Chapter IV: Mysterious Ashes

After sending his curt message to Major Appleby, Grail sat in the office at headquarters, whither he had betaken himself from the meeting, smoking fiercely, and glowering at a spot on the wall. He had set himself in defiance of the whole post, and he could not but feel that he was in the right. At any rate, he scorned to defend himself against the aspersions of a blunderer like Appleby, or an officious young ass like Hemingway; for, as it happened, he knew of the story set afloat by the mess manager, Colonel Vedant having detailed it to him jestingly during their hurried trip to the foundry. Grail had been prevented then from offering any explanation, owing to their arrival at Schilder’s office.

Rather than make such an explanation now, he vowed he would be drawn and quartered, for he bitterly resented the attitude taken by his brother officers, their readiness--nay, almost eagerness--to believe the very worst of him.

Grail loved his profession. More than once he had refused flattering offers to leave it for a career in civil life. But now, in his hot indignation, he declared that not another week should find him wearing the uniform and associating with such double-faced, intriguing cads.

On the impulse of the moment, he stepped over to his desk, and, snatching up a pen, started to write out his resignation. But as he blotted the sheet before affixing his signature he paused, with an exclamation of annoyance, to find that the lines he had written were streaked with fine gray dust, which had fallen on the paper. A sort of gritty powder, it seemed to be, like the dust which rises from the handling of filed papers or documents. Without giving the matter second thought, Grail was about to tear up the blurred resignation and start to draft another one, when his attention was suddenly caught by a flake of the powder slightly larger than the others.

It was a tiny shred of paper, but what especially aroused his interest was that it showed the trace of a lithographed letter “V” of the peculiar style and shading used as a heading by the Dolliver Foundry.

Quickly he caught up the blotter he had been using, and shook it over a sheet of carbon paper, for there had flashed into his mind a prompt suspicion as to the nature of that dust. That it had fallen from the blotter there could be no question, and he recalled distinctly that he had left the mysteriously missing note lying on that blotter when he and the colonel took their hasty departure.

A moment or two gave him all the confirmation of his suspicion that he required, for under his vigorous shaking there sifted down on the dark surface several fragments, from a sixteenth to a thirty-second of an inch in diameter, on which he could plainly decipher indications of typewriting.

Snatching up a reading glass belonging to the colonel, he bent over these to satisfy himself he had made no mistake; then straightened up, with a muttered expletive and a little, puzzled frown between the eyes.

The glass brought out on one of the specks what appeared unquestionably the upper half of an “m”--and, what was more, the letter was slightly chipped on one side.

Grail leaned over to subject the fragment to a second examination, and make sure that he had not been misled; then drew from his pocket the carbon copy of the note he had dictated to Schilder’s stenographer, and compared the two impressions. They were alike, defect and all, as two pennies struck from the same die. One was forced to the conclusion that they had been made by the same machine.

Dropping his chin into his hand, the adjutant sat staring almost incredulously at the telltale speck in front of him. This knocked into smithereens the entire theory he had evolved as to the disappearance of Colonel Vedant, for, despite the pains he had taken to secure a copy of the note from Schilder’s typewriter, he had never really believed that the original summons had come from there.

Now, however, he was driven to a fresh line of speculation. Recalling the foundry manager’s freely expressed insinuations, he arose half impatiently, and tested the two typewriting machines used at headquarters. There were, as he expected, no point of similarity shown with the copy of the note he had caused to be transcribed by Miss Griffin. The “m” on both machines was clear-cut and flawless; there was no indication of blurring on the “D.”

Returning to the desk, he resumed his perplexed contemplation of the fragments on the sheet of carbon paper. It seemed certain that Schilder must have sent the decoy message, relying on its speedy disintegration to cover up his tracks. And right there another consideration arose to muddle him: How had this disintegration been accomplished? Hitherto he had been so intent on establishing the identity of these specks of typewriting with the missing message that he had not stopped to question the agency which could so quickly and thoroughly destroy a stout sheet of linen paper.

“Some powerful chemical, doubtless,” he reflected, recollecting that the note had been a trifle damp when he drew it from the envelope; and with this suggestion, he scraped together a little pinch of the dust to taste and smell of it. The tests confirmed his opinion. There was a faint, pungent odor to the particles, which, although familiar, he could not exactly place; and one of them, applied to his tongue, produced a slight burning sensation. The paper undoubtedly had been treated with some solution, which, in drying, reduced it to shreds.

He carefully transferred what remained of it to an envelope, in order to have his conclusions verified and the exact nature of the solvent determined by expert analysis; but he really needed no such corroboration. He was fully satisfied that the demolition of the message must have been effected in the way he assumed.

With so much settled, though, he seemed in no way relieved. Indeed, the frown of perplexity on his forehead grew deeper, and, seated there before his desk, he fell into a brown study.

Why, he thought, should Schilder have gone to so much trouble to get rid of this note, when he could so easily have supported his denial of writing it by the simple expedient of using another machine? As he himself had said to Grail, it would be quite a job, without other clews, to trace, among all the hundreds of machines in a city like Brantford, the particular one on which a specific communication was written.

“No,” the adjutant said aloud, fishing from his pocket the half-smoked cigarette he had found at the threshold of the foundry office, and, surveying it with a decisive nod, “I can’t be so far off the track. This new complication simply means that the trail is a bit more involved than I thought. However”--he shrugged his shoulders with returning resentment--“that is something for the bunch of wiseacres down the row to work out. I’m done with the whole business.” And once more he drew a sheet of paper toward him to indite his resignation.

With his pen dipped in the ink, he hesitated. There came a natural reluctance to quit in this way under fire. The fresh developments he had unearthed, too, served as a challenge to his ingenuity. He had a well-defined theory to account for the disappearance of the colonel, and, after his first anxiety at Schilder’s office, had not entertained any serious alarm as to the outcome. It was, he believed, merely a bold attempt on the part of some of the foreign spies who had been hanging around the post of late to obtain information in regard to the experiments in progress there. They must have become aware of the colonel’s habit of carrying home with him at night the reports made to him, in order that he might digest them at his leisure. Since the coup had failed, however, Colonel Vedant having no papers with him that evening, and being the last person in the world to divulge under duress or otherwise any official secrets, Grail felt satisfied that the captive would be released just as soon as those responsible for the outrage were safe beyond the reach of retribution.

He had not really credited Schilder with any hand in the affair. On that one point, at least, he was agreed with Lieutenant Hemingway, regarding the German merely as a rather thick-headed dupe who had unwittingly allowed his establishment to be used as a theater for the enterprise.

Now, however, with the seeming assurance that this decoy message must have come from the typewriter at the foundry, he began to wonder if he had not been taking too much for granted. One was certainly justified in believing that either the manager or his stenographer must have had knowledge of the writing of the note.

“Suppose,” Grail speculated, “the assumption I’ve been going on is a mistake? By Jove, I’m not infallible, and I’ve got no proof to support me--that is, nothing you could call real proof. Suppose, then, that there’s more to this job than I’ve been willing to concede, and that the old colonel is actually in danger? Have I got the right, merely from personal pique, to stand from under and leave the old boy to the mercy of a set of bunglers like Appleby and his crew?”

While he hesitated, his glance happened to fall on the pen he still held between his fingers, which he had picked up from the desk at random. It was a gold one, belonging to the colonel--a gift from his daughter, Meredith, as was shown by the tiny plate affixed to the handle, with the inscription: “Merry Christmas. M. L. V.”

Before the adjutant’s mind rose suddenly the vision of the fair-haired, lovely girl, so devotedly attached to her father. He knew what this affair would mean to her, how deeply she would be affected, whether there were any actual menace in the situation or not. He laid down his pen, and, picking up the form of resignation he had drafted, tore it across, and dropped it into the wastebasket.

“I’ve got to stick it out,” he muttered. “I’ve got to stick it out and clear this thing up--for her sake!”

His mind made up, he threw himself whole-heartedly into his task. A glance at his watch showed him it was after three o’clock, but no thought of sleep suggested itself to him. Instead, he caught up his hat and coat, and started out to take another look over the scene of the disappearance.

But there was nothing new to be gained, he found. The foundry yard, silent and deserted now, the last vestige of the scrap heaps cleared away, and only the idle crane, with its long, sweeping arm at rest, to serve as a reminder of the evening’s earlier activity, offered nothing more in the way of a clew; nor could old Dennis, at the gate, although garrulous enough, add any fresh information to what he had already told.

Leaving him after a brief colloquy, Grail thoughtfully strolled down to the railroad tracks skirting the banks of the river, and patrolled them slowly the length of the foundry inclosure and back, climbing up on each of the scrap-loaded freight cars standing on the siding to investigate, but only to drop down again every time, with a shake of the head. The night was beginning to give way now to the first faint gray of the summer dawn. More and more distinctly the different features of the water front revealed themselves--the chimneys of the big smelter, Brantford’s largest industry; the railroad machine shops beyond; and, overhead, dark and shadowy against the sky, the dim perspective of the great bridge stretching across the stream.

The horizon flushed into pink and crimson; the gilded cross of a steeple off in the distance flashed with the first beams of the rising sun; somewhere up the river a factory whistle blew. Morning had come.

Only the wide river was invisible now, blanketed in the thick mist which still hung over its swift, muddy current. Grail stood a moment staring out at the impenetrable veil; then, obliged to step nimbly from the tracks for the passage of an express train, turned, and made his way back past the gate of the foundry.

As he reached old Dennis, he halted suddenly, and wheeled to glance sharply once more out over the mist-enveloped stream.

“What is that noise?” he inquired.

The old gateman cupped his wrinkled fingers behind his ear, and bent his head to listen.

“Is it th’ choog, choog, choog ye mane?” he returned. “Sure, that must be a autymobile over in th’ bottoms.”

“No.” Grail shook his head. “That’s the exhaust of a motor boat, if I ever heard one.”

“A motor boat!” scoffed Dennis. “Wid all thim sand bars out there? Sure, there’s a loonytick runnin’ it, thin. W’y, sorr, nobody don’t niver sail motor boats on this river. Th’ boss just had wan iv th’ things shipped in yistedah, he was tellin’ me, but ’tis not on no river he’ll be thryin’ it. He’s goin’ to have it tuk out to Lake Manawa.”

A quick flash shot into the adjutant’s eye at this information, but his tone betrayed only a polite interest.

“So Mr. Schilders is going to have a boat out at the lake this summer, eh?”

“As I tell ye, sorr. An’ sure it may be out there already f’r all that I know. He was dickerin’ wid a felly yisteday afthernoon to haul it out f’r him.”

Grail merely nodded, and turned the conversation to another channel. The chug-chug which had caught his attention had faded away by this time, and there seemed nothing to keep him there, but still he lingered on, chatting with the old watchman.

It might have been observed, though, that he directed an occasional keen glance toward the mists, thinning fast now in the rays of the rising sun, and that when at last the vapors were entirely dissipated, and the river visible from shore to shore, a little frown of disappointment gathered between his eyes. On all the broad expanse of the tawny stream there was no craft of any kind to be discerned. He bade old Dennis good morning, and betook himself back to the post.

TO BE CONTINUED.

TIPS TO YOUNG PITCHERS.

HOW TO CURVE A BALL.

To be able to curve a ball is the ambition of every young player. If he happens to be the pitcher of his team, his desire is all the stronger. He wants to fool the other fellows when they come to the bat. He cannot be blamed for that. But while curve pitching is undoubtedly a great accomplishment, it must be remembered that in the old days of baseball many brilliant battles were won with the straight-arm delivery. It is not absolutely necessary, therefore, to curve a ball in order to win success. The writer vividly recalls the famous games in the early seventies in the neighborhood of New York. He was a boy then, and walked miles to see the contests. A curved ball was unknown then, so far as the pitching was concerned. And the pitchers were very effective, too. They studied the weakness of the batsmen, just as the pitchers do now. And that is the study all young pitchers must pursue. Begin your work by pitching a straight ball. You cannot gain control in a better way. As you are young in pitching experience, so also are your opponents young in their knowledge of batting. If you watch them closely you will perceive very quickly that nearly every one of them swings his bat at about the same height every time. For instance, you will notice that the first batter will swing his bat just in front of his waistband. In order to fool him, pitch the ball a little higher or a little lower than that point. The next batter may snap his bat high. Give him a high ball, but a few inches lower than he is likely to strike. The rule is by no means infallible, but it is a good one. It takes a boy a long time to overcome the inclination to swing in the same way every time he strikes. There is another important point to remember: Do not give the batsmen a chance to hit the ball with the end of their bats, if you can avoid it. This is simple enough if the batter stands close to the plate. You can keep the ball well in on him without much trouble. But when he stands back in the box, you must use discretion. Try to coax him with a ball or two just inside the plate. If he refuses to “bite,” then, of course, you’ll have to put it over. As you improve in your work, you can begin to practice curves.

Curve pitching cannot be taught by book or other directions. It must be learned by actual practice and experience. The principles of making a ball curve, however, may be explained. Let the young aspirant grasp the ball firmly in his hand, giving the pressure with his forefinger and middle finger. The other two fingers should be drawn in toward the palm. Next let him snap the ball first out of one side of the hand and next out of the other side. He will soon learn the effect these movements have on the ball. Then he must practice faithfully to so control it as to make the curves useful. Strange as it may seem, it is much more difficult for the beginner to throw or pitch a straight ball than one that describes an arc in its course. This is so because of the natural tendency of the player to throw the ball out of the side of his hand. To pitch a straight ball, it is necessary that the two fingers which grasp the ball should be straight up and down, with their backs in front of the player as he throws. Beyond these few hints it is almost impossible to give any intelligible instructions. It will depend almost entirely on the young player’s ability, inclination, and perseverance, how much of a success he will make at curve pitching. He cannot have too much practice, but he should take care not to overexert himself. It is not necessary to exert all his force. He can practice curves without putting his greatest speed into the ball.

DRUNKEN MONKEYS.

Did you ever hear that monkeys were an intemperate race of creatures? It is true. They actually get tipsy when they get the chance; but the punishment of their crime is something terrible even for a tipsy monkey. They are not merely taken to prison for safety and locked up for a few hours. There are no monkey policemen to do them that service, and we have not heard that there are any monkey magistrates to give them a severe lecture in the morning, fine them a few dollars, and tell them not to do it any more. No, it seems there are none of these beautiful provisions for Jacko’s safety and comfort provided in his native land, and so he falls into the hands of his enemies, and lifelong imprisonment, or even banishment to colder climates, is the punishment.

Like men, monkeys are easily outwitted when under the influence of liquor. They have human vices, and love stimulants. In Darfour and Sena, Africa, the natives make a fermented beer, of which the monkeys are passionately fond. Aware of this, the natives go to the parts of the forest frequented by the monkeys, and set on the ground calabashes full of the enticing liquor. As soon as the monkey sees and tastes it, he utters loud cries of joy that soon attract his comrades. Then an orgy begins, and in a short time they all show degrees of intoxication. Then the negroes appear. Some of the drinkers are too far gone to distrust them, but apparently take them for larger species of their own genus. The negroes take some up, and these begin to weep and cover them with maudlin kisses. When the negro takes one by the hand to lead him off, the nearest monkey will cling to the one who thus finds a support, and endeavor to go on also.

Another will clutch at him, and so on, until the negro leads a staggering line of ten or a dozen tipsy monkeys. When finally brought to the village, they are securely caged and gradually sobered down; but for two or three days a gradually diminishing supply of liquor is given them, so as to reconcile them by degrees to their state of captivity.

AN ANTIQUE MEAL.

“I have eaten apples that ripened more than eighteen hundred years ago; bread made from wheat grown before the children of Israel passed through the Red Sea; spread it with butter that was made when Elizabeth was Queen of England, and washed down the repast with wine that was old when Columbus was playing barefoot with the boys of Genoa,” said a gentleman at the club the other day.

The remarkable “spread” was given by an antiquary named Gorbel, in the city of Brussels. The apples were from a jar taken from the ruins of Pompeii, that buried city to whose people we owe our knowledge of canning fruit.

The wheat was taken from a chamber in one of the smaller pyramids, the butter from a stone shelf in an old well in Scotland, where it had lain in an earthenware crock in icy water, and the wine came from an old vault in the city of Corinth.

There were six guests at the table, and each had a mouthful of bread and a teaspoonful of the wine, but was permitted to help himself liberally to the butter, there being several pounds of it. The apple jar held about two-thirds of a gallon, and the fruit was as sweet, and the flavor as fine, as though it had been packed yesterday.

THE KEENEST EYESIGHT.

Like every other sense, that of sight improves by use under healthy conditions, and therefore the people who have the greatest exercise of their vision in the open air, under light of the sun, have the best eyesight. Generally speaking, savage tribes possess the keenest eyesight, acquired through hunting.

Natives of the Solomon Islands are very quick at perceiving distant objects, such as ships at sea, and will pick out birds concealed in dense foliage some sixty or seventy feet high. Shepherds and sailors are blessed with good sight; the Eskimo will detect a white fox in the snow a great distance away, while the Arabs of the deserts of Arabia have such extreme powers of vision that on the vast plains of the desert they will pick out objects invisible to the ordinary eye at ranges from one to ten miles distant.

Among civilized peoples, the Norwegians have better eyesight than most, if not all, others, as they more generally fulfill the necessary conditions. The reason why defective eyes are so much on the increase in this and many European countries lies in too much study of books in early life, and in badly lighted rooms.

THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.

Big Indiana Gas Well.

A gas well which gives more than 12,000,000 feet volume has been drilled in half a mile from Linton, Ind., on the Gillett farm. It is the largest gusher in the central States.

Missouri River’s Jokes with Farmers.

Suppose that, years ago when you were a young man, you came to Missouri and bought a farm on the banks of the Missouri River, and spent the next fifteen or twenty years in clearing the land and bringing it into a high state of cultivation. And then suppose that, just when you had begun to derive some benefit from your years of toil, the river should suddenly reach out and swallow up about half your farm.

Then suppose that the river, after keeping your farm for several years, should grow seemingly repentant and replace your farm, you would no doubt feel that all the land within the bounds mentioned in your deeds was your own as much as it ever was.

But that would all depend on the precise manner in which the river replaced your land. That is where the accretion law of Missouri comes in, and it is a fearful and mysterious thing. If the river, in putting your land back, began piling it up against your bank and continued doing so, the land to the water’s edge would be yours, even if it went beyond your original boundaries. But if the river, as it often does, should first throw up a bar out in the channel and then gradually fill up the space between that and your land until finally the current changed and left the island thus formed joined to your land, you would have no claim to any land thus formed. It would belong to the county, and could be surveyed and sold to the highest bidder, and the money it brought would go to the school fund.

The Missouri River is a malicious stream, and if it ever comes to judgment, will have a lot to answer for. Instead of pursuing its course in an orderly manner and sticking to one established course, it is forever changing, eating away the bank on one side and throwing up new banks on the other side, cutting out old sand bars here and building new ones there, so that the main channel is never the same for very long at a time.

In Holt County, near Fortescue, there has been a great deal of excitement lately, caused by the disputes over the possession of some of the land thus formed, commonly known as “bar land.” Several men had fenced land which was claimed under deed by John C. Hinkle, a Civil War veteran, who has lived on this land for the last fifty years. About fifteen years ago the river took five hundred acres of Mr. Hinkle’s land and afterward put it back as a bar. Mr. Hinkle claimed the land on the ground that the bar had made to his land, and the other men claimed it on the ground that it had been put back as an island, which finally joined Mr. Hinkle’s land, and was therefore as much theirs as any one’s. The court upheld the squatters’ claim that the land did not belong to Hinkle, and this decision was the signal for squatters to rush in and seize bar land all along the river front. In the last thirty days perhaps a dozen men have settled on these bars.

The fact of possession seems to be given considerable weight in this matter, and the land has generally been seized in the night. A squatter will pick out a piece of land that most suits his fancy, get some help, slip in at night, put a fence around it, and build a shack on it. Of course, it is not much of a house or much of a fence, but it is enough to establish proof of possession.

Sometimes two different men will have designs on the same piece of land, or perhaps the man whose deed calls for this land will offer objections to its being seized, and these conditions have given rise to several exciting encounters. Several houses have been torn down, many fences cut to pieces and in at least one instance men have been escorted from the land of their choice at the point of a Winchester, with instruction to “beat it” and not to come back. While no blood has been shed so far, it is freely predicted that it is only a matter of time until somebody is carried out “feet first.”

The county has ordered the land surveyed, with the intention of selling it to the highest bidder, but the law says that the ones in possession have a right to buy it at the highest bid, so that even if the county sells the land, the ones actually on the ground have a big advantage. This fact will probably cause others to try to seize land before the survey is made.

The land is not so very valuable except in a dry year, as it is liable to overflow any time the river rises a few feet.

Cowboy Sheriff.

Many who have visited the Pawnee Bill and Buffalo Bill Wild-West Shows wonder what has become of all the likely looking cowboys whose daring feats ahorse and with the lasso excited wonder and admiration.

Some are with other shows, some perform for moving pictures, but most of them have quit the business and settled down. Among those who quit when Pawnee Bill and Buffalo Bill closed is Tom Tait, who has located in Gillette, Wyo., county seat of Campbell County, where he has been elected sheriff. All his life has been spent on the cattle ranges of Wyoming, Montana, and the Dakotas, with the exception of the time he was on the road with the show. As a tamer of wild horses he has few equals, and as a “cow hand” none at all.

All Six Died with Boots On.

The Grim Reaper has surely played relentless and strange havoc with the Law family, of Muscatine, Iowa. Brad E. Law, a popular grocer, died recently while sitting in a chair at his home. He died “with his boots on,” so to speak, and so did his two brothers, his father, and his father’s two brothers. One of the grocer’s brothers, an engineer, was struck by a piece of a flying wheel, which broke and severed his head, and the other brother died while at the dinner table. His father died while plowing in the field, and one of his father’s brothers died in the pulpit, while preaching a sermon. His father’s other brother died while driving to town on his farm wagon.

They all met death while they were not expecting it. Neither of them was sick before his death, and sickness was not the cause of any of the deaths.

Tourists Welcome in Canada.

Numerous items have appeared lately in the press, advising residents of the United States to obtain passports when visiting or passing through Canada. Officials of the Canadian Pacific Railway made inquiries of the government at Ottawa whether passports are now required. The government announces that its officials are in no way interfering with bona-fide tourist traffic, and that persons desirous of visiting points of interest in Canada or of passing through Canada en route to other places will be accorded the same courteous treatment as was customary before the outbreak of war, and that passports are not required.

Why Belgium Thanks United States.

More than $21,500,000 has been received and the greater part of it spent for Belgian relief, according to a statement issued in New York by the commission for relief in Belgium.

One hundred and ten thousand tons of foodstuffs, cargo for twenty ships, are now on the way to American seaports from interior points, the statement adds.

Nearly sixty cargoes of foodstuffs, valued at more than $20,000,000, had been sent to Rotterdam up to the middle of March by the commission.

New Way to Hunt the Coyote.

Hunting coyotes on motor cycles is a popular sport in Sherman County, Kan. A party of ten young men went coyote hunting in this manner from there, and in one day succeeded in capturing three of the prairie pests.

New Attachment for Razor.

A Canadian inventor had secured a patent on which appears to be a simple attachment for converting an ordinary razor into one of the safety type.

The device consists simply of a piece of springy sheet metal folded so that it may be slipped over the razor blade. By holding the razor so that the side of the attachment comes in contact with the face, the right angle for the blade is attained.

Girl’s Foot Worth $14,000.

Fourteen thousand dollars was the price set on the right foot of a seven-year-old girl of Kenosha, Wis. A jury in the circuit court awarded that sum to Minnie Extra, daughter of a Kenosha laborer. A car on the Chicago & Milwaukee Electric Railway had mangled her foot so that amputation at the ankle was necessary.

Dog Politician Aids Master.

Joseph B. Steele, Independent candidate for the mayoralty nomination at the primaries in Granite City, Mo., has no “houn’ dawg” to aid him, but a devoted political worker in “Queen,” a bright little terrier. He picked up the dog on the streets recently and give it a home.

In way of repayment, the dog trotted about the town carrying in its mouth a card bearing Steele’s picture and an announcement of his candidacy. According to Steele, the dog is so intelligent that on meeting a doubtful voter it rises on its hind legs to call the sign more emphatically to his attention. The dog campaigner attracted much interest in Granite City.

Steele obtained the idea of enlisting Queen from the dog’s fondness for retrieving sticks and carrying objects about in its mouth. After a short training in carrying the card, the animal showed a remarkable enthusiasm for politics.

This Boat Travels on Land.

The visitor to the lumber districts of Canada may occasionally see what is to him a very remarkable sight--a primitive-looking steamboat high and dry on a road, crawling along quite comfortably, apparently just as much at home as in its natural element.

These boats are known as “alligators,” and are used for towing the rafts of logs down the rivers and lakes to the mills. Sometimes it is desired to transfer one of these craft to a new sphere of operations, which can only be reached overland, and the boat is then hauled out of the water, placed upon rollers, and travels to its destination by means of its own power.

“Dead” Fifty-two Years. Still Alive.

After being mourned as dead for fifty-two years, John Wesley Franse, a Civil War veteran, has been found living in a small town near San Francisco, according to a letter received by relatives in St. Louis, Mo. Franse was found by his sister, Mrs. William H. Marvin, of Kirkwood, a St. Louis suburb.

Franse served in the Confederate army under General Sterling Price. The entire regiment to which he belonged was captured and placed in the Union prison at Alton, Ill. Believing that he had died there, members of the Franse family for more than fifty years visited the Alton cemetery each Decoration Day and placed flowers on one of the unmarked Confederate graves.

At a social in Los Angeles recently Mrs. Marvin mentioned that her maiden name was Franse. Another guest said he knew an old man near by that name, and the search followed which resulted in the finding of the long-lost veteran.

Found in a Pound of Raisins.

One pound of raisins purchased from a store in Derry Church, Pa., by a special agent of the dairy and food commission was analyzed by State Chemist Charles la Wall. He found: Prunes, rice, beans, and fuzzy dirt; human and animal hairs, straight and curly; fibers of cotton and wool dyed green, yellow, brown, pink, and gray; straw and a little bit of bran, sand, cornstarch, broken wheat, and yeast spores; pine wood and fragments of unidentified other timber; tobacco leaf, cigarette paper, and cigarette tobacco. Also, the wings and legs of a few unfortunate insects. Otherwise the raisins were all right. The groceryman was arrested.

McManus Sisters in Doubt.

That adequate reparation for the murder of John B. McManus, the former Chicagoan, killed on his ranch outside of Mexico City, would not be exacted by the United States government is the belief expressed by his two sisters living in Chicago. They have taken the matter up with a number of Chicago Congressmen.

“I doubt if a proper indemnity will ever be paid Mrs. McManus,” said Miss Elizabeth McManus, when seen with her sister, Mrs. Mary Dorgan. “And it seems as if the matter of bringing the murderers to justice would also be allowed to lapse, as in other cases. Outrages were committed against the sisters of the Sacred Heart in Mexico City, and I find the state department did nothing further than to complain to the Mexican government.”

A letter from Counselor Lansing informed Miss McManus the Brazilian minister had placed the “full facts” before the new minister of Mexican foreign affairs.

This Potato King is a “Jap.”

Reading a story of the visit of George Shima, the potato king of Lodi, Cal., to Los Angeles, in a paper of that city, merchants of Lodi recall that not many years ago the Japanese capitalist could not obtain credit in the stores of this city, not because he was not honest, but as a newcomer he had not established credit.

Those business men who refused to trust him did not anticipate that in a few years Shima would control 37,000 acres in California and have 6,000 acres in his own holdings, and have established a large credit in California banks.

Last July Shima owned about a quarter of the 4,000,000 sacks of potatoes in California, and to-day he owns half of the 500,000 sacks unsold in the State.

Ready for the Golden Shore.

William Reid, a negro, who has lived in Red Bank, N. J., since he was mustered out of the Union army in 1865, celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday and vouchsafed the information that he had made preparations for a pleasant funeral.

He told his friends he dug his own grave in Whiteridge Cemetery, South Eatontown, four years ago, and that a slab now covers the space which he some day expects to fill.

During his spare moments he has constructed his own coffin, and this is stored with Reid’s favorite undertaker. Reid told his friends that while he was ready for the golden shore, he didn’t care how long the storage charges continued.

Unique Fire Tower in Forest.

Harry Childers, of La Pine, Ore., has been appointed fire guard by the forest service for the Rosland ranger station. The lookout at this station is one of the most unique in the State, being a 250-foot tower built on a big yellow pine. The trunk of the tree is divided about twenty feet from the ground and forms two parallel supports for the tower up to a height of nearly 200 feet. The lookout’s station in the top of the tower sways from two to ten feet in the wind.

Forty-one Years Postmaster.

John K. Gaither, for forty-one years postmaster at La Center, Wash., a few miles northeast of Ridgefield, will retire from the service as soon as Patrick M. Kane, recently appointed, can file his bond and get his commission.

Mr. Gaither, who is seventy-six years old, came west from Indiana in the year of 1873, and the following year was appointed postmaster. When he took over the La Center post office, there were only four patrons who subscribed for newspapers. Mr. Gaither is hale and hearty and active in several societies.

Jailer’s Order Kicked Back.

For permitting a prisoner to leave the jail before completing the reading of three chapters in the Bible, Jack Sheehan, warden of the city prison, in Johnston, Pa., was sentenced by Mayor Joseph Cauffel to read the same three chapters of the book of Corinthians. Sheehan did it.

J. R. Edwards had appeared before the mayor on a charge of having imbibed too freely. He was sentenced to read the three chapters aloud, and Warden Sheehan was delegated to listen to see that the sentence was fully complied with. Sheehan could not stand the prisoner’s reading and told him to go, it is alleged. Sheehan was then sentenced to do the reading.

Kentucky Woman, 112.

“Aunt Crissie” Stallard, who is probably the most noted woman in Kentucky, has just celebrated her one-hundred-and-twelfth birthday, and is still hale and hearty. “Aunt Crissie” was born in West Virginia and came to Kentucky at the age of twenty, and married James Stallard that same year. Her husband died twenty years later.

This aged woman has outlived all of her children except one who has been helpless for years. She is still living on her farm, near Hilliard, where she lived in 1823. She does all her own work--milking, gardening, getting her own firewood, just as she did back in the old days.

Her neighboring friends have offered to supply her with plenty of coal, but thus far she has repeatedly refused their offers. Aunt Crissie has a farm of 240 acres of land, with mineral and timber on it. Companies have offered large sums of money for the farm, but her reply is always the same: “I will never sell so long as I can provide for myself.”

Through High School at Ten.

Whitesburg, Ky., can perhaps boast of the youngest high-school graduate in the State. Miss Grace Newman, ten years old, daughter of Attorney J. H. Newman, of that place, is the heroine. Having entered the high-school examination at Whitesburg, and averaging among the best, she received her diploma and a good compliment. She is exceedingly small for one of her age.

Traded a Colt for 160 Acres.

Charles Watson, of Fort Scott, Kan., swapped a two-year-old colt for 160 acres of land in 1856, and the man rode the colt away because he feared Watson would go back on the deal. To-day the land is worth at least $16,000, and “Uncle Charlie,” as Watson is familiarly called, is rich. He is a veteran of the Civil War.

Thousand Killed in Mines.

More than 1,000 lives were lost in and about the mines of Pennsylvania in 1914, according to statistics made public by the state department of mines. Six hundred men and boys were killed in the anthracite mines--a reduction of twenty-four, compared with 1913--and 413 lost their lives in the bituminous regions--a decrease of 198, compared with the previous year.

The total production of coal in the State was 237,251,835 tons. The anthracite output amounted to 91,367,305 tons, a decrease of 259,659 compared with 1913, and the bituminous production was 145,884,530 tons, a decrease of 27,081,129 tons compared with the previous year. The number of persons employed in and about the mines last year was 376,831.

Some Quaint Tricks of the Numeral Nine.

There are some curious facts and fancies connected with numbers. The number nine is, perhaps, the first as regards such experiments, although number seven is more prominent in literature and history. When you once use it you can’t get rid of it. It will turn up again, no matter what you do to put it “down and out.”

All through the multiplication table the product of nine comes to nine. No matter what you multiply with or how many times you repeat or change the figures, the result is always the same.

For instance, twice nine equals eighteen; add eight and one, and you have nine. Three times nine equals twenty-seven; two and seven make nine again. Go on until you try eleven times nine equals ninety-nine. This seems to bring an exception. But add the digits--nine and nine make eighteen; and again, one and eight make nine. Go on to an indeterminable extent and the thing continues. Take any number at random. For example, 450 times nine equals 4,050, and the digits, added, make nine once more. Take 6,000 times 9, equals, 54,000, and again you have five and four.

Take any rows of figures, reverse the order, and subtract the lesser from the greater--the difference will certainly be always nine or a multiple of nine. For example, 5,071 minus 1,705 equals 3,366. Add these digits and you have eighteen, and one and eight make the familiar nine.

You have the same result no matter how you raise the numbers by squares and cubes.

One more way is given by which number nine shows its strange powers. Write down any number you please, add its digits, and then subtract the sum of said digits from the original number. No matter what numbers you start with, the sum of the digits in the answer will be nine.

Try these experiments, and you will be delighted with the exact manner in which they prove the statement. Some quaint puzzles have been made based on these fixed principles.

Launch New United States Ship in June.

The new superdreadnaught _Arizona_ will be launched early in June. As soon as it takes the water, preparations will begin for the laying of the keel of the still greater superdreadnaught _California_. The launching of the _Arizona_ is expected to prove one of the greatest naval celebrations in the history of New York.

Ninety-pound Voter, Still in Knee Pants.

John Smith, of Recluse, Miss., still in knee pants and weighing a little less than ninety pounds, is the smallest voter in the South. John attained his majority a few days ago and hastened to the depot for a ticket to Gulfport, the county seat, to get out his registration papers and be qualified as a full-sized man voter.

When he asked for the ticket, the agent handed him a child’s half-fare one. John was set back at this, but remarked that the agent didn’t know anything anyway. He would show them something when he came back from Gulfport.

When the conductor passed him in the train and shouted “Ticket, sonny!” John wanted to fight, but again he managed to control himself.

When he entered the court clerk’s office in Gulfport, he was asked:

“Want an errand boy’s job, kiddo?”

“No, dog-gone it,” yelled John, “I want to register.”

“The deuce you do,” shouted the clerk. But John submitted birth-registration papers and took oath as to his age. He was registered and now had the right to vote. His chest swelled.

Just at that time the candidate for next term of court clerk entered and said, “Hello, kid.” “Now, that’s where you lost a vote,” answered John indignantly. The candidate apologized when he learned the facts.

John, with his ninety pounds, knee pants, and registration papers, went back to Recluse. He now struts about the town discussing the tariff, the effect of the Mexican situation on the chances of the Democratic party, and everything his father talks about. And he doesn’t stand for any “kidding” about it, either.

Man Shows a Prophetic Egg.

J. P. Edwards was in Piggott, Ark., recently, showing a curious egg one of his hens laid the day before, and the exhibit surely aroused the most profound wonderment. The egg is an ordinary one in shape and size, but on the surface of the snow-white shell there appear to be faint maps of the eastern and western hemispheres. North and South America are intact, except a part of the extreme southern point, the Gulf of Mexico and Panama Canal being plainly shown.

On the eastern hemisphere everything looks as though having been torn by cyclonic winds and in danger of being scattered to the “four corners of the earth,” wherever they are.

Some say this freak egg is simply one result of the European war, earthquakes, land monopoly, et cetera. Those who are of prophetic vision see “signs” in this egg which prognosticate the future face of the world.

Girl Plumber-Butcher Quits Her Laundry.

“Cattle are more interesting than clothes,” says Miss Allie Pitts, of Eureka Springs, Ark., who has forsaken the butcher business to run a laundry. Miss Pitts is twenty-seven years old. She was accustomed to killing her own cattle and hogs when she was in the meat business. This summer she plans to quit the laundry, buy a cattle ranch, and ship her own stock to market.

Before she became a butcher Miss Pitts was a plumber. At an age when most girls are giggling over beaus and party dresses, this mountain girl was repairing broken water pipes and defective drains.

“I guess it’s because I’m just naturally odd,” she says bashfully when asked how she came to choose such odd professions. “I went to keeping books in a meat shop, and one day when the butcher was taken sick I offered to take his place. Then I bought a shop of my own in Granby, Mo. With the help of a man I employed I did all my own butchering, cutting up the beef, and rendering the lard. I knocked the animals in the head as they came down the runway. Oh, yes, I hated it at first, but I soon got used to it. Some way I hated worst to kill the hogs.

“Cattle are interesting,” she continued musingly; “much more interesting than clothes. I’m going back into the cattle business.”

The restrictions of corsets, high heels, and frills are unknown to this wholesome mountain girl. She dresses very plainly in a short, dark skirt, mannish waist and tie, and knockabout hat. She has mild blue eyes, curling dark hair, and talks with a little lisp.

Edison Will Make Benzol.

Another step for the manufacture of benzol in this country has been taken. Thomas A. Edison has opened a factory in Johnstown, Pa., for the manufacture of benzol from coal gas, a process never before developed in this country.

Carbolic acid and aniline dyes are made from benzol, which heretofore has come chiefly from Germany. Since the war there has been a great shortage of this product, and chemists and manufacturers have given much attention to producing it in this country. Recently Secretary of the Interior Lane announced that Doctor Rittman, one of the department’s chemists, had discovered a method of producing benzol from petroleum, and this week he announced that he had made arrangements with a manufacturing firm to use the Rittman method.

Rancher Battles with Trapped White Wolf.

John S. Sherrod, the rancher near Glenwood Springs, Col., who caught a huge white wolf in his traps near Fruita, was in Glenwood Springs and admitted having experienced a very thrilling time in connection with the wolf, and the near loss of his life in the Grand River.

The wolf was caught on the south side of the Grand River, and Sherrod had to cross in a boat. When landing on the north bank, the wolf sprang at the trapper, who grappled with the beast in order to save his life. The strain on the chain attached to the trap was too much with the two pulling on it, and it gave way, allowing the wolf and his captor to drop into the river, which is quite swift at this point.

Sherrod was almost drowned in his efforts to keep the wolf’s head under water, but he finally succeeded in besting the animal, which he pulled out on the bank and killed with a club.

The wolf’s pelt is worth one hundred dollars, and Sherrod seems to think he earned every cent of it.

Some Facts You May Not Know.

Among the rare specimens not open to public inspection in the Harvard Zoölogical Museum is what is asserted to be the largest frog in the world. It weighs about six pounds, is twenty-seven inches long from tip to toe, and of a slaty-black color. Its web feet are equal in size to those of a large swan. Only three of its kind have ever reached the United States.

The smallest cows in the world are found in the Samoan Islands. The average weight does not exceed 150 pounds, while the bulls weigh about 200 pounds. They are about the size of merino sheep.

The Siamese have a superstitious dislike of odd numbers, and they studiously strive to have in their own houses an even number of windows, doors, rooms, and cupboards.

There is a tribe of Indians in Mexico whose language is limited to about 300 words and who cannot count more than ten.

Next to the United States, Germany has the greatest number of telegraph offices and the largest line mileage.

Sugar exists in the sap of about 190 plants and trees.

The Chinese pupil reciting his lesson turns his back on the tutor.

Warships taking refuge in a neutral port are liable to be disarmed after twenty-four hours.

In some parts of Siberia milk is sold frozen around a piece of wood, which serves as a handle to carry it.

Herons, which average only four pounds in weight, often have been known to eat more than three pounds of fish at a meal.

In 1850 only one woman worked for wages to every ten men; now the ratio is one woman to four men.

His Second Fall Cures Him.

There was a man in our town,
And he was wondrous wise;
He jumped into a bramble bush
And scratched out both his eyes;
And when he saw his eyes were out
With all his might and main,
He jumped into the bramble bush
And scratched them in again.

W. J. Parker, a Corunna, Mich., lawyer, unwittingly took the part of the wise man in the Mother Goose story, with results as satisfactory as the tale sets forth. He recently slipped on an icy sidewalk and sustained a sprain of his ankle that compelled him to hobble about on crutches.

On a recent evening when he started down cellar to fix the furnace fire, he slipped and fell downstairs, and when he picked himself up, found his ankle was all right again and that he could walk without crutches and without pain.

Surgeons who examined the ankle say the first fall caused an obscure dislocation and that the second one reduced it. Parker has discarded the crutches permanently.

Has Lived Seventy-two Years on Same Farm Land.

Luman Owen, resident of Oak Grove, Wis., who has lived on the same farm seventy-two years, says he is the oldest living white person in Wisconsin who was born in the Badger State.

“My father came to Oak Grove, Dodge County, with his family and took up land from the government in the fall of 1842, which is seventy-two years this last fall,” said Mr. Owen. “I have lived on that same land continuously ever since, and am the last survivor of the family of nine persons. However, this was not their first place of settlement in Wisconsin. They came to Waukesha in the fall of 1836, from Ogdensburg, N. Y., and were on a boat from the time they left Ogdensburg, until they landed in Milwaukee, seven weeks and four days. They could have walked the distance in less time than that.

“My father took up land from the government in Waukesha, then called Prairieville, and there, in the spring of 1837, I was born. In 1842 our family moved to Dodge County, and again took up land from the government, the patents for which are signed by President James K. Polk. There was no homestead law in those days. Land had to be bought from the government at one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre.

“When we came here, this part of the country was wilderness, inhabited by wild animals and Indians, but it settled up fast, and as soon as people began to raise more than they wanted for their own use, the next thing was to get to market. We were sixty-five miles from Milwaukee, where all surplus farm products had to be hauled, and most invariably by an ox team, which was a long, tedious journey. If a man took in a load of produce to market and was fortunate enough to get a load of merchandise or immigrants or something of the kind to bring back, he would come out about even financially. But if he failed to get the load back, he would come home owing hotel bills along the road.”

Man Who Dumped Brewery is Dead.

Reverend Abraham de Kack, one-time prosperous brewer, who emptied the contents of his brewing plant into Grand River and later became a Methodist minister, is dead in Ionia, Mich., of pneumonia.

De Kack, more generally known as “De Quack,” and familiarly to his immediate circle of acquaintances as “Quackie,” which appellation is by no means lacking in the respect that it would seemingly fail to convey, was once a brewer in Holland, and later a celery grower, and finally a preacher of the gospel.

It was many years ago that De Kack brewed beer--it was considered good beer, too--but when he saw the harm that alcohol does, even in small amounts, he at once went to his little brewery, discharged the help, opened up the spigots of the beer vats, and, at the loss of a small fortune to himself, drained all the beer into the sewers. Then he became a minister.

It was a habit of De Kack’s to pay his hired help daily as far as possible, for he took seriously the biblical saying: “Owe no man.” Martin Dows, of Grand Rapids, one of De Kack’s employees, received his pay every night for twenty-nine years.

Old Nag Dies After Race.

After serving his master, Peter l’Heureux, of Marlboro, Mass., for the most of his twenty-six years of life, Mr. l’Heureux’s faithful family horse, either out of shame because he was beaten or because he felt bad about putting his owner out of pocket, turned around and died after he had just lost the second straight out of three heats in a race against the equine owned by Joseph Chaput on the Lakeside Avenue Straightaway.

For some time there had been arguments between the two men relative to the merits of their horses as “steppers.” It was decided to settle the matter. Bets were placed and all concerned repaired to the scene of contest. There were friends of both parties, probably 500 in all, assembled to see some free racing.

The distance was to be a quarter mile, best two heats out of three, and, after the stationing of officials, the race was on. L’Heureux’s horse was beaten by a good ten yards in the first heat and was a bad second in the next sprint. The animal was just turned round by the driver and headed in the direction of home when it suddenly pitched out of the shafts--dead.

“Boy” Prisoner Proves to be Married Woman.

After fraternizing with men prisoners in the jail and sharing a cell with Robert Stewart for several months, “Frank A. Dawson,” alias “Frank Morris,” of Oklahoma, arrested in Sutton, W. Va., on a charge of burglary, was found to be a woman.

Dawson, who appeared to be a youth of sixteen years, sent a note to Jailer Hyer, when her case was to have been called in court, and informed him that she was in disguise.

Dawson’s story was confirmed by a matron, and she further asserted that she is Mrs. Frank C. Dawson, of Clarksburg, and that she has a mother, brother, and a young child residing in that city.

Mrs. Dawson is a very pretty young woman. She and Stewart have occupied the same cell at night and she has daily associated with the other prisoners in the corridors. Stewart asserts that he was not aware of her sex.

According to the police, Dawson and Stewart are responsible for a number of daring burglaries in this vicinity, in which they are said to have made away with several thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry and valuables.

Boy Risks Life for Thirty-five Cents.

While Lee Mills, nineteen years old, was returning to his home in Webb City, Mo., from a “movie” show, at a late hour, two rough-bearded men stepped from behind the corner of a building, each holding an automatic revolver, and commanded “Hands up!” Instead of complying, young Mills, who was carrying an umbrella, used the latter as a “spear” and attacked the two holdup men. They opened fire upon him, but Mills, undaunted, continued to use his stout umbrella until he had put both men to flight. They fired many shots at him, but only one took effect, striking him in the right arm and passing through the fleshy part, without breaking any bones.

When young Mills was taken to a hospital for treatment, the doctor, thinking his patient must have a considerable sum of money with him to have put up so fierce a fight against such odds, asked him if he wanted his valuables taken care of.

“Oh, no,” replied Mills, “it isn’t necessary, as I only have thirty-five cents,” which statement proved true.

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The Nick Carter Stories

ISSUED EVERY SATURDAY BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS

When it comes to detective stories worth while, the =Nick Carter Stories= contain the only ones that should be considered. They are not overdrawn tales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of the finest minds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is familiar all over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be read in twenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe test of time so well as those contained in the =Nick Carter Stories=. It proves conclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list of some of the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them, or they will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receipt of the price in money or postage stamps.

704--Written in Red. 707--Rogues of the Air. 709--The Bolt from the Blue. 710--The Stockbridge Affair. 711--A Secret from the Past. 712--Playing the Last Hand. 713--A Slick Article. 714--The Taxicab Riddle. 717--The Master Rogue’s Alibi. 719--The Dead Letter. 720--The Allerton Millions. 728--The Mummy’s Head. 729--The Statue Clue. 730--The Torn Card. 731--Under Desperation’s Spur. 732--The Connecting Link. 733--The Abduction Syndicate. 736--The Toils of a Siren. 738--A Plot Within a Plot. 739--The Dead Accomplice. 741--The Green Scarab. 746--The Secret Entrance. 747--The Cavern Mystery. 748--The Disappearing Fortune. 749--A Voice from the Past. 752--The Spider’s Web. 753--The Man With a Crutch. 754--The Rajah’s Regalia. 755--Saved from Death. 756--The Man Inside. 757--Out for Vengeance. 758--The Poisons of Exili. 759--The Antique Vial. 760--The House of Slumber. 761--A Double Identity. 762--“The Mocker’s” Stratagem. 763--The Man that Came Back. 764--The Tracks in the Snow. 765--The Babbington Case. 766--The Masters of Millions. 767--The Blue Stain. 768--The Lost Clew. 770--The Turn of a Card. 771--A Message in the Dust. 772--A Royal Flush. 774--The Great Buddha Beryl. 775--The Vanishing Heiress. 776--The Unfinished Letter. 777--A Difficult Trail. 782--A Woman’s Stratagem. 783--The Cliff Castle Affair. 784--A Prisoner of the Tomb. 785--A Resourceful Foe. 789--The Great Hotel Tragedies. 795--Zanoni, the Transfigured. 796--The Lure of Gold. 797--The Man With a Chest. 798--A Shadowed Life. 799--The Secret Agent. 800--A Plot for a Crown. 801--The Red Button. 802--Up Against It. 803--The Gold Certificate. 804--Jack Wise’s Hurry Call. 805--Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase. 806--Nick Carter and the Broken Dagger. 807--Nick Carter’s Advertisement. 808--The Kregoff Necklace. 810--The Copper Cylinder. 811--Nick Carter and the Nihilists. 812--Nick Carter and the Convict Gang. 813--Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor. 814--The Triangled Coin. 815--Ninety-nine--and One. 816--Coin Number 77.

NEW SERIES

NICK CARTER STORIES

1--The Man from Nowhere. 2--The Face at the Window. 3--A Fight for a Million. 4--Nick Carter’s Land Office. 5--Nick Carter and the Professor. 6--Nick Carter as a Mill Hand. 7--A Single Clew. 8--The Emerald Snake. 9--The Currie Outfit. 10--Nick Carter and the Kidnapped Heiress. 11--Nick Carter Strikes Oil. 12--Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure. 13--A Mystery of the Highway. 14--The Silent Passenger. 15--Jack Dreen’s Secret. 16--Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case. 17--Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves. 18--Nick Carter’s Auto Chase. 19--The Corrigan Inheritance. 20--The Keen Eye of Denton. 21--The Spider’s Parlor. 22--Nick Carter’s Quick Guess. 23--Nick Carter and the Murderess. 24--Nick Carter and the Pay Car. 25--The Stolen Antique. 26--The Crook League. 27--An English Cracksman. 28--Nick Carter’s Still Hunt. 29--Nick Carter’s Electric Shock. 30--Nick Carter and the Stolen Duchess. 31--The Purple Spot. 32--The Stolen Groom. 33--The Inverted Cross. 34--Nick Carter and Kono McCall. 35--Nick Carter’s Death Trap. 36--Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle. 37--The Man Outside. 38--The Death Chamber. 39--The Wind and the Wire. 40--Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase. 41--Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend. 42--The Queen of the Seven. 43--Crossed Wires. 44--A Crimson Clew. 45--The Third Man. 46--The Sign of the Dagger. 47--The Devil Worshipers. 48--The Cross of Daggers. 49--At Risk of Life. 50--The Deeper Game. 51--The Code Message. 52--The Last of the Seven. 53--Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful. 54--The Secret Order of Associated Crooks. 55--The Golden Hair Clew. 56--Back From the Dead. 57--Through Dark Ways. 58--When Aces Were Trumps. 59--The Gambler’s Last Hand. 60--The Murder at Linden Fells. 61--A Game for Millions. 62--Under Cover. 63--The Last Call. 64--Mercedes Danton’s Double. 65--The Millionaire’s Nemesis. 66--A Princess of the Underworld. 67--The Crook’s Blind. 68--The Fatal Hour. 69--Blood Money. 70--A Queen of Her Kind. 71--Isabel Benton’s Trump Card. 72--A Princess of Hades. 73--A Prince of Plotters. 74--The Crook’s Double. 75--For Life and Honor. 76--A Compact With Dazaar. 77--In the Shadow of Dazaar. 78--The Crime of a Money King. 79--Birds of Prey. 80--The Unknown Dead. 81--The Severed Hand. 82--The Terrible Game of Millions. 83--A Dead Man’s Power. 84--The Secrets of an Old House. 85--The Wolf Within. 86--The Yellow Coupon. 87--In the Toils. 88--The Stolen Radium. 89--A Crime in Paradise. 90--Behind Prison Bars. 91--The Blind Man’s Daughter. 92--On the Brink of Ruin. 93--Letter of Fire. 94--The $100,000 Kiss. 95--Outlaws of the Militia. 96--The Opium-Runners. 97--In Record Time. 98--The Wag-Nuk Clew. 99--The Middle Link. 100--The Crystal Maze. 101--A New Serpent in Eden. 102--The Auburn Sensation. 103--A Dying Chance. 104--The Gargoni Girdle. 105--Twice in Jeopardy. 106--The Ghost Launch. 107--Up in the Air. 108--The Girl Prisoner. 109--The Red Plague. 110--The Arson Trust. 111--The King of the Firebugs. 112--“Lifter’s” of the Lofts. 113--French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves. 114--The Death Plot. 115--The Evil Formula. 116--The Blue Button. 117--The Deadly Parallel. 118--The Vivisectionists. 119--The Stolen Brain. 120--An Uncanny Revenge. 121--The Call of Death. 122--The Suicide. 123--Half a Million Ransom. 124--The Girl Kidnapper. 125--The Pirate Yacht. 126--The Crime of the White Hand. 127--Found in the Jungle. 128--Six Men in a Loop. 129--The Jewels of Wat Chang. 130--The Crime in the Tower. 131--The Fatal Message. 132--Broken Bars.

Dated March 27th, 1915.

133--Won by Magic.

Dated April 3d, 1915.

134--The Secret of Shangore.

Dated April 10th, 1915.

135--Straight to the Goal.

Dated April 17th, 1915.

136--The Man They Held Back.

=PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.= If you want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your news dealer, they can be obtained direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as money.

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NEW YORK CITY