and an immense white rose in his buttonhole.\n\nThe Prescott drug clerk was still more gorgeous. Besides a buttonhole\nbouquet and high collar, he sported an eye-glass, and smoked a cigarette\nwhile in the presence of his opponent.\n\n\"'Ow's yer bloomin' 'ealth?\" remarked the drug clerk. \"Hi 'opes as 'ow\nyer fit.\"\n\n\"Ah-h-h, go arn,\" answered the embryo financier, using only one side of\nhis mouth, \"don't try ter jolly me, yer sage-brush dude, or I'll give\nyer a poke right here.\"\n\nSeveral members of the committee hastened to interfere, and put a stop\nto all further danger of trouble by hurrying the principals off to their\ndressing-rooms to prepare for the contest.\n\nIn the ante-room Smith hugged Robinson, and nearly wept with joy when\nthey were alone.\n\n\"Did you take a good look at the stiff?\" he gasped. \"Why, our man will\npunch daylight out of him in two minutes after the gong sounds! Why, I\nsay this is wrong--it is too easy; I really feel sorry for these\nPrescott chaps!\"\n\nRobinson chuckled and muttered something about \"fools and their money\nbeing soon parted,\" and then the two worthies repaired to the ringside.\n\nSmith was to be Master of the Ceremonies, and climbing upon the raised\nplatform he crawled through the ropes, and after looking about him for a\nmoment, raised his hands to enjoin silence.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" he said, \"I must beg you all to stop smoking. The contest\nwhich is to be held here to-night is to decide the Amateur Championship\nof the Territory of Arizona. Nothing is more calculated to incite among\nour younger men the love for athletic sports than such competitions,\nwhen conducted in a fair and sportsmanlike manner. I must beg of you\nnot to allow yourselves to be biased towards indulging in any unseemly\nnoise in case your favorite should be worsted. What we want is a fair\nfield and no favoritism, and while we hope our boy will win, none of\nyou, I am sure, would wish in any way to feel that either man was given\nany undue advantage. The men will fight with 3-oz. gloves, Marquis of\nQueensbury rules, three minutes to each round, with a minute's rest\nbetween. A man down to get up inside of ten seconds or be counted out.\nNo hitting in the clinches. Many of you are acquainted with the\ngentlemen who are our representatives this evening, but for the benefit\nof those who are not I will introduce them.\"\n\nWaving his hand towards the Prescott pugilist, he said:\n\n\"This is Alexander Harrington, amateur champion of the Prescott Athletic\nClub, who is, I may say, by profession a popular druggist in the town\nfrom which he comes. [Considerable applause.]\n\n\"And this,\" he continued, pointing to the man who represented the\nPhoenix Club, \"is J. Francis Livingstone, a young man who has shown\nhimself to be a good exponent of the noble art, and who is deemed to be\nthe amateur champion of the Phoenix Athletic Association. As he has\nonly lately arrived, and is not very well known to many of you, I may\nadd that he is a personal friend of our Vice-president, Mr. Robinson,\nand is employed at his bank. [Wild enthusiasm.] As there can be no\nquestion as to the amateur standing of the gentlemen, I will again beg\nof you to treat both men with equal favor, and will ask the Referee to\ncall time!\"\n\nThe seconds at this climbed down from the ringside, shoving their stools\nout under the ropes, and the two athletes, throwing aside their bath\nrobes, stood up in their corners, each stripped to the buff, with the\nexception of tight trunks and canvas shoes. A roar of admiration and\nastonishment went up as the bank clerk first exposed himself, and\nRobinson grinned at Smith across the ring as the splendid exhibition of\nmuscle was exhibited. It was evident that the bank clerk had not devoted\nall his time to banking; he was apparently as fit as a race-horse, and\nthe muscles of his back and arms twisted and rolled about like snakes,\nat every movement.\n\nBut Robinson's expression altered somewhat as he glanced at the drug\nclerk. That individual was somewhat shorter than his opponent, but if\nthe banking representative was well developed, he of the pharmaceutical\npersuasion was magnificent.\n\nBoth men had been fanned and washed, their gloves carefully tied on, and\nthey now stood rubbing their shoes on some powdered rosin which was\nscattered about the corners, eyeing each other intently. What they\nthought will probably never be given to the public, but there is no\ndoubt that each must have experienced a feeling of surprise at the\nphysical condition of his opponent. This did not affect them in the\nleast, however, as they were both as anxious to begin as bull-dogs, and\nwhen time was called and the gong rang, they danced to the middle and\ncommenced sparring for an opening, grinning with confidence.\n\nFor the first minute or two nothing was done. Forward and back they\nmoved, their arms moving in and out, each with his eyes fixed on the\nface of his opponent, watching closely for an opening. Then the bank\nclerk jumped in and led one, two, without effect, for his first blow was\nneatly guarded and the second brought a vicious cross-counter in return,\nwhich grazed his nose as he got back out of the way. In came the drug\nclerk with a rush, and they closed just as the gong sounded which ended\nthe round.\n\nUp through the ropes came the seconds with the activity of a lot of\nmonkeys, and the two men were hurriedly seated upon stools and each was\nfanned furiously with a towel by one second, while the other bathed his\nneck and face with cold water. A hum of conversation arose.\n\n\"Who is the blooming duck?\" whispered the druggist to his principal\nsecond. \"'E ain't no bleeding dude, I can tell yer.\"\n\nBut before the man had time to reply, the gong sounded the call of\n\"time,\" and the men sprang forward to the middle of the ring.\n\nThere was no sparring this time--they went at it biff, bang, right and\nleft, sending in their blows with all the power of their muscular\nbodies. The Referee, almost dancing with excitement, shouted to them to\n\"break away,\" and tried to part them when they clinched, but they were\nno sooner separated than they closed again, fighting with the energy and\ntenacity of bull-dogs.\n\nJust before time was up, the drug clerk swung his right and caught the\ngentleman of finance fair and square on the nose, with the result that\nPrescott was awarded first blood and first knock-down, amid great\nexcitement.\n\nDuring the one minute's rest the seconds did wonders. The men were\nsponged and rubbed, while fanned constantly with a large towel, water\nwas squirted on their heads and the back of their necks, and at the\nsound of the gong each arose from his stool looking as fresh as at the\nstart.\n\n_Round 3_ opened as though it would be a repetition of the hurricane\nstyle of fighting of the previous round, but after a clinch or two and\ngiving and receiving a few good blows, the men kept apart and fought\nmore warily. Each had evidently become satisfied that the other was not\nquite the easy victim he had expected; and as this conviction gradually\ndawned upon them they dropped the rough and tumble style and fought\nwith more skill and caution, each watching and waiting for an opening,\nhoping for a chance for a \"knock-out,\" but none came, and the round\nclosed with honors even.\n\nDuring the intermission Watkins, the sheriff, who was acting as Referee,\ntalked earnestly with a friend, and from time to time looked hard at the\ndrug clerk. He turned towards the time-keeper and seemed about to say\nsomething, when the bell rang and the men were again in the middle of\nthe ring.\n\n_Round 4_ had commenced.\n\nThey were both fresh and eager, but business was written all over their\nhard faces,--they were not smiling now. Round and round they moved,\nconstantly facing each other, their arms moving back and forth like a\nmachine. Now and then one or the other would make a quick feint or\nmove, and the other would spring back with the agility of a\ndancing-master.\n\nSuddenly the financier thought he saw an opening, and let go his left,\nbut was short, and received a counter in return which sounded all over\nthe place; then they went at it hammer and tongs and kept the Referee\nvery busy separating them, and making them fight fair. Questionable\nprize-ring methods were resorted to by both men, and the knowledge shown\nby these amateurs of the little unfair tricks of the professional\nprize-fighter was astonishing. The bank clerk took especial pains to\nstick his thumb in his opponent's eye whenever they clinched, and the\ncompounder of drugs used his head and elbow in a way which is frowned\nupon by advocates of fair play.\n\nThe men were fighting hard and fast when the round ended. Every man in\nthe crowd was on his feet yelling like a hyena, as they went to their\ncorners. Referee Watkins walked to the side of the ring, and raising\nhis hand to enjoin silence, stood waiting for the uproar to subside. At\nlast, when he could be heard, he addressed the crowd as follows:\n\n\"Gentlemen, I am sorry to stop this fight, but I must do it. These men\nare supposed to be fightin' for the Amatoor Champeenship of the\nTerritory. Whether this is a put-up job or not, I do not know, but I do\nknow that the Prescott man is a professional pug, lately arrived from\nAustralia. I suspected him from the first. From the way he acted I was\npretty blamed sure he was no drug clerk and my friend here, Jim Sweeney,\nswears he knows him, and that he was called the 'Ballarat Boy' when he\nsaw him fight in Australia, some seven months ago. I can't let this\nthing go on, and have honest men lose their money. I am not dead sure in\nmy mind that the other man isn't a ringer; he is a damned sight too good\nfor an amatoor; but that cuts no ice. This fight stops right now. It's\na draw, and all bets are off.\"\n\nThere was a tremendous row, but the pugilists were hurried off to their\nrespective dressing-rooms, and the crowd slowly left the building. On\nthe steps outside, Johnson, the chairman of the Prescott Athletic Club,\nmet Smith, and, going up to him, he offered him his hand.\n\n\"Smith,\" said he, \"I want to tell you how pained I am that the affair\nended as it did. You, of course, do not for a moment suspect that any of\nus knew our man was a professional. How he could deceive us I cannot\nunderstand. Why, I was never more fooled in my life!\"\n\nSmith shook hands heartily. \"Don't say a word, Johnson; the best of us\nare often deceived, and the more pure our motives are the easier it is\nto fool us.\"\n\n\"That's so.\"\n\nThey walked on in silence for a short distance.\n\n\"Smith.\"\n\n\"Hallo.\"\n\n\"Pity they stopped it; it was a lovely scrap while it lasted.\"\n\n\"That's what it was,\" said Smith.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRAGEDY OF THE WHITE TANKS.\n\n\n\"I do not believe,\" said the curiosity dealer, \"that the bite of the\ngila monster is fatal. It is poisonous, no doubt, and there have been\none or two cases of death where persons have been bitten by it, but it\nis always well to remember that the teeth themselves may be in a\ncondition to produce blood-poisoning, which might cause death without\nthe assistance of any particular toxic venom. The rattlesnake, however,\nwhich is rather too common in the desert, is a different sort of a chap.\nIf he strikes you, you may just as well make your will, and chirp your\ndeath song, as to monkey with physicians, and squander some of the good\nwealth which may be useful to your family.\"\n\nI asked him if he did not believe in the efficacy of some of the\nso-called Indian snake cures.\n\n\"There are lots of Indian remedies,\" he continued, \"and snake charmers'\ncures for rattlesnake bites, which are, in my opinion, all poppy-cock.\nIt is claimed that the Moquai Indians, during their Snake Dance, allow\nrattlesnakes to bite them, and after applying the juice of a certain\nherb suffer no ill effects from the poison. This may be all right, but\nthe antidote is considerable of a secret, and you cannot buy it at your\ndruggist's.\n\n\"There was a chap over in France who claimed to have produced an\nanti-venomous serum which was a sure cure for the poison of a\nrattlesnake, or any other old snake which you might want to have bite\nyou. I squandered five dollars of my hard-earned wealth in sending for\na bottle. This chap lives at Lille, France, and manufactures his serum\nat the Pasteur Institute at that place. He gives careful directions as\nto how much to use, and just how to use it, and it may be all right with\nsome snakes which have the reputation of being bad, but it don't go with\nour rattlers. I tried it in all sorts of ways. I tried to get a Mexican\nto experiment on, but couldn't. None of them had much faith in the\ncure--not enough to let a healthy snake bite 'em for five dollars.\n\n\"Then I tried dogs. I got three curs, all in robust health. The first\none died in fifteen minutes after being struck by a big rattlesnake\nwhich I had in a box, although I injected him with a carefully measured\ndose of the serum. Another one lived several hours, and made a hard\nstruggle. I thought at one time he might pull through, but it was no\nuse. He joined his friend in dog heaven after giving his final kick four\nhours and fifteen minutes after he and the snake had been introduced to\neach other.\n\n\"The third one was a half-breed bull bitch with lots of vitality. I\ntried to make this one immune by injecting a dose of the serum\ntwenty-four hours before, and again immediately after she was struck by\nthe snake, but she did not do as well as the other one, and died in\nthree hours and sixteen minutes. All these dogs seemed to die from\ninability to breathe. The poison apparently acts on the respiratory\ncentres rather than directly on the heart. They all vomited just before\nthey died.\"\n\n\"Have you never found out what the Indians use as an antidote?\" I asked.\n\n\"No, I have tried, but they keep it a carefully guarded secret. One\nreason why I believe that the secret is so carefully preserved is\nbecause they have no antidote, and the whole thing is a bluff.\n\n\"You see,\" continued the collector, \"in my wanderings about the country\nI have run across a great many queer people, and as you seem interested\nin this subject, I will tell you an incident which happened while I was\nout at camp one time at the White Tanks, catching gila monsters, horned\ntoads, etc.\n\n\"I remember the year well, because I had a lot of trouble with a very\nuseless assistant of mine, whom I sent to Central America to collect for\nme. Among the birds he brought back were a lot of skins of the blue\nchatterer--the one with the purple throat, you know. He knew I was\nanxious to get new species, so he thought he would be smart and make\nsome for me. So he manufactured five, all with faked labels on, showing\nthat each species was taken at different altitudes. Unfortunately he\ncommenced too high, and the mountains in the vicinity where he\ncollected, and where the labels indicated that the birds were taken,\nlacked several hundred feet of the necessary altitude for two of the\nspecies, so that if his labels were correct he must have shot them out\nof a balloon.\n\n\"They all looked alike except about the throat and head. One lot had a\ngold band across the breast, another had the whole throat gold, others\nhad gold stripes or spots. I believe he produced these gaudy effects\nwith the lighted end of his cigar.\n\n\"He doctored up a lot of humming-birds, too, and made me a peck of\ntrouble. I fired him, all right. Dishonesty in a trade like mine is, I\nthink, most reprehensible, and there is no money in it, because you are\ndead sure to get found out.\n\n\"He was a cute little chap, however, and had learned a lot of tricks\nfrom the Indians. He could change a bird's color by feeding it on\ncertain kinds of food. There is a chap in Amsterdam who does about the\nsame thing and brightens up old worn birds which have faded out in the\nZoological Gardens, and sends them back with all the brilliancy of their\noriginal plumage restored; but he cannot turn a red parrot blue, or make\na gray bird with a yellow head turn to bright orange all over, as this\nchap could. He told me how he did it, but the secret is too good to give\naway. But to get back to the story about rattlesnakes:\n\n\"It was, as I said, in the spring of '89, a party of us were camped at\nthe White Tanks about forty-five miles north-west of here, and one day a\nchap came into our camp, a half-breed Mexican Indian, who called himself\na snake-charmer. He had a box of rattlesnakes which he would allow to\ntwine round his neck and bite him, for a dollar. He travelled about the\ncountry giving exhibitions with his snakes, and selling the rattlesnake\ncure, which was put up in small bottles containing a brown-colored\nliquid, which he claimed he made from a plant which was a sure cure for\nthe bite of the rattlesnake, and a number of the boys bought this\nremedy, paying him a dollar a bottle.\n\n\"He had seen our camp, as he drove along the road to Phoenix, and he\ntold us he had been up country for two or three weeks visiting some\nmines, where he had done very well, selling his cure to the miners and\nexhibiting his snakes.\n\n\"There were several of us in the party, and one chap, a doctor by the\nname of Baker, who was always playing practical jokes. As we were coming\nback to Phoenix, the next day, Miguel, which was the snake-charmer's\nreal name, I believe, although he was generally known as Mexican John,\ndecided to stay over a day and go back with us.\n\n\"Baker proposed that we should see how much faith Miguel had in his own\nantidote. As it happened, I had captured a very big rattlesnake the day\nprevious, and had him in a box in my tent. By the aid of some forked\nsticks and bagging we succeeded in fastening the snake so that he could\nnot move. We then pried his mouth open, and kept it open with a small\nstick. We took all this trouble for the purpose of preparing him to\nassist in an experiment in which he and Mexican John were to be the\nprincipal performers. Baker carefully cut out the poison-sacs, which are\nsituated just beneath the temporal muscle, back of the eye. It was\nsuggested that it would be better to remove the fangs, to avoid any\npossibility of danger; but Baker objected, as he said removing the fangs\nwould give the whole thing away.\n\n\"He took the precaution, however, while the snake lay helpless with its\nmouth open, to carefully wash the teeth, and then filled the small\nopenings near the end of the fangs with some dental cement which Baker\nhad in his outfit, which hardens in a few minutes. You see, the fangs\nof a rattlesnake are like two hypodermic syringes. They are hollow\ntubes, as it were, with an opening near the point,--a little narrow\nslit, but one that is easily seen, if you look for it. Through this he\nsquirts the poison by the aid of the temporal muscle, which he contracts\nas he strikes.\n\n\"As we had removed the poison-sacs and plugged up the fangs, this snake\nwas not in a very good condition to do any serious harm. He, however,\nwas fighting mad, and evidently did not enjoy the operation which he had\nundergone. It did not seem to hurt him any, however, for he was as\nlively as a kitten when we let him loose in the box, and was ready and\nanxious to strike at anything.\n\n\"Towards evening Miguel came back to camp, and we had the snake all\nready for him. It was a much larger one than those which he had in his\nbox, and when we slipped it in among the others we could easily\nrecognize it from its size. The boys asked John to give an exhibition of\nthe curative powers of his snake cure, saying that they would like to\nbuy some more, but wished to see it tried before doing so.\n\n\"John was quite ready, and after opening a bottle of the antidote he\nlifted the cover of his snake box, and reached in his hand to take one\nof them out. As he did so, he was immediately struck good and hard by\nour latest addition to the collection.\n\n\"My, how he carried on! He looked hastily into the box, and then at the\nmarks on his hand, where the fangs had cut in. He gave one screech,\ngrabbed a knife, cut the place wide open, and commenced to suck it\nfiercely, at the same time praying and cursing almost in the same\nbreath.\n\n\"The boys begged him to apply his antidote, asking him what was the\nmatter and why he appeared to be so frightened, but all the answer they\ncould get was, 'Don't touch me. I am going to die! I'm going to die!'\n\n\"And say, what do you think? He _did_ die! He got weaker and weaker. His\nteeth were clenched, and he refused to take whiskey, although the boys\nforced some down his throat. In a little while he became insensible, and\nin less than an hour he was dead.\n\n\"'Scared to death,' you say? Well, maybe so; anyway, the boys said the\nlaugh was on Baker!\"\n\n\n\n\nTOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT.\n\n\nWhen Dr. Watson entered I saw by his manner that he had something of\nmore than usual interest to communicate. Watson has a trick of winding\nand unwinding his watch chain around his finger whenever he has some\ncase in which he is particularly interested. As a rule, his work in the\nasylum keeps him busy the greater part of the day, and the little time\nhe has to spare is given to cases in which he is called in consultation\nor by special appointment.\n\nTherefore, knowing how busy he was, I felt certain that something out of\nthe ordinary had called him from his regular duties at this time of day,\nand I was interested to learn what it was.\n\nWatson is nothing if not direct, and rarely wastes words. On this\noccasion he certainly lived up to his reputation, for he began talking\nbefore he was fairly in the room.\n\n\"My dear Morris,\" he said, \"I have called to talk with you of a most\ninteresting case, which has lately come under my observation. It is one\nin which I need your help, and I hope you will be able to spare the time\nto assist me.\"\n\nI nodded and waved him to a chair.\n\n\"The case in question is a most interesting one, in which hypnotic\nsuggestion may or may not be an important factor.\n\n\"You know young Blake, the son of the late Mathew Blake, and you are\naware that he has been rather extravagant in his habits and ways of\nliving, and although not exactly a spendthrift, undoubtedly spends more\nmoney than he ought to in many ways. The great trouble with him is his\npassion for race-horses, and that is what, one of these days, is going\nto break him financially, unless I am very much mistaken.\n\n\"Just now young Blake has two horses entered in the big race which comes\noff day after to-morrow at Eaton Park. One of his horses, called\nEmperor, is well known, and he should easily win the race. He is by far\nthe best horse of the lot, and has been selling in the pools for two to\none against the field. The other horse is not nearly as good as Emperor,\nand has little chance of being placed. Murphy, the jockey who is to ride\nEmperor, is one of the best on the turf, although comparatively a young\nboy, probably about nineteen years old. He has ridden a number of races,\nand from all reports is a lad of good habits, and seemingly thoroughly\nhonest.\n\n\"Young Blake, as you know, 'plunges' more or less on his horses when\nthey run, whenever he thinks they have a fair show to win, and in this\ncase he has bet a great deal more money than he can afford to lose,\nknowing that unless the horse meets with some unforeseen accident he is\ncertain to win the race. As I understand it, he has bet so much money\nthat if by any chance Emperor should lose the race it would seriously\nhurt young Blake. Of course, this is all foolishness from our\nstandpoint, but the fact remains that the young man has bet this money,\nand that any accident which would interfere with his pulling off that\nrace would cause him serious loss.\n\n\"Knowing his father as I did, I have taken more or less interest in the\nboy, and have time and again advised him to let racing alone, and settle\ndown to more serious life. I should not have taken the special interest\nin this particular race had it not been that by a curious coincidence\ninformation has come to me which leads me to suspect that everything is\nnot as it should be at young Blake's stables.\n\n\"Last year one of the stable boys, a lad by the name of Collins, was\nbadly injured by an accident, and young Blake saw that he was nicely\ntaken care of, and paid him a salary during his illness. The youngster\nwas grateful, and the other day, it seems, he came to Mr. Blake and told\nhim that Murphy, the jockey who is to ride Emperor, had been sleeping\nbadly for several nights, and talked a good deal in his sleep about the\nhorses.\n\n\"Murphy and Collins sleep together in the room over the stable, and the\nnight before last Collins was awakened by hearing Murphy call out to\nsome one, and then say distinctly, 'Yes, yes, I understand; if you wave\nyour handkerchief I am to 'pull' Emperor. If you do not wave it I am to\nwin, if I can.'\n\n\"This is serious business. The boy was dreaming, of course; but why did\nhe dream such a dream? The idea of 'pulling' being in the boy's mind is\nin itself enough to cause serious reflection. Yesterday young Blake\ncalled on me and told me this story as it had been told to him by\nCollins. Collins was present at the time, and again repeated his\nstatement, declaring positively that he could not have been mistaken in\nthe words spoken by Murphy in his sleep, and that the boy seemed very\nmuch excited.\n\n\"Blake, by my advice, sent for Murphy and we had a serious conversation\nwith him. The boy seemed thoroughly honest, and was very much hurt upon\nbeing questioned in regard to the matter. He said that he had worked for\nBlake several years and had always tried to do right, that he intended\nto ride his best, and win the race if he could.\n\n\"Blake naturally feels somewhat disturbed under the circumstances, but\nhe believes the boy is honest, and he believes young Collins must in\nsome way have been mistaken in what he imagines he heard. Or, if he was\nnot mistaken, that Murphy was dreaming, and the words had no\nsignificance.\n\n\"He told Murphy to go back to the stables, and that he would trust him\nimplicitly, stating at the same time that it would cause him serious\ninconvenience if by any chance Murphy should not win, as he had bet a\nlarge amount of money on the result.\n\n\"Murphy, with tears in his eyes, thanked him for trusting him, and went\nback to the stables. Afterwards I had a serious conversation with\nCollins, and learned that on two occasions he had seen Murphy talking\nwith a strange man who often visited the track.\n\n\"Upon inquiry we have learned that the man in question is a brother of a\nman who married Murphy's sister, and that Murphy has met him several\ntimes at his sister's house. The man's name is Simms. He is a low\ncharacter, who is known as a habitual frequenter of the race track, and\nwho at times does business as a poolseller and bookmaker. Simms is\ndescribed as being thin and dark, with a big scar on his right cheek,\nusually wears a soft hat, and carries a cane with considerable silver\nabout the handle.\n\n\"Last night I decided to have an interview with Murphy and find out\nwhether the lad could be hypnotized or not. Why this idea suggested\nitself to me I do not know, except that, as you know, hypnotism is one\nof my hobbies. With Blake's consent I sent for Murphy, and asked him to\nlet me look him over, as I would like to assure Blake as to his physical\ncondition, as naturally he was feeling, as I told him, somewhat nervous\nafter our interview of the morning.\n\n\"The boy consented readily enough, and after listening to his heart,\nand asking him a few questions which might suggest a cause for his\nrestlessness at night, I asked him to look at me fixedly while I gently\nstroked his forehead above the eyes with my hand. Imagine my surprise\nwhen I found him to be an extremely sensitive hypnotic subject. He did\nnot become entirely unconscious, but was in a peculiar somnambulistic\ncondition, in which he conversed readily enough. He is one of the best\nsubjects for post-hypnotic suggestion that I have ever seen.\n\n\"I tried several experiments with him, and the thought occurred to me if\nit was not possible that this susceptibility to hypnotic suggestion\nmight be used by unscrupulous persons in many ways, which might be\nespecially dangerous in case he was riding a good horse in a race.\n\n\"Upon questioning Murphy, after I had awakened him, regarding his\nsusceptibility to hypnotic influence, he told me that _Simms had often\nput him to sleep for fun, when they met at his sister's house_. The\nquestion which now presents itself is, Suppose he has been hypnotized\nand has been given a post-hypnotic suggestion, that he is to 'pull'\nEmperor if a certain man waves his handkerchief, how are we to prevent\nhis carrying out these instructions? Of course, we can take the boy off\nthe horse and put on another jockey, but Blake does not wish to do this.\n\n\"In his waking moments Murphy does not remember anything that has been\ntold him while hypnotized, and I doubt if we could make Blake believe\nthat there was any real danger in that quarter. Again, if we allow him\nto go in and ride the race, it is more than possible that he could be\nmade to win or lose the race by any one who had given him orders while\nin a hypnotic condition, and we also know that he would forget entirely\nthat he had received such orders after waking.\n\n\"Now, the difficulty presents itself as to how we can prevent him\nfollowing out such instructions, in case he has received them. We know\nwe cannot affect such suggestions by re-hypnotizing him, because we do\nnot know the exact circumstances under which such directions were given.\nTo merely hypnotize and tell him he is not to carry out such orders\nwould have no effect whatever. Perhaps if we could tell him that under\ncertain described circumstances he was not to carry out such orders we\nmight succeed.\n\n\"But my experience has been that the directions, as given, are carried\nout by the subject if, at the time, the circumstance described, which is\nto be recognized as a signal for such and such action on the part of the\nhypnotized sensitive, occurs _and is noticed_.\n\n\"For instance, if I should hypnotize a young man, and say that at eight\no'clock, when he hears the clock strike, he should at once go downstairs\nand get a glass of water, he would undoubtedly do it when the clock\nstruck eight. But if the clock did not strike eight, supposing some one\nhad removed the striker, and when near the hour some one occupied his\nattention so that he did not notice the time, in all probability he\nwould not obey orders. It requires some special occurrence which has\nbeen described in connection with the act to suggest it again to his\nmind.\n\n\"In my opinion, the best we can do is to let Murphy ride the race, and\nto take all precautions possible to prevent any man waving his\nhandkerchief to Murphy during the race. Of course, to have any real\neffect on the race, the person waving his handkerchief as a signal for\nMurphy to 'pull' Emperor must do so far enough from the home stretch to\nmake it certain that Emperor can be prevented from winning without\nattracting especial attention, which could not be done in case Emperor\nwas in the lead if the signal was given close to the Grand Stand. We,\ntherefore, must look out for our man, if such a man there be, some\ndistance down the race-track.\n\n\"Now, if you will go to the track with me to-morrow we will station\nourselves in places where we think it likely that such a person would\nstand, and keep a sharp watch for a thin, dark man with a scar on his\ncheek. Will you join me?\"\n\nI assured him I would be more than willing to do so, as I was very much\ninterested in the case.\n\n\"Good! Now, this is my plan. I shall take Mike Falan with me, and he is\nworth half a dozen men in the case of a row. I have also engaged three\nprivate detectives to be on the watch at the entrance to the Grand\nStand, and another at the entrance to the grounds, while a fifth is to\nstation himself at the side of the track, and do sentinel duty about the\nhalf-mile post, with orders to report to me the moment Simms puts in an\nappearance, and to have him shadowed. Of course, this elaborate plot may\nexist only in my imagination, but if, as I believe, there is a carefully\narranged scheme to beat Blake's horse, we shall have done him a good\nturn, and perhaps saved him a lot of money. I must go now, but don't\nfail to meet me to-morrow at eleven, at the track. You will find me in\nfront of the Grand Stand.\"\n\nThe next morning when I arrived at the track I found Dr. Watson in\nconversation with a powerful-looking man whom he introduced to me as\nMike Falan. We walked slowly up the track to a point about a quarter of\na mile from the finish. There was a great crowd of people present, the\nnumbers had gone up for the first race, and most of the horses were\nalready out and \"warming up.\" Emperor appeared to be in splendid\ncondition. As he galloped easily up and down in front of the Grand Stand\nhis great muscles rolled and swelled under the shiny skin, and he looked\nand acted like a horse fit to race for his life. He was a prime favorite\nat the pools and was selling at two to one against the field.\n\n\"I have seen Blake,\" said Watson, \"and he is feeling confident that\nEmperor will win. He is somewhat nervous, of course, but he tells me the\nhorse is in first-class shape, and that Murphy is all right. No signs of\nSimms yet and the race will be started in less than ten minutes. It\nbegins to look as though I have been frightened at a shadow.\"\n\nAt this moment a man touched Watson on the arm and whispered something\nto him and then moved quickly away through the crowd. Watson started,\nand turning to me said,\n\n\"Come this way. Simms is here, he is down the track, below the gate.\"\n\nHe hurried away, Mike and I following, and upon getting clear of the\ncrowd we saw a man leaning against the picket fence which separated the\ntrack from the carriage drive, watching the horses through a small\nfield-glass. As we came up, Simms, for it was he, glanced suspiciously\nat us, but as we paid no attention to him and talked earnestly together,\napparently arguing as to the relative merits of the horses, he soon\nceased to notice us and turned again to the horses.\n\nHardly had he done so when he hurriedly put the glass in his pocket, and\na great shout from the Grand Stand and cries of \"They're off!\" told us\nthat the great race had commenced.\n\nWe could see the horses far off on the opposite side of the track all\nrunning in a bunch, until they neared the half-mile flag, when two were\nseen to be well in advance of the others. As they swung round the curve\nwe could see the red cap worn by Murphy flashing in the sun, and we knew\nthat Emperor was leading. But another horse, a deep bay, the jockey\ndressed completely in blue, was very close to him.\n\nOn they came, and Watson and Mike edged closer and closer to Simms,\nwhose whole attention was fixed on the race. His face was flushed, and\nhe was actually dancing with excitement. We watched him as a cat watches\na mouse, and it was very lucky for Blake that we did so. The horses were\nnow quite near us, and we could see Murphy plainly, and noted how white\nand drawn his face looked. Suddenly Simms pulled a large white\nhandkerchief from his pocket, but as he did so the doctor snatched it\nfrom his hand and at the same instant Mike seized him in his powerful\narms, and dragged him from the fence.\n\nMad with surprise and rage, he struggled and kicked like a wild animal.\n\"Damn you,\" he yelled, \"let me go; let go, I say! What in hell do you\nmean?\"\n\n\"Let him go, Mike,\" said the doctor. Mike pushed Simms from him, and he\nstaggered back against the fence. The man was crazy with rage, and I\nbelieve for the moment he was really insane. He half crouched as if to\nspring at us, snarling and showing his teeth like a savage dog, then his\nhand went to his hip pocket.\n\n\"I wouldn't try that if I were you, Simms,\" said Watson quietly. \"You\nwill get the worst of it if you do.\"\n\nWatson's right hand was in the pocket of his sack-coat, and his eyes\nsaid, \"I'll shoot,\" as plainly as if he had told Simms so in so many\nwords.\n\n\"See here, you,\" cried Mike, \"if you pull a gun I'll smash your jaw!\"\n\nSimms looked from one to the other of us, with the expression of a\nmadman. His face was ghastly white, and the scar on his cheek stood out\nlivid, in contrast with the white skin. I thought for a moment he was\nabout to draw his revolver, but suddenly he turned and ran toward the\ncrowd, and in a moment was lost to our view.\n\nThe shouting and cheering still kept up, and, as we hurried toward the\nGrand Stand, Watson asked a man which horse had won.\n\n\"Emperor, by a length,--a great race!\"\n\nWe found Blake in front of the stand. He came to us and shook hands. His\nface was beaming with the joy of success.\n\n\"Do you know,\" he said, \"I do believe that something is the matter with\nMurphy. He was as pale as a ghost after the race. He said he could\nremember nothing about it until he found himself in the home stretch\nrunning neck and neck with Nettie B. Then he seemed to wake from a\ndream, and sat down and rode Emperor for all he was worth. You know the\nrest. He won out all right, but I tell you it was a confounded sight too\nclose for comfort.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STRANGE POWDER OF THE JOU JOU PRIESTS.\n\n\nDr. Watson carefully opened the little antique silver box, which was\nabout the size and shape of an ordinary watch, and showed that it\ncontained a gray powder and a little gold measure resembling a miniature\nthimble. It was evidently very old, the cover being worn smooth in many\nplaces, nearly effacing the peculiar hieroglyphics with which it had\nonce been engraved.\n\n\"I consider this,\" he said, \"my _chef-d'oeuvre_, my 'star exhibit,' as\nit were. The powder possesses such wonderful properties, and is so\nunlike any known drug, that I hesitate to describe its effects. That it\nis a powerful poison there can be no doubt, but when taken in small\ndoses it is apparently harmless enough.\"\n\n\"What is its history?\" asked Dr. Farrington.\n\n\"I picked it up in London. Got it from Burridge, the explorer, who had\njust returned from a year's trip in the interior of West Africa. He went\ninto Benin City with the English when they cleaned out the town.\nBurridge says he took it from a dead Jou Jou priest, and he made me pay\na pretty stiff price for it. It is a wonderful drug, entirely unknown\noutside of Africa. Burridge thinks it is made from the leaves of some\nplant; but its preparation is a secret of the priests of Jou Jou.\n\n\"Now, I propose that we each take a small quantity of the powder\nto-night, and then dine together to-morrow evening and compare notes. I\nmay as well tell you now, it produces strange hallucinations. I tried\nit once myself, and my experience on that occasion was, to say the\nleast, peculiar; therefore I am more than anxious to try it again, and\ncompare notes with you afterwards, and I think I can promise you a new\nand novel experience.\"\n\nFarrington and Forster were perfectly willing to try the experiment\nwhich Watson hinted promised such interesting results, and it was agreed\nthat each should take a dose of the powder before retiring, and meet\ntogether the next evening.\n\nPromptly at the time appointed, the three men met in Watson's study, and\nafter cigars had been lighted Watson asked Farrington to be the first to\nrelate his experience, whereupon the Doctor drew from his pocket several\npages of closely written manuscript, and began as follows:\n\n\n\n\nAN AZTEC MUMMY.\n\n[DR. FARRINGTON'S STORY.]\n\n\nI was standing in a museum looking at a case of mummies. One of them was\nmarked \"Mummy of an Aztec, found in a Cliff Dwelling,\" and it interested\nme very much. In size it was that of a small man, and was in a fine\nstate of preservation, with the exception that the bones of the legs\nwere exposed, and more or less disintegrated, in some places. The hands,\neven to the finger nails, were perfect, however, and there was a silver\nring on the index finger. One hand grasped a large stone axe--the handle\nbeing modern. The right hand rested across the chest, clasping a\nnecklace of silver wire.\n\n\"Interesting specimen, is it not?\" said a voice at my side.\n\n\"Quite so,\" I replied. \"But I doubt if it is really an Aztec mummy.\"\n\n\"What makes you think that?\" asked the voice sharply.\n\n\"Because I don't believe the Aztecs buried their dead in Cliff\nDwellings. However, it is an interesting mummy, and in a wonderful state\nof preservation.\"\n\nI was so interested in examining the mummy that I had spoken without\nturning my head. Now, however, I looked up and saw a tall, gaunt figure\nof a man dressed in a suit of corduroy, and wearing a broad-brimmed hat,\nor sombrero, such as is generally worn on the Western plains.\n\n\"Well,\" he remarked, \"in my opinion, it is a pretty good mummy. I made\nit myself, and ought to know.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, what did you say?\" I asked, thinking I had not understood\nhim aright.\n\n\"I said that was one of my mummies.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that, sir?\" I asked.\n\n\"You will understand when I tell you I was a dealer in curiosities, and\nduring my time I furnished museums with a great many interesting and\nvaluable specimens; when trade was slow, I occasionally helped nature a\nlittle, but that is all over now.\"\n\n\"Have you given up the business?\" I asked.\n\n\"Had to; but perhaps you do not know that I am dead,\" answered my\ncompanion. \"Fell from a cliff last year and broke my neck.\"\n\n\"Did you, indeed?\" I answered, trying to appear interested.\n\n\"That's what I did. But let me tell you about that mummy. There was a\nscientific chap who came to our place and wanted to buy Aztec relics. Me\nand my partner made a trade with him and sold him a lot of stuff; but\nhe was very anxious to be taken where he could dig some up for himself,\n'to be sure of the authenticity and antiquity of the relics.' Well, me\nand my pard figured up that it might be to our advantage to take him to\na good Cliff Dwelling, and we arranged that he should pay us so much for\neverything he dug up. If he found a mummy we got one hundred dollars; if\nstone hatchets and axes, two dollars each; arrow-heads, ten cents each;\nfor stone _matats_ and grinders, one dollar each, taking them as they\ncame; and whole pottery, five dollars.\"\n\n\"Where did you find the mummy? Did you know of the cave?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, we knew where there were lots of caves, and where there were\nIndian graveyards. With the aid of a little stain and judicious\narrangement of a body we prepared a fine Aztec mummy. Of course we used\nthe body of an Indian, one who had been dead for a long time and was\ndried up and crumbly. My partner was a clever chap, and he fixed up the\naxe and the silver necklace, and we took the outfit and started for the\nVerde Canyon. We picked out a good-sized cave, and dug a hole in the\nfloor, in which we carefully placed the mummy and covered him up with\ndry dust; then we wet the clay over him, leaving the floor hard and\nsmooth as before. We also buried about fifty axes and two or three\nhundred arrow-heads, and half a dozen nice specimens of Indian pottery,\nwhich we burned up good and black.\n\n\"After we had 'salted' the cave to our satisfaction, we partly sealed up\nthe entrance and returned to Flagstaff.\"\n\n\"Was that acting quite fair?\"\n\n\"Fair? Why, how do you think that poor man would have felt if he had\ncome all the way out to Arizona, and gone to all the expense of his\ncar-fare and outfit, and then found nothing? It was philanthropy, my\ndear sir, the height of philanthropy.\"\n\n\"Was he pleased with the mummy?\"\n\n\"Pleased? Why, bless your dear, innocent soul, he screamed with joy like\na child, when we accidentally discovered a piece of a toe while digging\nin the bottom of the cave! He dropped on his knees and removed every\nparticle of dirt with his hands, and almost cried over it. He carried on\nso that my partner nearly gave us away. He was a chump about some\nthings: if anything pleased him, he would laugh, and his laugh sounded\nlike the bray of a jackass.\n\n\"Well, sir, when this scientific chap got down on his knees, and\ncommenced to paw the earth away from the fake mummy, my partner began to\ngurgle. I knew what was coming and punched him in the ribs, but it did\nno good. The scientific chap looked up and asked what was the matter.\n\n\"'Matter?' shouted my pard, and then he roared and yelled and howled.\n\n\"A look of doubt and annoyance came into our victim's eyes; but pard\nsaved himself just in time.\n\n\"'Look!' he yelled between his paroxysms of laughter, 'look at that\nbuzzard over there! I'm damned if he ain't the funniest buzzard I ever\nsaw in my life,' and then he roared and yelled and jumped about. 'Look\nat him,' he laughed; 'see him fly! did you ever see anything so funny?'\n\n\"I am not sure but what the scientist thought he was crazy, but anyhow,\nhe didn't catch on to what he was laughing at, and pretty soon went on\nwith his digging. We stayed there three days and dug the whole place up\nand took back with us a basket full of stone axes, arrow-heads, three\nlarge prehistoric vases, and the mummy. He drove the wagon himself every\nstep of the way, for fear something would get broken, and when we got\nto Flagstaff he spent two days packing the relics.\"\n\n\"Do you consider that sort of thing quite honorable?\" I asked.\n\n\"Honorable? What is that you say, you squint-eyed dude? Now, my boy,\ndon't get fresh with me just because I am dead and can't jump you.\"\n\nI hastened to pacify him.\n\n\"Well, that's all right, but if you had said that to me last year when I\nwas alive I would have marked squares all over your body with a piece of\nchalk and then played hop-scotch on you.\"\n\n\"I meant no offence,\" I said humbly.\n\n\"Maybe you didn't. But just you make another break like that, and I\nwon't forget it; you will have to die sometime, and then,--oh, mamma!\"\n\n\"Is your partner dead?\" I asked.\n\n\"No, Jim is not dead by a long shot. I went down to see him last winter\nat his place in California, where he has opened up a new store. He has\na good tourist trade--made a lot of money this year out of mermaids and\nsea-devils--there was a run on sea-devils this winter. He makes them out\nof fishes.\n\n\"The mermaids he makes out of fishes' tails and Indian children--robs\nthe graveyards, you know. Some of them are really fine and artistic. I\ntell you he is an artist in his line.\n\n\"He has a branch store still somewhere in New Mexico, and made a stack\nof money last winter in Navajo blankets and scalp-trimmed Indian arms\nand shields. It is the scalp trimming which catches the tourist. He gets\nmost of his scalps from California, from hospitals there; but when he is\nshort, horse hair does pretty well, especially for old Indian scalps.\n\n\"And then, Navajo blankets. Holy smoke, a gold mine isn't in it! They\nmake them of Germantown wool and aniline dyes, and they cost at the\nfactory all the way from six bits to $10, and sell to the tourist for\nvarious prices; sometimes as high as $75 or $80. Oh, I tell you he is\nshrewd; some day he will be worth a million!\n\n\"Sometimes a chap goes into his shop and poses as an expert--those are\nthe kind of jays that fill Jim's soul with joy. The fellow will pull\nover a pile of blankets, and after looking at them wisely, will say,\n'Haven't you got any real good blankets? These are Germantown wool and\nmineral dyes.'\n\n\"Then Jim will say--'Ah, I see you know something about blankets.'\n\n\"'Oh, yes; a little,' answers the expert.\n\n\"'The fine old-style blankets are mighty hard to get now,' remarks Jim.\n\n\"'I know they are,' remarks the wise tourist, 'but still they are to be\nhad sometimes, are they not? Come, now, haven't you got something\nchoice hidden away?'\n\n\"Then Jim will look about, as though fearful that somebody might see\nhim, and will steal softly into a back room and pull from beneath his\nbed a good cheap blanket--worth about $3--and spread it out lovingly in\nfront of the tourist.\n\n\"'There,' he whispers; 'look at that; that is not for sale. I am keeping\nthat for myself, but I thought you would like to see it, as it is very\nevident you know a good deal about blankets; isn't it a beauty?'\n\n\"Then the tourist 'bites,' and asks him what it is worth, and admires\nit, agrees with him as to the splendid old dyes and fine preservation of\nthe native wool prepared in the manner of the old Navajo, speaks of its\ngreat rarity, and at last ends by asking Jim what he will take for it,\nand usually carries it away with him, having paid three or four times\nthe value of a really good blanket.\n\n\"I've seen Jim pull their legs so hard they'd pretty near limp when\nthey went out. Ah, those were happy days!\"\n\nThe departed heaved a deep sigh, and gazed silently at his handiwork.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I must be going; I have a lot of things I want to do\nbefore morning, but hope to run across you sometime again. Glad you like\nthe mummy. I forgot to mention that most of the teeth were gone when we\nfirst got it, and Jim put in a fine new set, and improved it a whole\nlot.\"\n\nI glanced at the mummy, and when I looked up again, my companion had\ndisappeared.\n\n\n\n\nA LESSON IN CHEMISTRY.\n\n[MR. FORSTER'S STORY.]\n\n\nI took the powder as agreed, and sat down to read the evening paper\nbefore retiring, with the result that I did not retire at all. I became\nmuch interested in an article on new explosives with which the\nGovernment has been lately experimenting, and had nearly finished it,\nwhen I heard a voice say to me, \"Interesting subject, isn't it?\"\n\nI turned, and saw seated on my lounge a peculiar-looking man: his\nclothes seemed to be all run in together. You could make out the\noutlines of the man, but the figure was not clear; sort of foggy, you\nknow. What surprised me most was that I could look right through him\nand see that back of the lounge.\n\nI said to myself, \"Is this a dream or the effect of the powder I have\ntaken?\" and I pinched my leg, and rubbed my eyes, but although I seemed\nto be perfectly wide awake, the shape did not disappear.\n\n\"What did you say?\" I asked.\n\n\"I remarked that the subject of high explosives was decidedly\ninteresting,\" answered the shape. \"I was a chemist when alive, but it\nmakes me sad to think how very little I really knew. Chemistry, as well\nas other branches of science, has made great strides during the past\ngeneration, since my day, but even now they really know very little.\"\n\n\"But,\" I answered, \"it seems to me the high explosives which we now have\nare sufficiently powerful if we knew how to use them with safety.\"\n\n\"That's it,\" answered the shape. \"Now, I have a couple of hours to\nspare, and, if it would interest you, and you care to come over to my\nlaboratory, I will be happy to give you one or two points which may\nprove of value to you--I say to my laboratory, but it really is not\nmine; I use any laboratory that is handiest, and I know most of the good\nones in the city. You see, I do not need to have a key to enter a room;\nthat is one of the great advantages we have, as you will discover one of\nthese days. Just now I can get you in very well because the owner of the\nlaboratory to which we will go is out of town. I will go in first and\nunlock the door for you.\"\n\nI told him that I should be most happy to accept his invitation; it\nseemed the most natural thing in the world to be conversing with a ghost\nand to have him invite me to go to somebody's laboratory and use up his\nchemicals. It never occurred to me that it might not be considered quite\ngood form. We went out of my rooms and downstairs, the shadow floating\nalongside of me in the most friendly manner possible. I could see by the\nposition of his body that he had hold of my arm, but his fingers did not\nshow on my coat-sleeve.\n\nWe went up town for perhaps half a mile, and entered a large brick\nbuilding in which I noted were various studios. It was dark, but going\nup three flights of stairs my guide opened a door and ushered me into a\nlarge and extensively furnished laboratory, evidently belonging to some\nscientific man of means and experience. The ghost turned the button of\nthe electric light, and then motioned me to a seat.\n\n\"My time,\" he said, \"is somewhat limited, because I have an appointment\nwith a lady at twelve, but I will show you what a high explosive really\nis, and then if we have time we will talk of something else. The\ndifficulty about high explosives is not in making them, but in using\nthem after they are made; you create a gigantic power which you do not\nknow how to handle.\n\n\"The rather modern discovery of how to make liquid air has simplified\nmatters a good deal. When you can make liquid hydrogen in quantities you\nwill have a still better agent for many purposes. Now, let us take a\nlittle of this liquid air. You see it pours like water. As I happen to\nknow, our absent host has nearly two gallons of it, or had this\nafternoon; some of it has evaporated, but, as you see, there is still\nmore than a gallon left, and we will not steal much, as all we want for\nour experiment to illustrate to you the greatest explosive which can be\nmanufactured is about as much liquid air as you can hold in a thimble.\"\n\n\"Do you propose to try your explosive here, Mr.\"--I hesitated. \"By the\nway, what is your name?\"\n\n\"Oh, call me any old name; it does not matter!\"\n\n\"Mr. Spook, shall we say?\"\n\n\"Ahem! a little personal, perhaps, but it will do as well as another.\nNow, as I was saying, I will show you how to make the most powerful\nexplosive that was ever invented.\"\n\nIt is possible that I did not show as much interest and enthusiasm as he\nexpected, and to tell the truth I was a little nervous. Spooks do not\nhave the same interest in being careful in their experiments--an\naccident or two is of little consequence to them, but might be decidedly\ndisagreeable to me. I may have shown something of what I was thinking in\nmy manner, for Spook looked at me keenly.\n\n\"What is the matter? You do not appear interested.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" I answered, \"I am deeply so, but do we not run\nconsiderable risk in trying such experiments in a laboratory without\nthe consent of its owner?\"\n\n\"Not at all, not at all. I will use a very small amount of the\nexplosive, and there will be no damage done.\"\n\n\"Have you attempted to make it before, Mr. Spook?\" I ventured.\n\n\"Oh, yes, last week; that was a mistake--you see now I know all about\nit, I didn't then; the explosion was something awful--it blew the\nbuilding pretty much all to pieces. If I had been alive I don't believe\nyou could have found a piece of me as large as your finger--they called\nit spontaneous combustion; however, we won't have anything of that kind\nto-night.\"\n\n\"Please don't,\" I answered.\n\n\"No, I promise you. Now we will take a little of this red\nphosphorus--ordinary phosphorus will not answer--and pour a little\nliquid air on it, stirring it gently, as you see. Now, if I should let\nthat dry it would explode at the slightest touch; but we do not want\nthat, and we wish to increase its power, so we add a little chloride of\npotassium; now watch it dry--see the color change to a light red-brown.\nThere, if you should strike that or put fire to it, it would wreck this\nbuilding as completely as if you had exploded fifty pounds of dynamite\nin it.\"\n\nI drew away from the table instinctively.\n\n\"Have no fear, I will not explode it. Now watch me closely. I will\nignite a minute quantity, about as much as would make the head of a\nsmall black pin or a No. 4 bird-shot. See, the rest we will put in this\npail of water. There--now all is ready--here goes!\"\n\nHe lit a match and touched the little brown dot--a tremendous explosion\nfollowed and the wooden table was split into pieces. The sound was so\nterrific and the shock so unexpected that I was dizzy and frightened.\n\n\"Great heavens!\" I exclaimed, \"you have broken everything in the\nlaboratory!\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the ghost rather shamefacedly, \"not so bad as that, but\nI'm afraid that I have ruined the table and cracked a few things;\nhowever, I will be more careful next time: it is even more powerful than\nI thought. What do you suppose would be the effect on a warship if\nstruck with a shell containing one hundred pounds of that stuff?\"\n\nI answered that she would be destroyed.\n\n\"Destroyed? I should say she would; the largest battleship would be\nblown to atoms.\"\n\nThe spook glanced at an old-fashioned Dutch clock in the corner of the\nlaboratory.\n\n\"Fine clock that; glad I didn't break it with our little racket just\nnow. I see I have nearly an hour to spare. Is there any experiment you\nwould like to try?\"\n\nI said anything would interest me, but that I didn't care for any more\nexplosives.\n\n\"I suppose you know how to make diamonds, don't you?\"\n\nI answered that for years men had tried to manufacture diamonds, but\npractically without success; that as far as I was aware they had only\nsucceeded in making them so small as to be practically of no use\ncommercially, and the expense of the manufacture was far in excess of\ntheir value.\n\n\"That's all right,\" answered the spook; \"but really it is a very simple\nmatter. Here; I will make a diamond for you.\" He walked across the room\nto the fireplace, and taking from the grate a lump of coal about the\nsize of a billiard ball, he laid it upon the table.\n\n\"This,\" he said, \"is nearly pure carbon, and as you are well aware it is\npractically what a diamond is. Now, I will illustrate to you how you may\nmake a diamond from this piece of coal, which will be as good as any\ndiamond ever found in the mines. We will manufacture it instead of\nletting nature do it.\n\n\"We will first place it in this glass bowl, and pour over it sufficient\nliquid air to cover it completely. We will let it remain until it is\nthoroughly cold, say, at least 200 degrees below zero; there--now all we\nhave to do is to heat it and then subject it to a powerful--Great Gee\nHosiphat! Five minutes to twelve! I must go--appointment with a lady at\ntwelve. But I say, old fellow, just hold it under the blowpipe and get\nit hot--just as hot as you can; I will be back soon--ta-ta.\" His last\nwords came to me faintly through the window--he had already floated out.\n\nI took the queer-colored piece of coal, and began heating it under the\nblowpipe. It did not burn, as I thought it would, but turned red and\nthen white; gradually it seemed to grow larger and larger and brighter\nand brighter until I opened my eyes and found myself in bed with the sun\nshining full upon me through the open window.\n\n\n\n\nAN INTERESTING GHOST.\n\n[DR. WATSON'S STORY.]\n\n\nIt is with the greatest difficulty, (said Dr. Watson), that I force\nmyself to believe that what I am about to relate to you did not actually\nhappen. It seemed to me that I was as wide-awake as I am at this present\nmoment, and impossible that the strange series of incidents could be due\nentirely to mental disturbances. I went home and went to bed, after\nfirst taking the powder, and I think I went to sleep. How long I slept I\ndo not know, but I was startled at finding myself floating about the\nroom with much the same feeling as one has when floating in water, only\nit was without effort. My motion seemed to be governed entirely by my\nwill,--if I glanced at anything in the room I would float towards it.\nImagine my astonishment at seeing my body lying in the bed apparently\nsound asleep; you will admit the sensation was novel, to say the least.\n\nAfter floating around the room two or three times enjoying the peculiar\nsensation, I began to wonder what they had been doing at the hospital\nduring my absence. Immediately I found myself in the hospital ward. Dr.\nFord and two nurses were standing by a cot at the north end, and\nglancing at the chart on the table I saw the patient was seriously ill.\n\n\"Moribund,\" said a voice.\n\n\"I'm afraid so,\" I answered. I turned and saw an elderly gentleman,\ndressed in the costume of the last century, floating beside me.\n\n\"Sad, is it not? People still die, I see, in spite of the wonderful\nadvance in the science of medicine since my day.\"\n\n\"Were you a doctor when alive?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, I was called one, and received the regular license to kill or\ncure. I regret to say that I have since learned that I killed a great\nmany more than I cured. The trouble is, after you are dead your patients\nknow this as well as you do and say unkind things; even to-night I\nreceived word from a former patient of mine, and a ghost who ought to\nknow better, to the effect that he intended to hunt me up and punch my\nhead. I treated him for renal colic and he died of appendicitis.\"\n\n\"What sort of a death certificate did you give?\" I asked.\n\n\"Heart disease, and let me tell you that was a great deal nearer to it\nthan some of you chaps get nowadays.\"\n\n\"You are not complimentary,\" I said coldly.\n\n\"Perhaps not; but if you think my criticisms harsh and uncalled for,\nlet us get down to cold facts. Did it ever occur to you how very few\npeople live to be even one hundred and twenty-five years old? You surely\nwill admit that there is no reason why a man should not live to that\nage, barring accidents. We know that in Bible times there were lots of\nold fellows who passed their three hundredth birthday, and a chap named\nMethuselah claimed to be nine hundred and ninety-nine years old.\"\n\n\"Nine hundred and sixty-nine, was it not?\" I asked.\n\n\"Perhaps you are right, but sixty-nine or ninety-nine, I am inclined to\nbe a little sceptical about that record myself; there is one thing in\nits favor, however, and that is, that he made it an even nine hundred\nand ninety-nine, and not one thousand. Of course, you know there are\nplenty of people living to-day who are over one hundred years old, and\nsome who have reached the very satisfactory age of one hundred and\ntwenty-five; most of them, however, live in Bulgaria, Mexico, or some\nout-of-the-way place, and are so poor that they have to live\nabstemiously.\"\n\n\"Then you consider the secret of longevity to be a matter of diet?\" said\nI.\n\n\"Partly that, and partly proper care of the nervous system; but come\ndownstairs, and let us have a cigarette; I am dying for a smoke.\"\n\nWe floated down to the office, which happened to be unoccupied at the\ntime. The medical ghost helped himself to a cigarette from a trayful on\nthe mantel-piece, and lighting it, he seated himself in an armchair, and\npuffed away with evident enjoyment. I noticed the smoke, which he\ninhaled continually, oozed from all parts of his body.\n\n[Illustration: THE SMOKE CONTINUALLY OOZED FROM ALL PARTS OF HIS BODY.]\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" he said impressively, \"you must understand that all\ndiseases are caused by germs--microscopic bugs and plants, you know,\nmany of them so small that they are invisible to an ordinary microscope,\nor, if seen at all, are not recognized. There are thousands and\nthousands of them, and each and every one has its mission in life, and\npreys upon and destroys other germs. Now, the human body is constantly\ngetting a lot of germs inside of it which do not belong there. Some are\ntaken in by the lungs, while floating in the air; some by the stomach,\nby the food and drink; some by the skin, etc.\n\n\"These germs are met by their natural enemies which live in man's\nblood--his body-guard, as it were--and are destroyed. But if the\nattacking army is very large, or from some reason the home army has been\nweakened and decimated, then the invaders flourish, establish themselves\nand wax powerful and strong, and the man becomes what is called 'sick.'\n\n\"Come,\" he said, rising abruptly, and throwing the unconsumed end of\nhis cigarette into the fireplace. \"Come with me to the laboratory, and I\nwill show you in about two minutes more than I could explain if I talked\nfor years, and a great deal more satisfactorily.\"\n\nWe floated down to the laboratory, and the ghost took from the shelf a\nwide-mouthed bottle and held it up to the light.\n\n\"Here,\" he said, \"we have a culture. You, of course, understand how the\ngerms of disease are cultivated for experimental use. It is needless for\nme to explain to you that certain media are used for these cultures,\nsuch as milk, beef-broth, etc.\n\n\"Here we have the germ of diphtheria, here of tuberculosis, here of\ntyphoid fever, etc. That little short jar over yonder contains some\ncholera bacilli, which have been lately sent here. Now look at this\ntyphoid germ. If we took a drop of healthy blood and put some of these\ntyphoid germs in it, how they would wiggle! but if the drop of blood was\nfrom a typhoid patient, they won't wiggle very long, as you know. See\nthis blunt-headed chap which we have to stain to see properly, even with\nthis wonderful microscope; that is our old friend the bacillus of\ntuberculosis; but unless you see the patient first I do not believe you\ncould distinguish him from the leprosy bug.\n\n\"These are known germs, but look through the glass at this drop, and you\nwill see some bugs worth seeing, although the medical fraternity have\nnot as yet discovered their value. Perhaps you know that most\nbacteriologists consider these germs to be plants, not bugs, although\nthey admit some of them move a little. How astonished they would be if\nthey could look through this glass! See that chap with green hind legs:\nhe preys on the typhoid germ, and when they discover this physicians\nwill simply inoculate the patient with a lot of these little chaps with\nthe green legs, and they will do the rest.\n\n\"Here is a germ with yellow stripes which looks a little like a\ndiminutive potato bug. He is the deadly enemy of the bug of consumption,\nand will attack and kill him on every possible occasion. They are about\nevenly matched, but I think the little striped chap is a bit the better.\nAnother ghost and myself made a match the other night,--seven battles,\nthe result to decide the championship,--a sort of a bugging main, as it\nwere. I won. The first six matches were even. We won three each, but in\nthe seventh my striped bug got the tubercular germ down and shook him as\na terrier does a rat. The other ghost and myself nearly had a fight to\nget our eyes to the microscope. I tell you it was exciting. There is my\nchampion bug now, see him?--the one with the fourth hind leg gone.\"\n\n\"But how,\" I asked, \"are you going to prevent people from dying of old\nage?\"\n\n\"Of course they will die of old age; but there is no such thing as old\nage under one hundred and fifty years; what you call old age is not old\nage at all. There are two kinds of old age or senility. Old age,\nproperly speaking, results from a distinct modification of the nervous\ntissues and a hardening of the arteries--the former caused by unnatural\nconditions, nervous strain and dissipation, and the latter from\nover-feeding and drinking. The trouble with the ordinary man is that he\nabsorbs great quantities of nitrogenous foods instead of making his diet\none of nuts, fruit, milk, etc. In comparatively young men of the present\nage there is often a decided modification of the nervous tissues with\nsymptoms resembling those in neurasthenia. In such cases galvanic\ntreatment will restore the centres to their normal condition. You will,\ntherefore, I think, admit that with proper diet and possibly the aid of\na galvanic battery a man may live,--barring possible death by\nviolence,--say, two hundred years.\"\n\n\"You mean,\" I said, \"when we have learned to combat the various disease\ngerms by pitting against them their natural enemies.\"\n\n\"Exactly, of course,\" answered the shade; \"but it seems to me that we\nhave talked long enough; I am becoming very dry, so let us repair to the\nWaldorf and have a cocktail.\"\n\n\"How is it possible,\" I asked, \"that you can take a cocktail, there\nbeing nothing tangible about you?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" answered the ghost, \"it is impossible for me to actually\ndrink a cocktail. I can, however, float over the bar and inhale the\npleasing odors arising from the various concoctions served to the\nguests, and in my ethereal condition I enjoy the odors and am affected\nby them as much as if I were really drinking the liquid.\"\n\nWe floated from the house and down town, until we reached the\nbrilliantly lighted Waldorf Hotel. There were many people in the\nbar-room, and the medical shade and myself, floating about over the\ndifferent tables, inhaled with decided enjoyment the delicate aroma of\nthe various mixed drinks so dear to the present generation.\n\nTo my annoyance my shade companion soon began to sing--he was evidently\naffected by the odors which had passed through him. His manner became\nfamiliar, and I had great difficulty in keeping him from kicking the\nglasses off the tables. At last I succeeded in getting him out of the\nroom, and it was time, for as we floated into the street he began\nshouting in a most uproarious manner, and I was afraid that we should\nbe arrested for disturbing the peace.\n\n\"Be quiet, I beg of you,\" I pleaded; \"see that policeman on the opposite\nside of the street? We shall surely get into trouble if you make such a\nnoise.\"\n\n\"Policeman?\" hiccoughed the shade, \"What the devil do I care for a\npoliceman? Watch me go over and punch him in the stomach.\"\n\nIn spite of all I could do to prevent him he started straight for the\nofficer, who was standing all unconscious on the corner, watching a\npretty girl who was looking into one of the brilliantly lighted store\nwindows. Now was my time to rid myself of this most undesirable\ncompanion, and I wished myself in my own room.\n\nInstantly I found myself floating about over my bed, and there was my\nbody sleeping as peacefully as ever. I was somewhat tired, but I\nremembered our contract to write down the result of our experiences,\nand immediately sat down to do it. After I had written it I read it over\ncarefully to see if I had overlooked anything, and then wished myself in\nbed and asleep. The next thing I knew it was broad daylight. There, on\nmy writing-table, were the pages of manuscript which I had written. They\nwere real enough, whether the rest was a dream or not.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOUND OF ETERNAL SILENCE.\n\n\n\"I ought to know something about it,\" said the Drummer, \"for I went with\nthe Prospector and the Eastern man to see Judson.\n\n\"I remember when we started out together the Eastern man asked the\nProspector if he thought Judson was really crazy.\n\n\"'Yes,' said the Prospector, 'he is as crazy as a loon, as you will see\nwhen you get there.'\n\n\"'Tell me the story over again,' said the Eastern man.\n\n\"'Well, you see,' said the Prospector, 'they found him lying in the hot\nsand away off on the desert, with his head propped up against a rock,\nnearly dead for want of water. When they tried to rouse him he stared at\nthem vacantly. They gave him a little water, and as soon as he had\nswallowed it he fought like a wild animal for more. It took three or\nfour of them to hold him. He cursed and swore at them because they would\nnot give him all he wanted, and his cries were pitiful. He alternately\ncursed and screamed for water, sometimes as loud as he could shout and\nthen again in faint whispers.\n\n\"'Later on, when they dared to give him more at a time, he became\ntranquil, and towards night, after he had drunk a bowl full of thin\noatmeal gruel, he went to sleep. When he awoke they questioned him.\n\n\"'He said that he had been prospecting with his partner, and had found a\ngulch with precipitous cliffs all around it where there was very rich\nplacer digging. Directly in front was a high mound covered with big\ncacti, and they made their camp on the top of this. There was a little\nwater in the canyon held in rock basins, and with this they washed out\nthe gold and got a lot of it--Judson says three or four thousand\ndollars' worth. Then bad luck came, and the burro died. Three days\nafterwards Judson's partner was poisoned in some way, and died a few\nhours later, cursing Judson and saying he had poisoned him.\n\n\"'Judson buried him and also the gold; it was too heavy for him to pack,\nespecially as he had no way to carry water. Then taking a small bag of\ngold dust in his pocket he started across the desert. He had a hobby for\ntaking photographs and carried a small camera with him, and before\nleaving he photographed the place, which he called \"The Mound of Eternal\nSilence,\" so that in case anything happened to him it could be found\nwithout trouble. They developed the negatives later, and he has them\npasted all around his room. He called the place \"The Mound of\nEternal Silence\" because during the two months he was there he never saw\nor heard a single living thing except jack-rabbits and a bird or two.'\n\n[Illustration: THE MOUND OF ETERNAL SILENCE.]\n\n[Illustration: JUDSON'S MAP.]\n\n\"'What was that about his killing the dog?' asked the Eastern man.\n\n\"'Well, you see when Judson started off alone the dog would not leave\nhis dead master, and sat upon the hill howling. Judson was afraid he\nwould attract somebody's attention if they happened along that way, and\nafter trying to get him to follow him without success, he went back and\nshot him. The first thing that Judson saw when he awoke the next morning\nafter they had found him was the dog sitting on his haunches looking at\nhim. Judson looked at the animal, but said nothing--something within him\nforced him to keep silence. After a time he snapped his fingers and\ncalled the dog by name.\n\n\"'\"Did you speak?\" asked one of the men, Stevens it was, I believe.\n\n\"'\"I was only calling the dog,\" said Judson.\n\n\"'\"What dog?\" asked Stevens.\n\n\"'\"Why, that dog, of course,\" said Judson, pointing at the animal.\n\n\"'\"You are crazy, man,\" answered Stevens. \"The heat yesterday was too\nmuch for you; there is no dog there.\"\n\n\"'Judson turned away; he began to fear there might be something the\nmatter with his brain, and that there was no dog there after all. But\nwhen he looked again there he was as plain as ever. \"I will take the\nbrute outside of camp and kill him when I get a chance,\" he thought.\n\n\"'That evening when they made camp at a small water hole, Judson walked\naway out of sight and hearing of the camp. When he could no longer be\nseen he turned, and, aiming his pistol at the dog, pulled the trigger.\nThe bullet hit the ground between the animal's legs, and he ran back a\nfew paces and stood grinning at Judson showing his teeth, and his face\nlooked like that of his old partner. Judson picked up a large rock and\nran at the dog; the animal yelped slightly and started for camp. Judson\nincreased his pace and the dog circled out into the desert.\n\n\"'\"Curse you,\" cried Judson, \"I'll kill you yet.\" Several times he threw\nstones at the animal, and twice he fell, bruising himself among the\nloose rocks. At last he sat down.\n\n\"'\"What is the matter with you,\" shouted Stevens. \"What are you running\nabout and shouting in that way for?\"\n\n\"'\"That confounded dog of mine,\" answered Judson unthinkingly.\n\n\"'\"Nonsense, man, there isn't any dog.\"\n\n\"'Judson walked slowly back to camp followed closely by the dog. The men\nlooked at him strangely. That night when he went to sleep the brute\ncame and lay down beside him. A horrid fear took possession of him and\nhe pushed the thing away, but it immediately crawled back again. At last\nhe arose and spent the rest of the night walking up and down the desert,\nthe dog following close at his heels.\n\n\"'When they arrived in Phoenix the doctor advised Judson to go to a\nquiet place and rest, and gave him an opiate.'\n\n\"'Why don't he go back and get the gold?' asked the Eastern man.\n\n\"'Because as I have told you whenever he starts to go back the dog meets\nhim on the desert, and he is only free from it when he stays in\nPhoenix. He says the dog is his old partner, and will never let him go\nback there again. That is why he is willing to sell his secret.'\n\n\"'But how do you know if we pay him this money,' asked the Eastern man,\n'that we can find the gold?'\n\n\"'Why, his map and directions together with the photographs ought to\nmake it sure. Anyway, I am putting up $250 of my money with your $350,\nand run as much risk as you do; besides, you never would have known\nabout it if it hadn't been for me.'\n\n\"'Won't he take less than $600?' asked the Eastern man.\n\n\"'Not a cent; I have tried him too often. If I had $600 of my own I\nnever would ask any one to go in with me. It's a snap.'\n\n\"We found Judson seated in a big armchair, smoking a meerschaum pipe.\nHis eyes had a peculiar wild expression, and he glared at us as we\nentered.\n\n\"'What do you people want?' he asked.\n\n\"'We have come to buy your claim,' said the Prospector.\n\n\"Judson laughed a strange, hard laugh.\n\n\"'Always the same--gold, gold, gold. Have you the money with you to pay\nfor it?' he asked.\n\n\"The Prospector produced a bag of twenty-dollar gold pieces and shook\nit. 'Here it is,' he said, 'this gentleman and myself have made up the\namount--$600.'\n\n\"'Well,' shouted Judson, 'give me the money and take the cursed claim,\nburied gold and all, and much good may it do you! I will go away--far\naway from here. My God, to think that I should sell a rich claim like\nthat for nothing! But I wouldn't go back to it for all the gold in the\nworld. Three times I have tried, and each time that dog devil met me at\nthe edge of the desert, grinning at me with the face of my dead partner.\nHere are the photographs and the map, take them and go, my head aches;\ngo away and leave me.'\n\n\"He buried his face in his hands, groaning and muttering to himself. The\nProspector put the bag of gold on the table, and taking the photographs\nand map left the room. We followed him, closing the door softly behind\nus.\"\n\n\"Did you find the gold?\" I asked.\n\n\"I didn't look for it,\" answered the Drummer. \"They offered to let me in\nand give me a third interest for $300, but somehow I didn't like the\nidea, and the whole thing seemed uncanny, and it is lucky I didn't. The\nProspector and the Eastern man got back a week later without having\ndiscovered the 'Mound of Eternal Silence,' both mad as hatters, and each\nlaying the blame of the failure on the other. I have always wondered\nsince if Judson was really as crazy as they thought he was.\"\n\n\"Why,\" I asked, \"what made you doubt it?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" answered the Drummer, \"I can't exactly say I disbelieve his story,\nbut--well, you see, about a month afterwards I was in Phoenix again,\nand one night I saw the Prospector and the lunatic taking a drink at a\nbar together. A little later the Prospector passed me without seeing me.\nHe was walking arm in arm with a stranger, and as they went by I heard\nhim say, 'If I had the money I never would think of asking any one to go\nin with me. He calls it the \"Mound of Eternal Silence....\"'\n\n\"They passed on, and their voices were lost to me in the distance.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: TIXINOPA.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF A BAD INDIAN.\n\n\nMalita was a half-breed, the daughter of an old squaw man. She had spent\nseveral years at the Indian school in Phoenix, and had proved herself\nan apt pupil. Later she went to work on Simmons' Ranch. She was a very\npretty, healthy looking girl, and one day Morgan Jones, the hunter and\ntrapper, asked her to marry him. She went with him to his cabin near the\nReservation and settled down.\n\nJones was a devil-may-care sort of chap, who, when he had a little\nmoney, came to the straggling one-horse town near the Reservation, drank\nconsiderable whiskey, and amused himself by running his pony up and\ndown the one street, firing off his gun, and shouting at the top of his\nvoice. This was Jones' idea of a good time, and his method of\ncontributing his share to the sanguinary ornamentation of the embryo\nmetropolis.\n\nMalita made Jones a good wife, and attended to his creature comforts to\nthe best of her ability, and when Jones returned to the cabin in an\ninebriated condition she soothed him, and put him to bed, looking upon\nsuch incidents as a matter of course. For a year or more they lived\ncontentedly, and a little boy was born to them.\n\nOn the Reservation lived an Indian named Tixinopa, a splendid specimen\nof a savage athlete, and the most noted runner and hunter in his tribe.\nLike many of his race, while hating the white man, he loved the white\nman's fire-water, and it made him surly and quarrelsome. He was a\nnatural leader, and often, at night, he spoke with fiery eloquence of\nthe wrongs of his race, sowing the seeds of unrest and rebellion.\n\nTixinopa was the only cloud which disturbed the domestic horizon of the\nJones family. He haunted the vicinity of the cabin, and was continually\nasking Malita for whiskey and tobacco when Jones was away, until at last\nJones intimated to him gently that his presence was, to say the least,\nundesirable. Being a child of the woods and hills, he did not have at\nhis command a large vocabulary of diplomatic phrases to enable him to do\nthis politely, in fact, he was blunt.\n\nIn describing the interview to Malita afterwards he said:\n\n\"I told him if he cum around here any more I'd smash his head, an' he\ngrunts an' draws himself up this a-way, and looks ugly and says, 'he's a\nbig Injun,' and I told him to go to hell!\"\n\nFor some time Tixinopa kept away from the cabin, but one day he\nappeared and demanded whiskey. He was half drunk, and his bloodshot eyes\nblinked at Malita as he swayed unsteadily in the doorway.\n\n\"No, Tixinopa, there is no whiskey.\"\n\nTixinopa's eyes grew ugly. \"You lie, you half-breed squaw; but be it so,\nI will take the boy away until you remember where it is.\"\n\nSo saying he lifted the baby by the arm and swung him on to his\nshoulder. The child cried out with pain from its twisted arm. Malita's\nheart sunk with a dreadful fear.\n\n\"Give the child to me, Tixinopa, do not be so rough; see, you have hurt\nhim.\"\n\n[Illustration: MALITA.]\n\nShe tried to take the boy, but Tixinopa pushed her away roughly and she\nfell to the ground. Up she sprang and threw herself upon him, trying to\nget the boy, and in the struggle she scratched his face slightly, so\nthat the blood came. With a curse he struck her full in the face with\nhis clinched fist and she fell as if dead, and lay with her hands\ntwitching feebly.\n\n\"Take your half-breed brat,\" he hissed, throwing the baby roughly on the\nground beside her. He turned to walk away, but something in the\nmotionless form of the child caused him to look again, and he saw that\nhis little head lay doubled under his arm in a way that could only mean\none thing--a broken neck.\n\nMalita rose unsteadily to her feet and looked about in a dazed way until\nher gaze rested upon the little body of her dead baby; the next instant\nshe was striking and cutting at Tixinopa, screaming like a mad thing.\n\nThe attack was so sudden and fierce that, trained athlete and fighter as\nhe was, Tixinopa received a deep cut on the shoulder and a slight one on\nthe arm before he succeeded in grasping her wrist, and twisting the\nknife from her. Then, seizing her by the hair, he drew her to him and\ndrove the knife twice into her breast, throwing her to the ground, where\nshe lay gasping her life away in broken sobs.\n\nTixinopa stood for a moment looking at Malita and was quite still. His\narm pained him and he held up his hand and watched the blood dripping\nfrom his fingers. Then he took a self-cocking revolver from his belt and\nfired shot after shot into the bodies of the dead baby and the dying\nmother. Twice the hammer clicked on an empty shell before he ceased to\npull the trigger, and he slowly turned away, pushing his empty pistol\ninto his belt. As he did so he found himself face to face with Jones,\nbut a different Jones than the one he had known. This Jones' face was\nwhite and drawn, and looked years older than the other Jones. The hand\nwhich held a pistol pointed at him shook unsteadily. A minute, perhaps\ntwo minutes, passed, and still the two men faced each other; then an\nevil light came into Tixinopa's eyes, and his hand slid slowly towards\nthe handle of his knife, to be instantly smashed by a bullet from Jones'\npistol. Another shot and the other arm was broken at the elbow. Neither\nman had spoken, but now Tixinopa began a low, wild chant. Raised to his\nfull height, with his broken arms hanging by his sides, he chanted the\ndeath song of his people, the same song which had been sung by his\nfather, and his father's father, and for generations past by all the\ndying warriors of his tribe.\n\n\"Tixinopa,\" the voice was a husky whisper, \"for her sake I won't torture\nyer as I would like ter,--God give me strength to keep from doin'\nit!--but I'm afeared He won't unless I kill yer quick. All I hope is\nthat if there is a hell, your black soul will roast in it for ever and\never, amen!\"\n\nThe muzzle of the pistol was now within a few inches of the naked\nbreast; still the low, wild chant went on, the bronze figure standing as\nif turned to stone. Then another shot and the chant stopped.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTen minutes later a horseman rode slowly into the desert. To his left,\nas he crossed the half-dry bed of the alkali stream, two Indian boys\nwere skinning a rabbit alive and laughing at its agony. From afar back\non the other side of the valley he heard the strains of the \"Star\nSpangled Banner\" played by the pride of the Reservation--the Indian\nband!\n\n\n\n\nA QUEER COINCIDENCE.\n\n\n\"You say,\" said Doctor Watson, as he rested one arm on the mantel and\nlooked thoughtfully at the open fire,--\"you say there is no proof of the\nactuality of what is called telepathy or thought-transference, and\nperhaps you are right, but I have several times in my life had\nexperiences which were very difficult to explain except by some such\ntheory, and if you care to listen I will tell you one of them which I\nhave in mind.\"\n\nOur chorus of approval evidently left no doubt as to our desire to hear\nthe story, for Watson smiled, and lighting a fresh cigar he began as\nfollows:\n\n\"On the seventeenth of January last year there was a slight wash-out on\nthe Northern road not far from Chicago, and the forward trucks of one of\nthe cars on train 61, on which I was a passenger, left the rails, but\nluckily the train was going slowly at the time and there was little\ndamage done except a general shaking up of the passengers in the car as\nthe forward wheels bumped roughly over the sleepers for a few yards\nbefore the train stopped. The other cars did not leave the track, and\nonly one man was seriously injured.\n\n\"This man had been standing on the platform at the time and was thrown\nbetween the cars and badly crushed. I was close to the end window and\nsaw him fall, and when the conductor called for a doctor I responded at\nonce.\n\n\"I found the man lying on a blanket surrounded by a number of the\npassengers. He seemed to suffer but little pain, and I feared, from a\ncasual examination, he was badly injured internally, although he was\nperfectly conscious; he was bleeding at the mouth, and his legs seemed\nto be paralyzed. He asked faintly if I thought he was going to die, and\nI cheered him up, as is customary in such cases, but shortly afterwards\nhe developed such serious symptoms that I felt forced to tell him I\nfeared he was seriously hurt, and it was quite possible he would live\nbut a few hours.\n\n\"Upon hearing this he became very much agitated, and whispered to me\nthat he wished to speak to me alone, saying he had something of the\nutmost importance to communicate.\n\n\"I thought it was probably some message to send to some members of his\nfamily, or some instructions regarding his affairs, but after a few\nwords I became very much interested. He talked for fifteen minutes, part\nof the time being sustained by the use of stimulants. His story, which\nwas a very strange one, I will repeat as nearly as possible in his own\nwords. After repeatedly asking me to assure him there was no possible\nchance of his recovery he said:\n\n\"'It is not necessary for you to know my name, but it is sufficient for\nme to tell you that I received a good education in my youth and\ngraduated with high honors at one of the large universities in this\ncountry. I always had more or less interest in the study of physiology,\nand during my college course conducted a series of experiments in\nhypnotism, and made some interesting discoveries regarding the\nexaltation of the senses, and especially in relation to illusion and\nhallucination by the aid of post-hypnotic suggestion.\n\n\"'It had been my earnest desire to occupy the position of professor of\nphysiology in one of the universities, but failing to obtain a position\nof this kind, and having no means of support, I gradually became poorer\nand poorer, earning a livelihood as best I could, until I became\ndiscouraged and attempted to make money in a way not quite so honest.\n\n\"'The idea suggested itself to me during a series of experiments which I\nhad conducted with a friend of mine. It so happened that this friend was\npaying teller in one of our well-known banks of Chicago, where he is\nto-day. He is a thoroughly honorable man in every way, but I found that\nhe was a good hypnotic subject, or sensitive, as we call it. At first he\ncould not be considered first class, but he was much interested in the\nsubject, and allowed me to hypnotize him repeatedly. After a few\nevenings he became very easily influenced and one of the best subjects I\nhad ever had. I could put him to sleep in a moment, simply snapping my\nfingers and telling him I wished him to sleep; of course this can only\nbe done with sensitives who have been repeatedly hypnotized.\n\n\"'Under these conditions I succeeded in making him do very many\nwonderful things, especially in the way of post-hypnotic suggestions; a\npost-hypnotic suggestion is a command given to hypnotized subjects that\nat some future time they perform a certain act. In most cases, in waking\nfrom the hypnotic sleep they have forgotten that the suggestion has been\ngiven them, but at the time set they perform the act unconsciously, as\nthough by their own volition. Not only will they do this, but after the\nact is performed they usually sink into a quiet sleep,[1] from which\nthey awake after passing into the normal sleep, and, as a rule, have\nforgotten that they did anything unusual, or that they have been\nhypnotized, and take up the thread of thought again at the point where\nthey first entered the hypnotic condition. They do not remember what\nthey have done or seen. Their mind is a blank as to all that occurred\nduring the time they were hypnotized.\n\n[Footnote 1: This is unusual; the subject rarely falls asleep after\ncarrying out a post-hypnotic suggestion unless commanded to do so.--ED.]\n\n\"'For the last two years I have been rather fortunate, in a small way,\nspeculating in stocks. My capital being small, the amount of money I\ncould make was, of course, comparatively little; yet I succeeded in\ndoing very well until about three weeks ago, when, by two or three\nunfortunate speculations, I found myself absolutely destitute, and\nwithout a penny in the world. It was then the idea suggested itself to\nme to hypnotize Mr. Herrick and make him bring me money from the bank.\nThis of course was perfectly possible, if no accident occurred, or no\nunforeseen difficulty presented itself, which I had not previously\nthought of, as the cashier would act simply as an instrument, being\ngoverned entirely by my directions. I asked him in a casual way several\ntimes about the affairs of the bank, and learned one day that the bank\nwould have an unusually large balance in settling with the\nclearing-house. It was the custom for Mr. Herrick to lock up his own\nfunds, and simply state to the cashier that he had done so.\n\n\"'According to a carefully arranged plan, I hypnotized him last evening\nand commanded him to take all the money and securities he had in his\npossession, after settling with the clearing-house, and instead of\nlocking them in his vault to put them in a bag, of course taking\nprecautions to do this when no one was observing him, and then leave the\nbank in the usual manner.\n\n\"'He was to take a carriage and drive directly to a small, unoccupied\nhouse which is situated on the corner of Blank and 117th streets.\n\n\"'It was my intention, as I had gone so far, to go still further. I knew\nthat Mr. Herrick would bring me the money and securities, and that I\nshould find him asleep in the house, but what I did not know positively,\nand what I feared was, _that he might not forget what he had done when\nhe awoke_. As a rule, sensitives obey the command to forget, but in the\ncourse of my various experiments I have found sensitives who had a vague\nidea of what occurred, perhaps nothing tangible, but still sufficient,\nin a case like this, when there would be a great row about the lost\nsecurities, to suggest a possible clue.\n\n\"'It was a very cold day, six degrees below, I think, and I had\ndeliberately intended to leave Mr. Herrick asleep after I had taken the\nmoney from him and let him take his chances, sleeping without any fire\nor covering, in an hypnotic condition, with the temperature below zero,\nand you can judge what his chances would have been. This scheme I\nthought out deliberately, and what seems strange, I had not the least\nrepugnance against arranging for the death of my friend. After I had\nonce made up my mind to make him steal the securities his disappearance\nseemed to be the only way to insure my safety. Of course no one could\nknow I was connected with this matter. I would not go near the bank, and\nunless he was followed, which was most unlikely, as he had been with the\nbank some years and was a thoroughly trusted official, there would be\nabsolutely no chance of my detection.'\"\n\nWatson relighted his cigar, which had gone out, and continued--\n\n\"While he had been speaking another train had arrived with a lot of\nworkmen who were busily engaged jacking the car back on the rails. The\ntrain was about to return to Chicago, so I inquired the name of the bank\nand its president, and the address of the house, writing them down so\nthere could be no possible mistake. I then hastened on board the train,\nleaving my patient under the care of Dr. Morse, a local physician, who\nagreed to notify me as to the condition of the man later in the day.\n\n\"Upon arriving in Chicago I immediately drove to the bank, but found it\nclosed. I was told, however, that Mr. Bartlet, the president, was\nattending a corporation meeting in an office in the same building. I\nimmediately hunted him up, and, upon hearing my story he hastily ordered\na carriage and we drove to the house as described.\n\n\"On our way out we stopped and picked up Dr. Marsh, who as you know is\nvery much interested in such matters. It was quite a long drive, but we\nfound the place without difficulty. It was unoccupied, and many of the\nwindows were broken, and altogether it presented a very dilapidated\nappearance, such as the cheap houses on the outskirts of a great city\noften do after having been unoccupied for a year or two. We tried the\ndoor and found it unlocked. On the first floor the rooms were entirely\nempty, loose papers scattered about, and no signs of any one having\nentered the house. Upon going upstairs we found the door on the first\nlanding at the head of the stairs closed, but not locked. At the back of\nthe room was a cracked wooden stool and a dilapidated hair sofa, which\nhad evidently been considered too used up to be of any value. Part of\nthe cover was torn away, one of the legs was broken, and some of the\nhair stuffing was lying scattered about the floor. On this lounge lay\nMr. Herrick apparently sound asleep; his lips blue with cold, his face\npale, and the general appearance of a man half frozen to death. He was\nbreathing very quietly, however, and his heart action was still fairly\ngood, although somewhat slow. By his side lay a small bag, which, it is\nneedless to say, was pounced upon by Mr. Bartlet. It contained some\nvaluable securities, and a great bundle of bank bills of large\ndenomination. Both Marsh and I considered Herrick's condition as\ndecidedly interesting and unusual, and we were both of the opinion that,\nas part of the story had proved true, it was very likely the whole would\nturn out just as described.\n\n\"If this proved to be the case, all that now remained to be done was to\nrestore Herrick to his normal condition, which might or might not be\neasy to accomplish. The first thing to be done was to get him out of\nsuch a low temperature. We tried various methods of restoring\nconsciousness, but without success. What we did not like was that his\nheart action was gradually becoming weaker. We gave a hypodermic\ninjection of strychnia, and the heart was soon acting in a much more\nsatisfactory manner. There was no return to consciousness, however, so\ntaking him in the carriage we drove back to Dr. Marsh's house, and\narriving there we all turned to and did what we could to restore Herrick\nto consciousness. Now that he was in a warm room the drawn expression\nand the blue look left his face, but otherwise he appeared to sleep as\nsoundly as ever. The heart was now acting very well, and aside from the\ncoma the condition of the patient gave us no cause for anxiety. As time\nwent on, however, and we absolutely failed to waken him, and the heart\nagain showed signs of weakness, we began to feel somewhat uneasy.\n\n\"You see,\" said Watson, \"we did not know what suggestion was given the\npatient; these post-hypnotic suggestions are peculiar in their action\nupon some sensitives. If, as it is fair to suppose, this man was ordered\nto sleep, he should in the natural course of events sleep for a number\nof hours and then awake, after passing from the hypnotic sleep to the\nnormal sleep; but we know very little of the effect on some nervous\nsystems of post-hypnotic suggestions. Another thing, in many cases the\npatient will not waken or cannot be wakened except by the person who put\nhim to sleep. The reason for this is plain enough. Part of the effect on\nthe mind of hypnotic suggestion is due entirely to sleep. The skilled\nhypnotist commands one of his sensitives to sleep under certain\nconditions. The sensitive expects to be awakened by the same voice and\nin the same way, and habit and association have fixed in his mind\ncertain conditions which he associates with the order to awake. There is\nno doubt whatever that Mr. Herrick heard what we were saying when we\nspoke to him in a loud voice, but he heard it without understanding,\nmuch as a person in a sleepy condition hears noises about him without\ntrying to comprehend them. It is undoubtedly true that the man who put\nHerrick to sleep could have wakened him in a moment, while we, with all\nour knowledge and experience, were unable to make his brain regain its\nnormal condition. We decided to let him sleep; and if, at the end of a\nfew hours, he did not regain consciousness, we would try again what we\ncould do to assist him, of course watching the heart in the meanwhile\nand using nitro-glycerin or strychnia if indicated.\n\n\"At that moment Herrick suddenly spoke, at first huskily and then in a\nloud, clear voice, shouting, 'Yes, yes, I hear you; I am awake.' Then he\nsat up, asking in a dazed way, 'Where am I? What does this mean?'\"\n\n\"As he did so the old-fashioned clock in the hall struck the hour of\nseven.\"\n\nThe queerest part of this story is suggested by a letter received from\nDr. Morse the next day, which read as follows:\n\n       DEAR WATSON: You asked me to write you about the injured man, and\n     I do so now to tell you he is dead. He died a minute or two before\n     seven o'clock last evening; I know the hour exactly, because I was\n     watching him at the time, and for some moments he had been\n     whispering and muttering to himself, but all I could catch was\n     something about, \"I withdraw my command;\" when, suddenly raising\n     himself, he shouted, \"Wake up, wake up!\" and fell back dead just as\n     the clock in the church-yard struck seven.\n\n       I should be much interested to hear whether his story was true or\n     not. Drop me a line about it when you have time.\n\n                                             Very sincerely yours,\n                                                             F. MORSE.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF AN INSANE SAILOR.\n\n\n\"That pocket-piece of yours,\" said the doctor, \"reminds me that I have\nan interesting one of my own; perhaps you can tell me what it is.\" He\ntook from his pocket a silver coin and handed it to Jennings, as he\nspoke. One edge had been flattened, and a hole pierced in it.\n\n\"Ah! an old Spanish piece,\" said Jennings, \"evidently of the time of\nPope Leo Fourth, sometime in the sixteenth century. A very interesting\npiece. Where did you get it?\"\n\n\"There is a curious story connected with that coin,\" meditatively\nremarked Dr. Watson; \"perhaps you would like to hear it.\"\n\n[Illustration: ONE EDGE HAD BEEN FLATTENED AND A HOLE PIERCED IN IT.]\n\nWe had been dining with Watson and were now comfortably seated in the\nlibrary before an old-fashioned open fire. It was snowing outside,\nmaking the warm, bright study all the more cheerful by contrast.\n\n\"Perhaps you remember,\" said Watson, \"that during the winter of 1886 I\ndevoted much more of my time than usual to the Insane Asylum. I was very\nmuch interested in testing the value of hypnotism for insane patients,\nespecially mild cases and those having illusions and insistent ideas. I\nhad been quite successful in one case--a woman who had tried to starve\nherself to death under the impression that the devil commanded her not\nto eat was greatly benefited by post-hypnotic suggestion. Suggesting\nthat the devil would not come any more induced pronounced hysteria, but\nwhen hypnotized, and told that the devil commanded her to eat, instead\nof to abstain from food, she took nourishment readily, and soon\ndeveloped an extraordinary appetite.\n\n\"An immediate improvement in her condition was noticeable, and as her\ngeneral bodily health improved, the illusions became less and less\nfrequent, and she was discharged from the asylum as cured in less than\nthree months.\"\n\nWatson paused and gazed meditatively at the end of his cigar. \"Ever\ntried to hypnotize an insane person, Jennings?\"\n\n\"Not that I remember.\"\n\n\"You, Morris?\"\n\n\"Can't say that I have.\"\n\n\"Hm! Well, sometimes you succeed, and sometimes you don't; more often\nyou don't. There was one patient, a man by the name of Allen, who had\nbeen a sailor. He was subject to fits of extreme melancholia, and at\ntimes was positively dangerous, as he imagined some one was trying to\npoison him.\n\n\"I never succeeded in hypnotizing him, although I tried repeatedly.\nHowever, I saw him every day, and as his general health improved, his\nattacks of melancholia became less frequent. He seemed grateful to me\nfor taking an interest in him, and often talked with me about his early\nlife and the out-of-the-way countries he had visited. Shortly after I\nwas called away and did not return to the asylum for two weeks, and when\nI did go back I found that Allen was dead. He had cut his throat one\nafternoon with a large pocket-knife and made a mighty clean job of it,\ntoo.\n\n\"Well,\" continued the doctor, \"among his effects they found a package\naddressed to me, which contained a letter and a silver coin. The coin\nyou now hold in your hand, the letter I have here in my desk.\"\n\nHe opened a drawer and took out a large yellow envelope containing a\nnumber of pages of closely written manuscript.\n\n\"This letter,\" said Watson, as he slowly turned over the pages,\n\"contains a story so strange that I did not for a moment believe it had\nany foundation in fact; but during the past year or two I have learned\ncertain things which have caused me to change my opinion. Whether the\nstory is true or not we will, of course, never know, but I _now_ believe\nthat it is a true record of events which actually happened. I have made\nsome inquiries and find that the places mentioned do exist, or did at\nthe time this story was written, and--but never mind; I will read you\nthe letter and you can form your own conclusions:\n\n\"'DR. S. T. WATSON:\n\n\"'DEAR SIR: I have made up my mind to kill myself, but before I die I\nwish to make a confession of my wrong doings, as _he_ insists that I\nshall and I dare not disobey him. I therefore write this confession, to\nbe read by you after I am dead.\n\n\"'You tell me I _imagine_ I hear the voice and see the man. I tell you,\ndoctor, you who think me crazy are the one who is deceived. You do not\nbelieve in telepathy and thought-transference, and yet I could tell many\ntimes when you looked at me of what you were thinking. I tell you that I\nhear Jim's voice as plainly as I ever heard yours, and he talks to me\nand tells me that he will never leave me while I live, and then he\nlaughs. Oh, that laugh! He comes often at night and wakes me out of a\nsound sleep with that awful laugh, and then he whispers to me to go to\nsleep again. Of course you do not believe in spirits or ghosts, and you\nbelieve I am crazy, and that the half-invisible form of my dead partner\nwhich comes to me and talks to me, and whose voice I hear as plainly as\nI ever heard yours, exists wholly in my imagination. Well, doctor, you\nhave been kind to me, and I hope and pray you will never suffer the way\nI have suffered during the past three years.\n\n\"'Just three years ago to-day I was on board the \"Ada Gray,\" a small\nschooner off the coast of Florida, bound for the Isthmus. There were\nseven of us in all, including the captain and mate, the latter an old\npal of mine who had arranged to get me in as one of the crew. In some\nway he had learned that the captain was to take with him some two\nthousand in gold, and although we had no plans, we intended to get the\ngold in some way. On our way down we had talked over many schemes, but\nnone of them seemed satisfactory. The gold was kept in a small fireproof\nsafe in the captain's cabin, but it was an old-fashioned key-lock\naffair, and we did not anticipate much trouble from that quarter, even\nif we could not find the key. The great point was, how we were to get\nthe money and get away. At last we decided to drug the men's coffee,\nand when they were sleeping from its effects, we would take the money\nand leave in the schooner's yawl, in which, as the weather was very calm\nand the Florida coast could be seen in the distance, we should have no\ndifficulty in making the shore.\n\n\"'Jim had overhauled the medicine chest and had found a vial containing\na lot of morphine pills marked one-eighth grain, and as neither he nor I\nknew how much morphine it took to drug a man, he watched his opportunity\nand emptied the contents of the vial into the coffee.\n\n\"'After supper we kept on deck for some time waiting results. At last\nJim went forward and reported everything quiet and the men apparently\nall asleep. We found the captain in his cabin lying on his bunk\nbreathing heavily. The key to the safe was in the captain's pocket, and\nwe opened it without difficulty. There were six rolls of twenty-dollar\npieces marked two hundred dollars each, eight rolls of ten-dollar\npieces, and a bag of silver.\n\n\"'We took the money and some other things we found in the cabin,\nincluding a pair of revolvers, a double-barrelled shot-gun, and a rifle,\nand put them in the boat, together with a small keg of water, tinned\nmeat, and a bag of ship biscuit. After these were carefully stowed away\nin the yawl, Jim went back to the cabin, while I busied myself arranging\nthings in the boat. He soon came on deck again bringing several bottles\nof brandy, and coming to the side of the schooner reached them one by\none to me over the side. As he handed me the last bottle I saw the burly\nform of our negro cook rise slowly out of the hatchway, rubbing his eyes\nas if half asleep. Jim saw my stare of surprise, and, turning quickly,\nfaced the negro, who was looking at us with a dazed expression. He could\nnot have drunk of the coffee, for I have since learned the amount of\nmorphine Jim put in the pot was more than enough to kill the entire\ncrew.\n\n\"'Jim turned, and, walking slowly up to the man, said hoarsely: \"Go\ndown,\" at the same time pointing to the hatchway.\n\n\"'\"What for?\" asked the negro, moving a step backward.\n\n\"'\"None of your business what for; go down, I tell you.\"\n\n\"'\"I don't take no orders from you, nohow,\" answered the man. \"Where's\nthe captain?\"\n\n\"'Without a word Jim struck him full in the face with all his strength.\nThe blow was an awful one, and the negro staggered back, and would have\nfallen had not he brought up against the foremast. He roared with rage,\nand came at Jim with a rush like a mad bull. Jim bent sideways, and\nsomething flashed in his hand, as he struck upwards under the man's arm.\n\n\"'Instantly the negro stumbled forward, and fell on the deck, and then\nsat up and began to cough. He coughed incessantly, like a man who has\nswallowed something which choked him. Jim looked at him a moment, and\nthen, without a word, cast off the painter and jumped into the boat.\nThere was not a breath of wind, so we each took an oar and pulled\ntowards the faint line of land just visible in the western horizon.\n\n\"'The schooner lay almost motionless, with the silence of death about\nher. The negro had stopped coughing, and all was still, save the faint\ncreaking of the masts and spars and the sounds of our oars in the\nrowlocks.\n\n\"'In the west the sun-painted clouds lay in great masses of gold and\npurple, tinting the sea with ever-changing colors.\n\n\"'\"Damn pretty sunset!\" remarked Jim, as he drew in his oar, and bent\nover to light his pipe, and then, musingly: \"I wish I hadn't had to\nkill that nigger.\"\n\n\"'Shortly after dark a gentle breeze sprung up from the southeast, and\nwe put up a little sail we had brought with us.\n\n\"'Fowley Rocks light was in plain sight, and about midnight we rounded\nCape Florida, and entered Biscayne Bay, and by daylight we made the\nmouth of the Miami River, where we tied up to a small pier, owned by a\nman named Brickle. On the other side of the river stood a long, low\nstone building, which, they told us, was once used as a government\nbuilding, and was called Fort Dallas.\n\n\"'We told the people we had come from Key West, following the coast\nalong inside the keys, and were on a hunting and fishing trip. Upon\ninquiry we learned that there was very little game about the bay except\ncrocodiles, but that we could get splendid sport by going up the river\ninto the everglades and following the shore line north to New River.\nThey advised us to get an Indian to go with us. This plan suited us\nexactly, as once having disappeared in the wilderness we could come out\nat some other point, and having assumed new names could go forth into\nthe world in perfect safety.\n\n\"'Before starting we bought a light flat-bottomed boat for use in\nshallow water, and after rowing up the river a few miles we made camp\nand burned the yawl, first breaking her up with our axes. This took up\nthe greater part of the day. In the afternoon Jim went up to the head of\nthe river and reported meeting an Indian who told him of a large island\nwhich was, as near as he could judge, about thirty miles to the north,\non which there were deer and turkeys.\n\n\"'We had plenty of provisions, and for three days we pushed our boat\nnorthward among the islands of the great grassy lake. In many places\nthe water was so shallow we had to push our way through grass and reeds.\nWe noticed a great many white flowers growing on the banks of the\nislands, and water-lilies were abundant, but they had no smell.\n\n\"'Towards evening, on the third day, we landed on a large island on\nwhich there was a high mound. Hundreds of white herons and various other\nkinds of birds were nesting in the trees, and there were a good many\nducks about. We shot some of the herons and cut off the long hair-like\nplumes, but the flesh was strong and unpalatable. The ducks, however,\nwere very good.\n\n\"'We camped on the mound, which was much higher than the rest of the\nisland, and decided to stay there for a day or two. While putting up the\ntent I saw something shine, and picked up a silver coin which had\nevidently been worn as a medal, as one edge had been flattened and a\nhole pierced in it. There was no date, but it was evidently very old.\n\n\"'That day we tried fishing, and shot several ducks. We had but one\nshot-gun, so took turns with it at the ducks.\n\n\"'That evening Jim produced an old pack of cards from his pocket and\nsuggested a game of poker. My luck went against me from the beginning,\nand when we stopped playing I had lost fully two-thirds of my share. The\nnext morning I awoke feeling remorseful and sulky, and demanded that Jim\nplay another game to give me a chance to get even. He assented readily\nenough, but my bad luck continued, and in an hour I had lost all of my\nmoney and had nothing left to bet. Jim got up, taking the gun, and went\ndown to the boat to repair a leak which had bothered us the day before.\nI sat on a log, inwardly raging and cursing myself for my foolishness.\nThe rifle was leaning against the log near me, and involuntarily I took\nit and dropped the lever to see if it was loaded. It was empty, and the\nhammer moved back and forth at the touch of my finger. Evidently the\nspring was broken. But how? Why? I felt in my pocket for my revolver\nwith feverish haste. Gone. Then I understood!\n\n\"'I rose and walked slowly down the slope of the mound, and nearly\nstepped on a large rattlesnake which lay coiled up beside a palmetto\nroot. I looked at the snake as he lay there watching me, rattling\nangrily all the while, and then I looked at Jim's coat which hung on a\nbranch near by, and at the doctored rifle in my hand, and the more I\nlooked the more wicked thoughts came into my mind. I glanced towards\nJim; he was apparently busy with the boat, and I could just see the top\nof his back as he bent over. I hastily fastened one of the dead herons\nto a stick and held it in front of the snake, which immediately struck\nit in the breast, and then uncoiled and slowly retreated into the scrub.\nTaking two pins from my coat, I inserted them into the holes made by the\nfangs of the rattlesnake, and took them out covered with blood and\npoison. In a few minutes this dried, and I then fastened the pins inside\nthe arm of Jim's coat in such a way that his hand would be scratched\nwhen he put it on.\n\n\"'This done, I hung the coat back on the branch and walked off a little\nway, but feeling more than half inclined to go back and take the pins\nout again while there was yet time. Perhaps Jim did not mean to kill me,\nbut simply wished to protect himself against treachery on my part;--but\nthen I remembered the negro and the morphine, and--well, dead men tell\nno tales. As I turned to go back, I saw Jim in the act of taking down\nhis coat, and I felt a queer choky sensation in my throat and a sort of\nhalf catch to my breath as he pushed his arm through the sleeve, at the\nsame time putting the back of his hand to his lips in a way that could\nonly have one meaning. I watched him with an ugly feeling of\nsatisfaction, wondering how long it would take for the poison to begin\nto take effect.\n\n\"'Jim put a couple of sticks on the fire, and then sat down on a log and\ncommenced to fill his pipe, but soon laid it down. \"Curse it!\" he said;\n\"I feel queer.\"\n\n\"'He got up and walked up and down, rubbing his arm. He looked at me in\nan odd sort of way once or twice, and then went into the tent and lay\ndown. Shortly after he called to me, and on my going to the door of the\ntent he tried to rise, but fell back and became delirious, laughing and\nshouting my name, and muttering to himself. He breathed with difficulty,\nand in a little while became unconscious, and just as the sun was\nsinking over the faint line of trees in the west he died.\n\n\"'I took down the tent and dug a hole and buried him where he lay. I\nbuilt a huge fire and sat by it all night without closing my eyes.\nTowards morning the moon came up and the sounds of the night noises\nceased, and as soon as it was light I put the gold and what things I\nneeded in the boat and made haste to leave the island. I paddled for two\nor three hours before I noticed that the sun, which had been to my right\nwhen I started, was at my left, and I knew that I must have turned the\nboat around.\n\n\"'I turned about and paddled on steadily all day long, but night found\nme with no signs of dry land anywhere, nothing but an unending stretch\nof grass and water as far as the eye could reach.\n\n\"'When it grew dark I lay down in the bottom of the boat and tried to\nsleep; but as soon as I closed my eyes I felt cold all over, a creepy\nsort of cold, and heard voices whispering. At first I told myself they\nwere not voices, 'twas a trick of my imagination, the wind, perhaps, or\nthe rustle of the grass about me; but then I heard Jim's voice. There\ncould be no mistaking his horrid, sneering laugh; it made me afraid, but\ndo what I would I could not help hearing it. I stopped my ears and\nwrapped my head in my coat; but still, from time to time, I could hear\nthe voices whispering, and Jim's laugh, and at times I felt cold.\n\n\"'The next day I poled and paddled until late in the afternoon. I felt\nvery hot, and my head ached as though it would split. I had a pain in\nthe back of my neck and drank a great deal of water. I knew I had some\nsort of a fever, but having no medicine I could do nothing but push on,\nhoping to find my way to dry land.\n\n\"'All that day I continually heard Jim's voice laughing at me, and the\nnext I knew I found myself in an Indian camp, and was told that I had\nbeen found in the boat sick. The gold was gone; the Indians claimed it\nwas not in the boat. One of them seemed to be a chief and wore a big\nturban on his head with a silver band around it. They told me his name\nwas Tom Tiger.\n\n\"'And now, doctor, good-by. Jim is whispering to me again and telling me\nit is time. In five minutes after I sign this I shall be dead. I shall\nmake no mistake. My knife is very sharp.\n\n\"'JOHN ALLEN.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ELIXIR OF LIFE.\n\n\n\"Behold,\" said Doctor Watson, \"the Elixir of Life!\"\n\nRobinson looked up from his writing and assumed an expression of deep\ninterest.\n\n\"Wonderful! I have often heard of it. Is it the true _Elixir vitae_ of\nthe ancients, or a new and more subtle compound?\"\n\n\"Listen, scoffer; if you will behave with a decorum consistent with the\ngravity of the subject, I will explain how I became the possessor of\nthis wonderful powder. Perhaps in your life of seclusion and deep toil\nyou may not have noticed this advertisement which has appeared for the\nlast month regularly in the morning paper?\" Watson took from his\npocket-book a newspaper clipping and read as follows:\n\n                           \"METHUSELAH CLUB.\n\n    \"The object of this club is to enable its members to live to\n    be one hundred and fifty years old. All persons desiring to\n    become members should apply for particulars to Rengee Sing,\n    No. -- Twenty-seventh street, City.\"\n\n\"Are you a member?\" inquired Robinson.\n\n\"Not as yet, but Jones is, and it was through Jones that I came into\npossession of this mysterious drug. It seems that Jones decided after\nreading the advertisement that he would like to become a member of the\nclub. Jones' health is not very good, as you know, and he called on\nRengee Sing, and the result of the interview was that he came away with\nthis small vial of the wonderful Elixir, for which he paid twenty good\ndollars. He was so impressed by the gentleman who sold him the powder\nthat he came to me, as his medical adviser, to ask my opinion as to the\nadvisability of taking some of it. He brought with him a paper\npurporting to be the translation of an ancient papyrus manuscript, the\noriginal of which was in Thibetian or Sanscrit and which was ingenious,\nif fraudulent. He told me a rambling story of how this Rengee Sing had\nprocured this powder, and the whole thing was so peculiar that I decided\nto interview the gentleman myself; but first I made a point of getting\nour friend Strauss to analyze the powder. His report of the analysis\nshows it to be composed entirely of chloride of sodium or common salt,\nwith a small quantity of some unknown vegetable matter which gives it a\nyellow color. Armed with this information, I called upon Rengee Sing at\nhis office on Twenty-seventh street.\"\n\n\"You interest me,\" said Robinson, glancing at his work, and palpably\nattempting to suppress a yawn.\n\nWatson arose, and gently but firmly removed the pen from Robinson's\nfingers; he then placed a book on the papers, and continued:\n\n\"The office was distinctly oriental, and there were numerous Bokhara and\nother good rugs scattered about; besides there were gorgeous divans, and\nthe air was heavy with peculiar Eastern odors. I was admitted by a\ngigantic negro dressed in oriental costume, and another negro arose as I\nentered, and stood respectfully at the inner door. I asked for Rengee\nSing, and was informed that he would 'be at liberty in a few moments,'\nand 'would I sit down and wait,' all in very good English from one of\nthe gigantic sable guardians who bowed me in. I was kept waiting but a\nfew moments, when the door opened and a small black-bearded Hindoo came\nsoftly into the room dressed in the ordinary European costume. There\nwas nothing striking about him except his eyes, which were really the\nmost wonderful eyes I have ever seen in a human being. With the gentle\nmanner peculiar to his race he smiled and asked me to take a seat near\nthe window.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" said Robinson, languidly, lighting a cigarette.\n\n\"Is what possible?\" inquired Watson, frowning slightly.\n\n\"Why, that he asked you to take a seat near the window.\"\n\n\"Robinson,\" remarked Watson sternly, \"remember that your mental\ninfirmities will not prevent my punching your head if you interrupt me\nwith any more foolish questions.\"\n\nRobinson grinned, and after ostentatiously placing a paper-weight within\neasy reach, Watson continued.\n\n\"I inquired if he was the person to whom I should apply for information\nabout the Methuselah Club.\n\n\"He answered that he had the honor of being the president of the club,\nand would be glad to supply me with all information in his power. Did I\nwish to join?\n\n\"'A friend of mine,' I said, 'has already become a member, and the\ndescription of a wonderful powder has interested me, likewise the\nhistory of the powder.'\n\n\"The Hindoo smiled gently, showing his white teeth, and said that he was\nnot surprised at my curiosity. He then went to a desk and took from it\nthe printed circular which Jones had already shown me, and which was\nsupposed to be a translation of the ancient manuscript. It is the one I\nhold in my hand; please glance over it before I continue my story.\"\n\nRobinson took the paper.\n\n\"What is this hieroglyphic affair at the top here?\" he asked.\n\n\"That,\" said Dr. Watson, \"is probably a copy of some very ancient amulet\nor talisman. The fish at the bottom was often used to designate '_Dag_,'\nor the master; next above we have the Solomon's seal, then the four\nChaldaic letters _Jod-He-Van-He-Iaho_, which is 'The Deity;' the other\nsymbols are strange to me.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Robinson, \"a weird sort of thing, is it not?\"\n\n\"Don't be sarcastic, read it,\" sententiously remarked Watson.\n\nRobinson did so.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"'Let him who dares to live forever take of the powder, but let him\nthink of \"_Aum_;\" but speak it not on pain of death; let absolute\n\"_muckta_\" be known to him; let him study the secret \"_mantras_,\" and\nponder on the mysteries of \"_Vach_;\" let him also say each day in his\nprayer \"_Aum ma-ni pad-me hum_.\"\n\n\"'He who takes of the powder three times should acquaint himself with\n\"{Hebrew: khet dalet}\" the _marcaba_ and the _lah gash_, then he will\nnever die. Even though he wished to live a thousand years, so it shall\nbe!'\"[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: Translation of the sacred manuscript found with the \"Elixir\nof Life.\"]\n\n\"Well,\" remarked Watson, \"what do you think of it?\"\n\n\"Fake,\" answered Robinson.\n\n\"Verily, out of the mouths of babes, etc.,\" said Watson, \"but, O learned\nfriend, you have not heard the whole story. Listen. I asked Rengee Sing\nif he would be good enough to explain to me fully about the powder and\nespecially how and where he obtained it.\n\n\"'My dear sir,' he said, 'I see you are a scientific man, and it always\ngives me great pleasure to meet such, and to explain to them as fully as\npossible how I, Rengee Sing, obtained possession of one of the most\nvaluable treasures in the world, the Elixir of Life; but before doing so\nI must enroll your name among the members of our Society; in fact, one\nof the rules of the Society is that unless a person becomes a member we\ncan tell him nothing, beyond allowing him to read the circular which you\nhave already seen. The initiation fee is five dollars, and you are at\nliberty not to take the powder if you desire not to do so after you have\nbecome a member, but if you wish to become a member in high standing,\nand to take the powder, which will insure you a length of life far\nbeyond that of ordinary mortals, an additional fee of twenty dollars is\ncharged for the powder.'\n\n\"I decided,\" continued Watson, \"that the experience was worth five\ndollars, so I intimated that I should be delighted to become a member of\nthe Society, and handed Mr. Sing five dollars, whereupon he wrote me a\nreceipt and gave me a member's card, which stated that I was a member of\nthe Methuselah Club of the second class, and entitled to receive the\nElixir, and to become a member of the first class upon the further\npayment of twenty dollars any time within the next ten days. After\nwhich, if I had not been made a member of the first class, my name\nshould be dropped from the rolls.\n\n\"Rengee Sing was the embodiment of courtesy when he bowed low and handed\nme my receipt.\n\n\"'My dear sir,' he said, 'I shall now be happy to explain to you\nanything that I can.'\n\n\"'I would like,' I said, 'if possible, to see the original papyrus which\nI understand was found with the Elixir, and I also would like to learn\nmore fully the details as to how and where this Elixir was obtained.'\n\n\"Rengee Sing bowed, and, going to the corner of the room, opened a small\nfireproof safe, taking from it a roll of what proved after being\nunrolled to be an ancient papyrus manuscript written in the Sanscrit\nlanguage. As far as I could make out it seemed to be the original of\nwhich the printed circular was a translation. It certainly appeared\nancient enough.\n\n\"'This manuscript,' said Sing, 'and the box of powder was obtained by my\nbrother and given to me at his death. He died from the effects of a fall\nfrom his horse, which broke three ribs and otherwise injured him\ninternally. He never would have died except from the accident, as he had\ntaken several doses of the Elixir. Just how long it will enable a man to\nlive we do not know, but certainly one hundred and fifty years and\nperhaps even two hundred years. He obtained it in the following manner:\nMy brother had long been desirous of visiting Lassa, which is, as you\nknow, the wonderful capital of Thibet, but was unable to do so until a\nfew years before his death, when he accompanied a Hindoo who went there\nfor the purpose of making certain reports to a foreign government. His\nname I am not at liberty to disclose, but his report was simply signed\nPunjaub A.B. My dear brother described Lassa to me very minutely, and\nfrom all accounts it must be the most wonderful city in the world. As\nyou probably know, no European or Christian has ever been allowed to\nenter within its walls. According to my brother's description the city\nis situated in a fertile plain on the Sampo river some six hundred miles\nnorth of Calcutta, and has a population of fully sixty thousand persons.\nThe streets are wide, and the houses have their walls whitened and the\nframes of the doors and windows colored red and yellow.\n\n\"'Nearly west of the city, connected with it by a splendid avenue, is\nthe mountain of Buddha, where now stands the temple of the Grand Lama.\nThis temple is four stories high, and therein dwells the Grand Lama and\nhis High Priests. Some idea of the magnificence of this temple may be\nobtained when I tell you that its great pillars are covered with plates\nof pure gold. The Grand Lama can live forever, and many people believe\nhe does so, but he really does not. After a certain time he reincarnates\nhimself into a new body. All of the priests, however, are very old. It\nis claimed the Pandita is at least one hundred and fifty years old. The\nGrand Lama has about him two priests of the highest grades, one the\nPandita and the other Tchoiji. The Grand Lama sits upon an altar or\nthrone for hours at a time, clothed in gold-woven cloth and jewels of\nfabulous value. Over his head is a magnificent peacock's tail composed\nentirely of gold and precious stones. It is the custom of the Grand Lama\nto receive persons who desire to receive his blessing at certain hours\nof the day. For a small amount of money one is allowed to bow before\nhim; for a little more one may touch his garment, and receive his silent\nblessing; but for the sum of twenty rupees he will speak to the person\nand touch him with a little wand. The Punjaub A.B. in describing his\ninterview states that the Grand Lama talks in a hoarse voice which he\ntries to make as much as possible like God's.\n\n\"'It was during his visit to the temple that my brother learned of the\nwonderful treasures preserved there, fabulous stories being told about a\nhuge emerald with an ancient inscription engraved upon it,--the mystic\nseal of the first Lama, which had been handed down for ages, together\nwith the greatest treasure of them all, known as the Elixir of Life.\n\n\"'The wonderful powder was and is used by the high priests, some of whom\nare of great age. It is supposed to have been brought into Thibet by\nKing Srongb Tsan, during the seventh century, and that it originally\ncame from Nepaul.'\n\n\"'How did your brother procure it?' I asked.\n\n\"'By bribing one of the priests. My brother was wealthy, and being very\ndesirous of procuring some of this wonderful powder, he tried to buy\nsome of it. Under no circumstances, however, would they listen to him or\neven allow him to see it. He succeeded, however, as I said, in bribing\none of the priests, paying him a large sum of money, several hundred\nrupees, I believe, and was shown the sacred chests containing this\npowder, and other treasures, including precious manuscripts and some\njewels of great value. The powder was contained in five little gold\nboxes, of beautiful workmanship. While examining them they heard a door\nclose and the sounds of footsteps in the passageway. The priest became\nvery much frightened and begged my brother to replace the boxes and\nmanuscript at once, and was so agitated that he did not notice my\nbrother when he slipped one of the gold boxes into his pocket. The\nperson, whoever he was, passed on down the passageway, and as soon as\nthey dared they hurriedly left the vault. Luckily for my brother he left\nLassa with the Punjaub that evening, and never learned whether the theft\nwas discovered or not. Probably his powder would have done him little\ngood had it been so and had he been suspected.'\n\n\"'But how,' I asked, 'do you know that this Elixir will really prolong\nlife?'\n\n\"Sing smiled sweetly, and said, 'I myself, my dear sir, am a living\nproof of that; I am one hundred and ten years old, and to-day there are\nin New York some sixty men who will live to that age, having taken the\npowder, unless they die from some form of disease. This elixir will not\nprotect them against poison or diseases where the poison germ has\nentered the system. That is impossible; but it acts upon the nerve\ncentres and upon the blood corpuscles in such a wonderful way that there\nis no degeneration. The person simply lives along the same as he would\nbetween the ages of thirty and forty; he is always the same. He may die\nfrom many causes, but it would not be from old age.'\n\n\"'My friend,' I said, 'took the liberty to analyze some of this powder.'\n\n\"'Ah! And may I inquire the result of his analysis?'\n\n\"A peculiar yellow light came into those eyes, and although he\nsmiled--Have you ever seen a caged tiger languidly looking at the crowd\nof people in front of his cage suddenly discover a dog near him?\"\n\n\"I don't know that I have,\" said Robinson.\n\n\"Well, if you do you will notice the same yellow light flash into his\neyes, and the sudden change of expression that I saw in the eyes of our\nfriend Sing. It was gone in a moment, however, and he was again smiling\nsweetly.\n\n\"'I understand he found it to consist principally of common salt.'\n\n\"'Quite so,' answered Sing; 'but he must have discovered that it also\ncontained something else?'\n\n\"'That is true,' I answered, 'there was a small amount of vegetable\nmatter which gave it a yellow color.'\n\n\"'That is the true Elixir,' said Sing; 'salt is merely necessary for the\nresults. You, as a scientific man, know that the poison which kills so\nquickly from the fang of a cobra and the ordinary white of an egg can\nhardly be distinguished by the chemist. He finds them both to be\nalbumen.'\n\n\"'Why, then, should one kill and the other be harmless?' I asked.\n\n\"'Simply the minute \"something else\" which is contained in the snake\npoison and which is held in solution by the albumen.'\n\n\"'Have you any other proof of the power of this Elixir?' I inquired.\n\n\"'My dear sir, I trust you do not question the truth of my statement\nregarding my own age.'\n\n\"He frowned slightly, and those wonderful eyes of his glanced like\nlightning towards the two huge attendants standing in plain sight in the\nhallway.\n\n\"'Not at all,' I hastened to assure him. 'It all seems so wonderful to\nme, you must excuse my apparent incredulity.'\n\n\"'The most natural thing in the world,' smiled Sing with grave courtesy,\n'but I will let your own eyes banish any doubt you may have as to the\nwonderful properties of this strange powder.\n\n\"'Ashmed,' he called, 'ask my son to come here a moment if he will be so\ngood.'\n\n\"The attendant who had spoken to me when I entered immediately\ndisappeared, and in a moment a back door opened and the bent figure of a\nvery old man entered the room and spoke to Sing in a weak voice. The\nlanguage was evidently Hindustani, but I caught a word here and there\nwhich sounded familiar. Sing spoke to him sharply, and turning to me\nsaid, 'This is my son; he is nearly eighty years old, but refuses to\ntake the powder on account of his religious principles--he belongs to\nthe sect who believes that to die is better than to live, that his\nspirit will become incarnate in another body, and in his next life he\nwill be at least a Kobtchie.'\n\n\"My eyes must have betrayed my incredulity.\n\n\"'You do not doubt that he is my son?' sweetly asked Mr. Sing.\n\n\"'Certainly not,' I answered.\n\n\"'I trust, then, that I shall have the pleasure of furnishing you with\nsome of the wonderful powder? There is not very much of it left, but\nluckily it requires a very small dose. I have enough probably to supply\none hundred men to insure them existence for one hundred and fifty\nyears. When that is gone the supply can never be replenished.'\n\n\"He sighed.\n\n\"'Thank you,' I answered. 'I shall think the matter over and in all\nprobability give myself the pleasure of calling upon you again.'\n\n\"Then I came away, being bowed out by the sable attendants with all\nceremony possible. There! What do you think of that?\"\n\n\"Do you intend to return and purchase the powder?\" asked Robinson.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" answered Watson, \"but I think I will wait awhile and see if\nJones lives to be one hundred and fifty!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE VOODOO IDOL.\n\n\nJones lay on the sofa watching the consul mix a long, cool drink of\nApollinaris water and crushed sour-sop. His arm pained him a good deal\nand the bandages felt hot and uncomfortable. By his side was a little\ntable on which were piled numerous articles in a manner common to\nmankind, among which were a bottle of whiskey, a revolver, several\nbooks, and a plate containing some bananas and sapodillias. A light\nbreeze stirred the curtains behind him, and under the awning he could\nsee the long stretch of green palms and waving cocoanuts, back of the\ncity. A faint white line indicated the road to Lecoup.\n\n\"I tell you what, old man,\" said the consul, as he poured the mixture\nfrom the shaker into the tall, thin glasses, \"you are almightly lucky to\nget out alive, and you took big chances. Stealing a god of the Voodoo\npriests is about as dangerous an experiment as playing with fire over a\nbarrel of gunpowder. From your description I should judge the place you\nfound it was about fifteen miles back of Gantier.\"\n\nJones nodded in silence.\n\n\"Well,\" continued the consul, \"it was somewhere in that vicinity they\nkilled that Frenchman last year, and how they ever let you get out alive\nI don't know. They meant to kill you fast enough, tried to poison you at\nGantier, and knocked out that servant of yours. You escaped by not\ndrinking the coffee. Then some one shot at you on the road, and even\nthen you did not have sense enough to throw away the idol; but even if\nyou had I don't know that it would have made any difference. Then the\nday before yesterday they put a bullet through your arm at Lecoup, and\nif old Chabeau had not gone himself with you part of the way, I do not\nbelieve you would ever have reached here alive. What on earth made you\nmonkey with that idol anyway?\"\n\nJones explained that he could not resist the temptation to steal it. He\nhad been camping on the banks of a nearly dry stream, ten miles or more\neast of Gantier, where he had found the little hummingbird, _Mellisuga\nminima_, the smallest bird in the world, very abundant. He had also\ntrapped a specimen of the extremely rare _Solenodon_, and being anxious\nto procure more he had stayed there for several days. Within half a mile\nof his camp was a small stone tower open at the sides, in the middle of\nwhich stood a little idol on a sort of pedestal. This little idol was\nabout eighteen inches high and was carved out of stone, the eyes oddly\nenough being bone. Jones had cast longing glances on this idol, but did\nnot dare to touch it, or in fact to go into the tower, as the natives\nwere sullen and suspicious, and on more than one occasion showed signs\nof being decidedly ugly.\n\nJones saw enough to confirm his impression that these people were a bad\nlot, and one dark night he \"folded his tent like the Arabs and silently\nstole away,\" taking with him as a souvenir the little idol, which he had\ncarefully rolled in a blanket and packed on one side of his pack-horse\nto balance his box of specimens on the other. Fear of possible\nunpleasant consequences had caused Jones to ride fast, but he had been\nfollowed and three separate attempts made on his life by unknown\npersons. The last one resulted in a bullet through the upper part of the\nleft arm. He was safe enough now, however, as he remarked, there being\nlittle likelihood of danger while under the protection of the American\nconsul in the city of Porto Prince.\n\n\"Don't you be too sure of that,\" said the consul. \"There, try that and\nsee how you like it.\"\n\nJones sipped the cool mixture; it seemed like nectar to him in his\nfeverish condition. The bullet which had passed through his arm had made\na wound, which, while not in itself serious, had left him weak and\nfeverish.\n\n\"Yes,\" continued the consul, \"you were mighty lucky to get off as you\ndid. You may not know it, but right here in Hayti the people in the\ninterior are as savage and bloodthirsty as any Central African tribe.\nMost of the inhabitants are descendants of negroes brought from the Gold\nCoast many years ago. They have reverted to their original wild state,\nkeeping up many of the ancient customs. Mixing as they have with the\nIndians of the interior, the present race is even worse than their\nancestors. From Toussant l'Overture in 1804, when he first ruled, to\nHyppolite Florvil and Salomon, the island has been the scene of\ncontinuous insurrection, intrigue, and murder.\n\n\"Salomon was probably the best of them all. He was an immense negro,\nsome six feet four inches tall, with a pock-marked face, who had\nreceived an education in Paris and married a Frenchwoman. He, like the\nrest, however, was superstitious and cruel at heart. Hyppolite was a\nVoodoo priest and, it is said, an anthropophagist. The people of the\ninterior have an intense hatred for the white man, and still retain many\nof the barbarous customs of the savages of the African interior.\n\n\"The Voodoo dance is presided over by a high priest, who usually\ncommands a goat or a hen to be killed, but in some of the more\nimportant ceremonies a child is murdered, and its blood mixed with the\n_tafia_ and drunk by the dancers. The high priest is called _Papoloy_.\nEvery two years after the dance of the moon a human sacrifice is\nordered; generally a young girl is killed and eaten. You probably ran up\nagainst one of the Voodoo gods, and the large stone in front was\nundoubtedly the sacrificial stone. How you ever got away alive passes my\ncomprehension. They evidently thought that you would try to leave in the\nday-time, and had things all arranged for taking a shot at you\nsomewhere, but your nocturnal skedaddle knocked their plans galley west.\nThere is one thing dead sure, those Voodoo priests are bad medicine, as\nwe used to say out West, and you want to keep your weather-eye open\nuntil you are safe on board a steamer and out of the harbor. I wouldn't\ngive five cents for your life if you walked about the streets of Porto\nPrince. When the time comes to leave I will have you smuggled on board.\nThe authorities would wink at your assassination, but they would not\nopenly countenance it.\"\n\nJones remarked wearily that he had begun to believe it might be as well\nfor him to rest quietly in the consulate, and not give them another\nchance.\n\nThe soft flower-scented breeze blew softly in through the open window\nand was soothing to Jones. Lying there on the lounge with his eyes\nclosed, he soon fell asleep, and the consul left him to attend to his\nvarious duties. When Jones awoke he lay in a sort of drowsy\ncondition--half asleep and half awake. Through his partly open eyes he\nlooked through the open door leading out on the broad piazza. There was\na chair in front of the door, and over the top of this he saw a face and\na pair of very black eyes looking at him intently. For a moment he\nimagined it was some freak of his imagination, as the face was as still\nas though it was carved in wax. Right in line with Jones' eyes, and\nwithin a foot of his half extended arm, was the little table, and the\nhandle of the revolver seemed to stand out as though placed there for\nhis especial benefit. That was certainly real, and it required a very\nslight movement for his fingers to close over the pistol handle; but he\ndid not move and lay watching the figure, which began to rise slowly and\ndeveloped into the form of a large, ugly-looking negro. Jones remembered\nparticularly noticing a white scar across the cheek just under the eye.\nThe man was not looking at him now, but was glancing about with the\nstealthy look of a hunted animal. At the same time he drew from under\nhis coat a long, unpleasant-looking knife. As he did so Jones lifted his\npistol, and, aiming hurriedly at the breast, fired. The man dropped,\ngrasping at the chair as he did so, but immediately rose to his feet,\nswaying unsteadily. Bang! went Jones' pistol again. This time the negro\ndid not fall, but stood seeming half dazed, steadying himself by holding\non to the back of the chair. Jones fired again, and at the report the\nman clapped his left hand tightly over his heart, and with a muttered\nimprecation threw the knife at Jones just as he fired his fourth shot,\nthe thud of the knife driving deep into the wood close to Jones' head\nbeing followed by the sound of a falling body on the hard floor. As the\nconsul ran into the room followed by one of his men he found Jones\nsitting on the lounge, pale and weak from excitement and fever.\n\n\"Lucky you had the pistol,\" remarked the consul; \"might have been\nunpleasant. See that gummy green stuff on the knife? Well, that is\npoison, and a mighty bad poison, too; one little scratch--But all's well\nthat ends well; the steamer is in, and if I were you I would make a bee\nline for the pier, and get on board just as soon as the Lord will let\nyou!\"\n\nJones rose with some difficulty and went out upon the wide balcony. On\nthe blue waters of the bay he saw a large steamer, and at her stern,\nfloating in the breeze, the most beautiful flag in the world, the Stars\nand Stripes.\n\nThe effect on him, in his half hysterical condition, was to make him\nwant to cry and cheer at the same time. The room he had just left was\ndark in contrast to the bright sunshine outside; but he could see the\nknife and the dead body of the negro, from which a narrow dark red\nstreak was slowly making its way across the floor.\n\n\"We can't go any too quick to suit me,\" said Jones.\n\n\n\n\nAN ARIZONA EPISODE.\n\n\nI.\n\nWendell Harrison was a club man with no ambition in life beyond making\nhis small income pay his club fees, and leave enough for him to live in\nthe manner peculiar to young men of his class. His one hope in life, as\nhe often told his particular crony, was to find a rich wife, and it\nseemed to Harrison that chance had played into his hands when he\nreceived an invitation from old John Stiversant to join his party on a\ntrip to the Grand Canyon in Northern Arizona.\n\nHarrison had met old Stiversant on the yacht of a mutual friend a few\nweeks before, and knowing how to make himself agreeable he had done so\nto the best of his ability, with the result that he had been asked to\nmake one of a party on this western trip in Mr. Stiversant's private\ncar.\n\n\"Good luck to you, old man,\" said his chum as he was leaving the club on\nhis way to the station. \"Go in and win.\"\n\n\"Trust me for that,\" answered Harrison.\n\nThe trip out proved a delightful one. Miss Nellie Stiversant, the young\nlady who, Harrison had decided, was the most likely catch, did not prove\nas easy as he imagined. While charming and agreeable, she had evidently\nseen more or less of the world, and was not to be gathered in by the\nfirst man who made up his mind he would like to have her ornament his\nhome. Likewise, she was a girl with common sense, and knowing her\nposition and advantages did not lose her head when a man showed an\ninclination for her society. In fact, just before the party arrived in\nFlagstaff she had made it very evident that she did not care for\nserious attentions from any one. She was, however, of a decidedly\nromantic nature, and Harrison pondered deep and long as to the best\nmethod of gaining her affections. Late that evening he was reading a\nsensational novel, when suddenly he laid it down and a far-away look\ncame into his eyes.\n\n\"By Jove,\" he muttered, \"the very thing--on this very road too. Whether\nthe story is true or not, it is reasonable enough, although a trifle\ndramatic, but that is what is wanted to attract a girl like Nell. She\ndon't care for me and never will, and all she wants is excitement and\nnovelty, but if she thinks I saved her life or risked my own in\nprotecting her, there might be a chance. In this story the chap had led\nrather a tough life, but had reformed, and the road-agents recognized\nhim and knew he meant business. He got pretty well shot up, but the\nwhole thing cast a halo around him, which would undoubtedly attract any\nromantic girl. Damn it, why couldn't I do it? It is that or nothing, the\ntrip will be over in two weeks, and it is pretty evident that I am not\nin it unless something extraordinary happens.\"\n\n\nII.\n\nThe saloon was pretty well filled with a sprinkling of miners, Mexicans,\nand ranchers. Men in blue overalls, flannel shirts, and wide-brimmed\nhats were playing the different games of chance or standing in groups in\nfront of the bar. A harsh brass-sounding piano on a raised platform at\nthe end of the room was being played by a short-haired individual in a\ndress suit, and a young lady who evidently did not object to the\ncalsomining process to aid nature was singing a topical song. In the\ncorner stood Wendell Harrison surrounded by four rough-looking men, who\nseemed very much interested in what he was saying.\n\n\"Now I think you understand thoroughly what is required,\" said\nHarrison. \"I am to pay you five dollars each now, and twenty dollars\neach when the job is done, likewise if it comes off successfully and the\nbluff works I am to give you twenty dollars more upon our return to\nFlagstaff. Don't forget to carry out the plan exactly as we have agreed.\nWhen I spring from the coach waving my pistol and firing blank\ncartridges, one of you is to shout, 'Fighting Harrison, by God!' and\nshoot two or three times as you run. The thing is easy, but requires a\nlittle judgment. I do not care where you stop the stage. Stop it any old\nplace, but not too near Flagstaff. I shall be alone in the coach with an\nold man and two young girls, so there is not the slightest danger, and I\nwill see that the old man is unarmed.\"\n\n\nIII.\n\n\"Say, Jimmie, I must tell yer something, but let me larf first. Say, I\nnearly fell down in a fit. I am going to tell yer all about it, but\ndon't call me a liar, or I'll kill yer. What do yer think? Oh, Lord, how\nmy stomach aches!--what _do_ yer think? Wait a minute--I'll tell yer in\na minute, let me larf it out now, or I shall drop down right here!\n\n\"Say, I sat in that booth over there having a quiet drink, and what do\nyer think? A dude in the next booth commenced putting up a job with four\nducks; one of them is Mexican John and the other is Brady, our assistant\nbar-keeper here. As far as I can make it out Brady got the three other\nducks. Say, wait a minute! I don't believe I ever will stop larfin'.\nWhat do yer think? this dude is going up to the Canyon on my next trip,\nand is going to have these four fellers stop the stage to put up a\nbluff on his girl to show what a fighter he is, and he is to give um\ntwenty dollars each. He is going to jump out and pull his gun and clean\nout the crowd, and then go back and bask in the sunshine and admiration\nof the young girls. Oh, Lord! The skunk don't care how much he scares\nthe girls and the old man who are goin' along, but all he wants is to\npose as a fighter from away back. But say, Jimmie, what do yer think? I\nhave been thinkin' this thing over, and I don't believe his little\npicnic will transpire. He calculates to blow in eighty dollars to make a\nmonkey of himself, and I am thinkin' that we can use that eighty dollars\nin our business and teach the fellow a good lesson all ter wonce. What\nbreaks me up more than anythin' is that he told Brady to hunt me up and\ntell me on the quiet that there was a reformed desperado going with me\nwho used to be known by the name of 'Fightin' Harrison.' Worked me into\nthe job too, see? What do yer think?\"\n\n\nIV.\n\nThe stage was slowly toiling up a dusty hill some five miles from\nFlagstaff. The road was rough and the day was warm. The stage-driver let\nthe horses take things easy, and from time to time shook with suppressed\nemotion. \"I hope I may die,\" said he to himself, \"if this ain't the\ndamndest.\"\n\nIn the back seats the two young girls, the old man, and the would-be\nhero were enjoying the scenery and the novelty of the trip in spite of\nthe dust. Suddenly three men sprang into the road, and a loud voice\ncommanded the stage to \"hold up.\"\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Nellie excitedly.\n\n\"Don't be afraid,\" said Wendell, pressing her hand, \"remember I am with\nyou.\"\n\nA rough-looking man appeared at the side of the stage.\n\n\"Is your name Harrison?\" he said, addressing Wendell.\n\n\"It is,\" answered Harrison boldly; \"what do you want?\"\n\n\"I have a bill here for eighty dollars against you, which will have to\nbe paid or you will have to get out and go back to town with me.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" gasped Harrison.\n\n\"Just what I say, young man; your name is Wendell Harrison, isn't it?\nYou used to be known here by the name of 'Fighting Harrison,' didn't\nyou?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, you have the wrong party,\" answered Harrison\nindignantly.\n\n\"Well, I don't know about that; didn't somebody tell you that this\nfellow was 'Fighting Harrison,' Bill?\"\n\n\"They certainly did,\" answered the stage-driver.\n\n\"It is all a mistake,\" said Harrison.\n\n\"Mistake or not, you will have to pay or go back to town with us; that\nis all there is to it. I believe you are the Harrison I want.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Harrison,\" said Nell, \"do pay this man and let us go on; you\ncan easily recover the money when you go back to town.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Stiversant, \"that certainly is the best way to settle\nthe matter; it is, undoubtedly, a case of mistaken identity, but this\nman is evidently acting in good faith, and you will have no difficulty\nin straightening matters upon your return at Flagstaff.\"\n\nHarrison's face was very red, and he looked and acted ugly; but this man\nevidently meant business, and there was no way out of it but to pay the\nmoney, which he did with a very bad grace, taking a receipt made out to\nWendell Harrison, alias \"Fighting Harrison of Arizona.\"\n\n\"An exciting incident,\" said Nell, as the party rode away.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Harrison, \"but one that might just as well have been left\nout of the programme.\"\n\nThe stage moved on, but Harrison seemed uneasy; every few minutes he\nmopped his face with his handkerchief and pressed his hand to his head\nas if in pain. Visions of the little reception committee some few miles\nahead were constantly in his mind. What would he say and do when the\nstage was stopped, and he received his cue to spring out and fire off\nhis six-shooter, especially as he had only fifteen dollars left in his\npocket. What would these pseudo-gentlemen of the road do to him, if,\nafter his little exhibit of bravery, he failed to wind up the melodrama\nby settling with the actors? He didn't care to find out, and his mind\nwas bent now in deciding the best way to get back to Flagstaff. He\ncontinued mopping his face, and once or twice he groaned.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Mr. Stiversant; \"are you ill?\"\n\n\"I fear so,\" answered Harrison faintly. \"I have a dull pain in my head\nand I feel faint.\"\n\n\"Oh, let us go back,\" said Nell, \"it is only five miles, and we can\nstart again to-morrow just as well.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it would be as well,\" said Harrison weakly; \"I fear I am going\nto be ill.\"\n\nIn the privacy of a room at the hotel Harrison hastily manufactured an\nurgent telegram calling him at once to San Francisco to see a sick\nuncle, and had barely time to explain matters and express his deep\nregret at being forced to leave the party at such short notice.\n\nAn hour later he lay back in a luxurious chair in the smoking\ncompartment of the California Limited, and gazed out of the windows at\nthe vast desert plains through which they passed. His eyes had a\nfar-away look in them, and ever and anon he sighed.\n\nFar up the Grand Canyon road late that evening Brady and his three\ncompanions still sat watching sadly for the stage which came not. There\nthey had sat in the burning sun without food or water since ten o'clock\nthat morning. They did not speak to each other, but occasionally they\ncursed, sometimes the birds, sometimes the inanimate things about them.\nAt times they thought of Harrison--but what their thoughts were no one\nwill ever know.\n\n\n\n\nONE TOUCH OF NATURE.\n\n\n\"Pretty good cigar this,\" remarked the Cowboy.\n\nThe Eastern man nodded.\n\n\"Nowadays we can buy good ones out where I live, but 'twa'n't very long\nago when good cigars were as rare out there as buffaloes are now round\nKansas City.\"\n\n\"The enormous increase in population in some of your Western cities is\nastonishing,\" remarked the Eastern man.\n\nThe Cowboy glanced at him with an amused smile. The Eastern man smiled\nback good-naturedly.\n\n\"What's the joke?\" he asked.\n\n[Illustration: RESTING HIS HEAD ON THE COWBOY'S KNEE.]\n\n\"Oh, nothin',\" answered the Cowboy, \"only I was thinkin' maybe you\ndidn't live out West.\"\n\n\"No, I am a New Yorker,\" answered the Eastern man.\n\n\"Well, I guess they raise pretty good men in both places,\" remarked the\nCowboy.\n\n\"Our late war proved that, I think.\"\n\nThe train had stopped, but there were no signs of a station, although\ntwo or three rather dilapidated houses and a typical Western saloon\ncould be seen a short distance ahead.\n\n\"Wonder what we are stopping here for,\" remarked the Cowboy; \"it strikes\nme we've been here a pretty long time.\"\n\nJust then the porter passed the door of the smoking compartment, and the\nCowboy called to him:\n\n\"Say, porter, what's the matter? Seems to me we have been stoppin' here\na whole lot. What's the name of this metropolis?\"\n\n\"It's mighty lucky you've got whole necks,\" answered the porter. \"The\neccentric, or something about the engine, is broke, and we came mighty\nnear having a bad accident. They've sent on for another engine.\"\n\n\"That's pleasant,\" remarked the Eastern man. \"How long do you think we\nshall have to stay here before the other engine arrives?\"\n\n\"Give it up,\" said the porter. \"Maybe an hour, maybe two; can't tell\nexactly. The train conductor will be along pretty soon and he will know\nall about it.\"\n\n\"Guess I'll have to appoint myself a committee of one to investigate,\"\nremarked the Cowboy.\n\nHe arose and went out on the platform of the car, followed by the\nEastern man. They climbed down and walked forward to where they saw a\ncrowd gathered about the engine. The eccentric rod had broken short\noff, and had the engine not been slowing up at the time, the result\nmight have been serious.\n\nThe two men strolled down the track for a short distance, and the Cowboy\ndiscovered a small colony of prairie dogs. Several of the comical little\ncreatures were sitting on their hind legs on the mounds beside their\nholes ready to disappear at the least sign of danger. Occasionally one\nwould run from one hole to another a short distance away, usually diving\nout of sight, to reappear again in a few moments when satisfied that\nthere was no immediate cause for alarm.\n\nThe Cowboy amused himself by listlessly throwing small stones at the\nlittle animals. After a few moments of this he turned to the Eastern man\nand said:\n\n\"Say, I am goin' to take a little stroll over yonder towards that\nluxurious mansion and get a drink from the well. Want to go along?\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" answered the Eastern man.\n\nThe two strolled slowly towards the house, which was decidedly in need\nof repair. The fence surrounding it was broken down in many places,\nweeds and grass filled the little yard in which there were still\nevidences of some past attempts at ornamentation in the way of\nflower-beds, and the whole place gave evidence of poverty and lack of\ncare. On the porch was seated a girl apparently between twelve and\nfourteen years of age. She was hugging an immense shaggy dog and crying\nas if her heart would break.\n\n\"What's the matter, sis?\" sympathetically inquired the Cowboy.\n\n\"Oh, sir (sob), Jake's goin' to kill my Rover.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\nThe sobs subsided a little and the girl looked up, wiping her eyes on\nher torn apron.\n\n\"Why, he bited Jake because he tried to kiss me and I didn't--want him\nto--and they are goin' to come and kill him.\"\n\n\"Who is goin' to come and kill him?\"\n\n\"The feller he bited--Jake.\"\n\n\"There, don't cry, little un; seems to me the purp did the proper caper.\nWhat do you think, pardner?\"\n\n\"In my opinion,\" answered the Eastern man, \"the dog's action was\ndecidedly laudatory.\"\n\n\"And yer think same as I do that the pup hadn't ought to be killed for\ndoin' it?\"\n\n\"Decidedly not.\"\n\n\"Say, sis, ain't yer got any friends to sort of stand off the feller as\nallows to do the killin'?\"\n\n\"No, sir, nobody except father, and he--drinks sometimes and don't care\nfor Rover, and he says he don't want no trouble.\"\n\n\"Ain't yer got no one else?\"\n\n\"No, sir; nobody but Rover. Mother's dead and I ain't got nobody but\nRover. Oh, dear me!\"\n\nThe girl buried her face in the shaggy coat of her friend and sobbed.\n\nThe Cowboy sat down on the step beside her; the dog eyed him\ninquiringly, but evidently decided he was a friend and wagged his tail\nslightly.\n\n\"Don't cry, my girl; brace up, now; perhaps they won't kill him after\nall.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, they will. Jake is over in the saloon now; I saw him go in.\nHe'll do it sure; he hates Rover.\"\n\n\"May I speak to your lap-dog? Will he tear me up much if I pat him?\"\ninquired the Cowboy.\n\n\"I wouldn't fool with him, sir; Rover don't like strangers.\"\n\nThe Cowboy snapped his fingers at the dog and called to him:\n\n\"Come here, Rover.\"\n\nThe splendid animal walked solemnly to him and, resting his head on his\nknee, looked up steadily into his face.\n\n\"Don't seem to be too savage nor nothin'--pretty decent sort of dog.\"\n\n\"Oh, he is, sir; he is just the sweetest, lovingest dog that ever lived.\nI had him when he wa'n't no bigger than a coon, and couldn't eat nothin'\nbut milk, and he loves me, don't you, Rover? and I love him, and he's\nall I've got to love in the world, and they're goin' to kill him. Oh,\nRover, Rover, what shall I do? what shall I do?\"\n\n\"Now, sis, tell us about the row--did the dog begin the trouble?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, sir; Jake came along this morning and I was settin' here\nplayin' with Rover, and Jake he grabbed me and tried to kiss me, and I\nput up a holler and Rover bited him in the leg. Jake swore and wanted to\nkill him, but he didn't darst to, and he didn't have no gun; so he's\ngone home to get his gun and he'll be back pretty quick and he's goin'\nto kill him.\"\n\nThe girl had stopped crying, but little hysterical sobs choked her from\ntime to time as she talked.\n\nThe Cowboy pulled the dog's ears gently and the animal responded by\nlicking his hand.\n\n\"Seems to me, pardner, that Jake ain't actin' quite white in this deal.\"\n\n\"It's an outrage,\" warmly responded the Eastern man.\n\n\"I see two fellers,\" continued the Cowboy, gently stroking the dog's\nhead, \"comin' around the corner of the house; maybe we'd better ask 'um\nplease not to hurt the dog.\"\n\n\"I agree with you, most decidedly.\"\n\nThe girl caught sight of the men and uttered a cry of fear. Seizing\nRover by the collar, she attempted to drag him inside the house, but the\ndog braced himself and growled savagely, facing the newcomers.\n\n\"Say, pard,\" remarked the Cowboy quietly, \"suppose they are impolite?\"\n\n\"Well.\"\n\n\"Can you fight?\"\n\n\"I can try.\"\n\n\"Bully for you, pard; that's the stuff! Shake.\"\n\nThe two men shook hands warmly. Jake and his companion were now very\nnear, and as they came up Jake pulled a large revolver from its holster.\n\n\"Now, girl, get away from that dog; I'm goin' to shoot him and I don't\nwant to hurt yer.\"\n\nThe girl turned white, but she placed herself in front of Rover,\nshielding him as much as she could with her slender body.\n\n\"Hold on, my friend,\" interposed the Cowboy; \"you mus'n't shoot that\ndog.\"\n\n\"Who's goin' to stop me?\" sneered Jake.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"You are, are you? Well, I'm goin' to shoot him just the same.\"\n\n\"If you shoot that dog I'll give you such a beating yer own mother won't\nknow yer. Sabby?\"\n\n\"Won't, hey? Perhaps you notice I've got a gun?\" said Jake, with an evil\nlook in his eyes.\n\n\"I've got one, too, but I ain't pulled it yet,\" answered the Cowboy\nslowly.\n\n\"See here, now,\" interposed Jake's companion, \"where do I come in?\nWhat'll I be doin' all the time when you're smashin' up my pard here?\"\n\n\"I will try and occupy your attention,\" quietly said the Eastern man.\n\n\"The hell you will!\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"Now, gentlemen,\" said the Cowboy, \"we don't want no trouble, but there\nis a peck of it around here if you fellers try to hurt that dog. The dog\nbit yer because yer tried to kiss the girl, and he served you damn well\nright!\"\n\n\"It's a lie!\" interrupted Jake sullenly.\n\nHow it was done the Eastern man never knew, but Jake went staggering\nbackward, and when he recovered himself and stood with the blood\ntrickling from a cut under his eye, the Cowboy had him covered with a\nbig Colt's 45, and the eyes which looked at him over the barrel were\nugly enough to make a gamer man than Jake feel uneasy.\n\n\"Drop yer gun.\"\n\nJake dropped it.\n\n\"Now move away from it.\"\n\nJake did so.\n\nThe Cowboy handed his big pistol to the Eastern man and walked straight\nup to Jake, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.\n\n\"Now take it back, or I'll smash yer face,\" said the Cowboy savagely.\n\n\"All right, but, damn you, if it warn't that my leg is sore where the\ndog bit me I'd fight yer till I couldn't see!\"\n\nThe Cowboy smiled grimly.\n\n\"Good enough! Now get out of here.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" interposed the Eastern man; \"may I make a suggestion?\"\n\n\"Cert, pard,--why, sure!\" answered the Cowboy.\n\n\"Well, it seems to me this matter had better be settled amicably if\npossible; if not, after we are gone something might happen to the dog.\nAfter what has happened the gentleman naturally feels an animosity\ntowards the animal. Now, I would suggest that he name a sum of money\nwhich he would consider sufficient to compensate him for injuries\nreceived. I would be glad to pay a reasonable amount--say ten\ndollars--in settlement of all damages, if the gentleman will agree not\nto attempt to injure the dog in any way.\"\n\n\"I'll agree to that,\" cried Jake eagerly.\n\n\"Very well, here is the money.\" The Eastern man held out a ten-dollar\ngold piece, which was seized upon by Jake, and without a word he and his\ncompanion started in a straight line for the saloon.\n\nThe Cowboy shouted after them: \"Remember, I'll be back here next week,\nand if the dog isn't all right there'll be trouble.\" Then, turning to\nthe girl, he said:\n\n\"Well, sis, the show's over; the dog's all right, so I guess I'll get\naboard the train. So, so long.\"\n\n\"Please tell me your name, sir, and you, too, sir,\" turning to the\nEastern man.\n\n\"Why, sis, what do you want to know my name for?\"\n\n\"To pray for you, sir; mother's dead, but I pray every night just the\nsame, and I ask God to bless Rover--he's all I've got now, you know. Is\nthat wrong, sir? and to-night and every night I'm goin' to ask God to\nbless both o' you for bein' so kind ter Rover and me.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all right, sis; don't think of it;\" the Cowboy's voice was\nhusky. \"Good-by; good-by, Rover, old boy.\"\n\nHe seized the big dog in his arms and turned him over on his back,\nholding him down. The dog caught one of the man's hands in his huge\nmouth and chewed it gently, while the Cowboy poked him playfully in the\nribs with the other. Then the man jumped up and ran for the car, with\nRover leaping and romping about him, uttering great deep barks of joy.\nThe Eastern man followed more slowly; a cinder or something had got into\nhis eye, and he was ostentatiously wiping it out with the corner of his\nhandkerchief.\n\nThat night, in the darkness of her room, the girl knelt by the side of\nher rough bed, and whispered softly her little prayer:\n\n                       \"God bless mamma,\n                        God bless papa,\n    God bless Rover, and bless the two fellers that was good to\n    me and Rover--I dunno their names, God, but you do.\"\n\nThe sounds of a slight figure getting into bed were followed by \"'Scuse\nme, Rover, I didn't mean to step on yer foot; goodnight, Rover, dear.\"\nSeveral heavy blows on the floor answered her, and then for a time there\nwas silence. The wind moaned faintly in the chimney and a rat squeaked\nand scampered across the floor; then a board creaked,--the child slept\non oblivious to it all,--but at each new sound the dark form on the\nfloor stirred slightly, a shaggy head was raised, and wide-open,\nfaithful eyes gazed in the direction from whence it came, intent, alert,\nand watchful.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\nTwo Hebrew characters (dalet on the left and khet on the right) on p.\n180 of the original book appear in this ASCII version as {Hebrew: khet\ndalet}, as Hebrew is read right-to-left.\n\nSpelling variants and dialect have been left as they appear in the\noriginal (e.g. purp, p. 223; damndest, p. 212; and almightly, p. 195).\nTwo misspellings of foreign words have also been retained. (matats for\nmetates, p. 81; sapodillias for sapodillas, p. 194).\n\nThe following corrections and changes were made:\n\n  p. 19: pocket knife to pocket-knife\n  p. 87: \" to ' (will say, 'Haven't you got any real good blankets?)\n  p. 121: is'nt to isn't (Nonsense, man, there isn't any dog.)\n  p. 135: thought-transferrence to thought-transference (what is called\n  telepathy or thought-transference)\n  p. 143: is to was (It was a very cold day)\n  p. 145: meetting to meeting (attending a corporation meeting)\n  p. 176-177: duplicate text removed (original read: \"dressed in the\n  ordinary European costume. There [Page Break] in the ordinary European\n  costume. There was nothing striking about him\")\n  p. 180: etc, to etc., (\"Verily, out of the mouths of babes, etc.,\")\n  p. 196: Mellissuga minima to Mellisuga minima\n  p. 202: ugly looking to ugly-looking\n  p. 205: Heading for section added (I.)\n\nCommas were changed to question marks in the following sentences:\n\n  p. 104: \"Were you a doctor when alive?\" I asked.\n  p. 178: \"What is this hieroglyphic affair at the top here?\" he asked.\n  p. 187: 'How did your brother procure it?' I asked.\n\nAccents or ligatures in the following words were modified for this ASCII\nversion:\n\n  -Canyon, canyon (n-tilde changed to 'ny')\n  -vitae (ae-ligature removed)\n  -Zoological (diaeresis on 2nd 'o' removed)\n  -Phoenix, chef-d'oeuvre (oe-ligatures removed)\n  -degrees (degree sign changed to word degrees)\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------","title":"Montezuma's Castle, and Other Weird Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":35085}