OUT OF THE SHADOW.
Nash slept little the remainder of the night, for the smashing of the
water main and the total destruction of the newly built conduit worried
him. Things had been running so smoothly for the past few months that
this interruption came as a shock. He did not like to suspect any of his
own men of the outrage, yet it seemed impossible that an outsider could
elude the watchmen and perpetrate such an act.
Early the following morning he called together all his subforemen,
warning them not to allow a stranger within the camp limits unless he
showed the proper credentials.
“Without water,” he told them, “our construction work cannot go on. We
must guard it as we would our lives. Use as many watchmen at night as
you think best--better too many than not enough. Now, let’s see if we
can’t nip this thing in the bud. I’m willing to pay a substantial reward
for the capture of these culprits.”
The men responded eagerly, and Nash felt confident that they would do
all in their power to prevent another such outrage.
Late that same afternoon, while at work in his office, Nash was
interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in!” he shouted.
The door was opened, and the girl of the previous day’s adventure stood
before him. She was dressed in a khaki riding habit, brown boots, and a
wide-brimmed sombrero.
“Oh!” Nash said, smiling. “Pardon my shouting, won’t you? I thought it
was one of the men. Come right in and sit down.”
She thanked him, drawing off her riding gloves, and sinking into the
chair he had hurriedly placed for her. “You see, I’ve kept my promise.
Your pony is outside. He’s a little beauty--sure-footed as a deer. And
mine----”
“I found yours halfway to camp,” he answered. “It’s in the barn. I’ll
give orders to have it brought around. Your saddle is here.” He pointed
to the corner. “I thought it would be safer. Is it your own saddle?” he
asked.
“Yes.”
He went over to the telephone. So those little maps really belonged to
her, he said to himself. What use could she have for such technical
drawings? And what was the meaning of his name and the note on one of
the drawings?
“Hello!” The barn boss was on the wire. “Send over the horse I brought
in last night, will you?” said Nash. “No, only the bridle. The saddle is
here. Right away, please.”
He hung up the receiver and turned to his visitor.
“I believe you’re getting tanned,” he said, searching her face
critically, thoughtfully.
She laughed. “Really? And in one day? Well, I have to begin some time,
don’t I? And if I stay at the ranch for six months I suppose I’ll be as
dark as an Indian.”
“Oh, then you’re going to be a permanent visitor?”
She nodded. “Shall I be a welcome one?” she ventured.
“At Camp Forty-seven, yes,” Nash answered.
“Oh, I’m carried away with this wonderful country!” she exclaimed, her
eyes sparkling. “How much I’ve missed by living all these years in the
East! And this aqueduct building is so interesting. You don’t realize
how I enjoy watching the work. I should have been a man, I guess. I’d
really love to get down with the laborers and mix cement.”
“Well,” Nash returned, in mock seriousness, “perhaps I can give you a
job. It would be a novelty for our camp, at least.”
They laughed. Presently the girl’s horse was brought around to the door.
“Maybe you’d like to take a little inspection trip with me?” he
suggested. “I generally make the rounds about this hour.”
She gladly assented.
Nash had the saddle adjusted.
“Do you know,” he said abruptly, just before helping her into the
saddle, “you haven’t told me your name?”
“Miss Breen,” she told him. “I really should have introduced myself
yesterday. I was too upset, I guess.”
They jogged along the main street of the camp, and then struck sharply
up the winding trail, reaching the summit of the hill after a
ten-minute climb. From this point of vantage a five-mile view of the
conduit construction was visible.
“There!” he said, drawing rein and sweeping his hand up and down the
valley. A little, amazed cry escaped her lips.
“Oh, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
“It is more than that, Miss Breen,” he replied. “I don’t know where
there is a greater undertaking on the face of the earth than this one.
Why, every time I ride here and look over that lengthening line of
conduit, I feel like shouting to the very heavens. And to think that my
city is doing it all!”
She turned curiously, moved by his tone. “You--you’re a Los Angeles
man?”
“To the core!” he answered. “Do you blame me for being proud? How many
cities would dare even to dream of such a marvelous waterway? Oh, out
here in the West, Miss Breen, men are doing the impossible!” In a calmer
voice, he added: “This will be the longest aqueduct in the world--two
hundred and fifty miles. Think of it! It will carry ten times as much
water as all the aqueducts of Rome combined.”
The girl did not answer, but her gaze was riveted upon the winding,
glistening length of concrete far below.
“We’re bringing the snow waters of the great Sierra Nevada Mountains
across the Mohave Desert,” he continued, “across the deep cañons,
through many tunnels, and finally beneath the Sierra Madre range. And a
city of three hundred thousand people voted a bond issue of twenty-five
millions to accomplish this feat of daring.”
“It must be a great satisfaction to a man to know that his brain and his
hands are helping this dream of a city to become a reality,” Miss Breen
remarked, after a pause.
“Yes,” said Nash. “We forget it is work. Wasn’t it Kipling who said the
highest pleasure that could come to a man was in the realization of a
task well done?”
“‘Each for the joy of the working,’” the girl quoted softly. “I think
that’s the verse.”
For a little time they were silent, wrapped in their own thoughts. The
girl was idly fingering her pony’s mane; Nash was watching the white
plumes of steam that arose from the big dredges, far in the distance.
Then he swept his eyes to an opposite part of the valley.
“Over there,” he said quietly, but with a touch of pride, “I’m starting
a ‘coyote.’”
The girl looked to where his finger pointed. She could barely make out a
black hole a few yards below the summit of a hill.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A coyote is the name we use for that little tunnel. You can barely make
out the mouth of it from here. We’ve got to level off the top of that
hill. To accomplish it, we send in a drift; then, at the end of it, we
hollow out a big chamber. This is filled with dynamite--a half a hundred
boxes probably. Wires are laid from it across the valley and to the top
of another hill. At the proper time, an electric battery is attached to
the wires, a button is pressed--and bang! The top of the hill goes up in
the air.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, gripping her hands. “It must be a wonderful sight.
May I watch it?”
“It won’t be ready for another week yet,” he answered. “But when we
touch off the battery you’ll see the prettiest exhibition of fireworks
this side of Manhattan Beach.”
In a little while they rode down the slope once more and along the busy
line of operations. He explained everything to her, in the simplest
terms; she appeared deeply interested, and asked a hundred questions,
some of which puzzled Nash, not because of their difficulty, but rather
because they were so unexpected. It seemed strange to him that a girl
like Miss Breen, apparently in this part of the country for health and
recreation, should manifest such a keen desire for technical knowledge.
She betrayed immediate interest in the humanlike electric shovels, and
at the grinding, growling, dust-hidden cement mixers, and at the
spiderlike derricks that picked up tons of steel with the ease of a man
lifting a sheet of paper.
Finally he took her to where the first siphon was being erected.
“You see,” he explained patiently, “when we come to a valley, or to any
depression, we’re compelled to use these immense steel mains. Through
them the water is shot down one side and up the other. This one building
is ten feet in diameter. In New York, if you remember, there is a siphon
bored through solid granite, running beneath the Hudson River, and
bringing water from the Catskill Aqueduct. With the exception of a small
length of pressure pipe in use at Niagara Falls, our siphons are the
largest and longest in the world.”
“I should think the force of the water would soon burst even the best of
steel,” she announced suddenly.
“It would,” Nash replied, smiling at her remark. “Water will break steel
like an eggshell, unless, of course, the steel is of a certain thickness
and tensile strength.”
Miss Breen went over and looked at a huge section of steel pipe which
was almost ready to be riveted in place.
“It doesn’t look very strong,” she said.
Nash laughed. “The aqueduct engineer spent many months figuring out the
right thickness. Specifications to the thousandth of an inch are given.”
“And do you order the steel?” she asked.
He nodded. “That is one of the easy jobs,” he said. “’Most anybody can
follow printed specifications.”
It was growing darker steadily. They had been so interested that the
time had been forgotten; turning from their observations, they saw that
the men had deserted the conduit work, and that all the big machines had
stopped.
“How quiet it is!” Miss Breen said, as they walked back to where the
ponies were hitched.
“I’ll ride with you as far as the high trail,” Nash volunteered, drawing
out his watch, and surprised that the hands marked six o’clock. “Are you
afraid to go on to the ranch alone?”
“Of course not. I haven’t been afraid since I left the East. Somehow,
one forgets there is such a word out here.”
As he swung into his saddle, his coat flew up a little, and disclosed a
weapon in his hip pocket.
“A revolver!” she exclaimed. “Why, what are you afraid of, Mr. Nash?”
“It isn’t that I’m afraid,” Nash told her gravely; “but in an argument,
the man with a gun generally wins out.”
“I suppose, being a Californian, you’re a good shot?” Miss Breen said.
“I suppose it comes natural, doesn’t it?”
Nash shook his head and smiled into her anxious face. “What makes you
think that? All Easterners think the same. They want to believe that
every man between here and the Colorado line carries a six-shooter or
two. Nothing could be more absurd. The real gunman is found in the big
cities. Why, I’ll wager there are more men in New York City to-day
carrying guns than in the whole State of California.”
“Well,” she returned, “I always imagined because one was in the West
that----” She stopped suddenly. “Look there! A snake!”
Nash jerked the gun from his pocket, aimed it swiftly, and tightened his
finger upon the trigger. The hammer fell in obedience to the pressure on
the trigger, but only a hollow click resulted.
“Jove!” he exclaimed, realizing the truth instantly. “I used this
revolver last night, and forgot to load it again.”
“An unloaded gun isn’t of much use, is it?” Miss Breen said, laughing
with him, and watching the snake crawl safely away.
“On the contrary,” Nash responded, “it is.”
She frowned. “But how? Why, the other man could----”
“Could, but wouldn’t,” Nash interrupted. “It’s the gun he’s afraid of,
not the bullet. And being gun-shy is about the commonest of human
traits. As a general rule, you’ll find it is the Eastern man who is most
likely to pack around a gun. He considers it a necessary part of his
Western equipment--the same as fringed gloves, chaps, knotted bandannas,
and jingling spurs.”
She did not answer him immediately, and they rode on in the silence. The
twilight still lasted; an awesome hush brooded over the purpling hills.
The hard outlines of the slim pines and the gaunt ridges of rock
softened in the tender light. The air, sweet with the fragrance of wild
flowers, tempered by the banks of snow on the higher ranges, swept to
the faces of the riders.
“What is that?” Miss Breen asked abruptly, pointing below, to where a
black line wound along the foot of the cliff.
“That is part of our water main,” Nash responded, following the
direction of her finger. “It is piped from camp to camp. A half mile on
down the line is where----”
He stopped so unexpectedly that the girl bent forward in her saddle and
peered into his face. Nash had caught sight of a dark form slipping
along the pipe line. The outrage of the previous night was instantly
recalled to his mind.
He dropped from his saddle. “You’d better remain right where you are,
Miss Breen.”
Luckily they had stopped well within the shadow of a cliff. The man
below them came on cautiously, unable to distinguish the two who waited
on the trail.
Miss Breen had slipped from her saddle and had joined Nash. Both were
crouching behind a jagged point of rock.
Nash’s eager, searching eyes had discovered something that fairly made
his pulses race. The advancing man was carrying a long-handled hammer
over his shoulder.
“What--what is it?” the girl stammered, awed by the silence.
“You’d better not stay here,” Nash told her again.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to capture this man,” he declared. “He may be armed. You had
better get back of----”
The man was so near now that Nash could distinguish the wide-brimmed
sombrero and the glistening silver ornaments on the band. At the moment
his eyes gathered in these details, he was surprised by a quick, choking
cry that fell from Miss Breen’s lips.
The advancing man must have heard, for he stopped, rigid as a statue.
His face, protected by the big hat, was shrouded in shadow.
Although mystified at the girl’s action, Nash knew no time was to be
wasted. He jerked out his gun, and stepped from the shadow.
“Hands up, you!” he exclaimed grimly.
The man reeled back. Nash spoke again sharply. The arms shot skyward,
the heavy hammer crashing to the rocks behind him.
“Keep them there,” cautioned Nash. “Now, walk forward! Careful! No
tricks, or I’ll----” He moved his revolver suggestively.
The man came forward slowly, step by step. Then, just as his features
were beginning to grow distinct, Miss Breen lifted a shrill, frightened
voice:
“Run, run! His gun isn’t loaded!”
In a flash, hardly before Nash could realize what had been said, the man
dropped his arms, vaulted the line of pipe, and was instantly swallowed
by the shadows.
TO BE CONTINUED.
* * * * *
BREATHING THROUGH THE NOSE.
It is all important, in order to preserve the system from shock and the
danger of contamination by foreign substances, that before the air
enters the lungs it should be made as nearly as possible of the same
temperature as the blood, and should be deprived of all particles of
dust, which might be a hindrance to the bodily functions.
The entire course of the tortuous nasal canal is lined with mucous
membrane, and this membrane is of a highly vascular structure. That is
to say, the whole tissue is flushed with blood by a perfect network of
vessels, over which the air we breathe passes, and from which it borrows
the requisite heat. The mucus which is secreted by the membranes is also
advantageous in rendering the atmosphere suitably moist.
In the light of these considerations, the difference between air
breathed in through the nose and that taken in by the mouth becomes at
once apparent. In the first case it is gently drawn in through the
winding canals, and is tempered and purified on the way, while the air
which reaches the lungs by way of the mouth comes upon them all at once,
and is identical in nature with the surrounding atmosphere, whether that
be warm or cold, dry or moist, full of dust or free from it.
Of no less importance than the benefits accruing to the whole system
from properly breathing through the nose are those which result to the
nasal membranes themselves. In the process of imparting heat and
moisture to the air as it passes over them, the tissues are prevented
from accumulating an oversupply of mucus, and any excess by blood
pressure in the parts is relieved by the contact of the cold air which
is constantly breathed in. One investigator has even gone so far as to
assert that many forms of colds may be greatly benefited by a correct
breathing exercise taken every few hours.
However that may be, it is certain that the disadvantages of mouth
breathing are too numerous and glaring to be lightly passed over.
* * * * *
THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.
Never Rode on Railroad Train.
Joseph McGinnis, aged eighty, is dead, in Findlay, Ohio. It is said that
he had only been in three towns during his lifetime, and that he had
never ridden on a railway train.
Ban on One Carnival Sport.
Coney Island and other amusement places of New York State will have to
struggle along this summer with “red-hots” and scenic railways and other
athletic diversions without the aid of that soothing exercise of hitting
with a baseball the head of an “Ethiopian” as it protrudes from a hole
in the canvas sheet and win a cigar. This is the depressing news which
comes from Albany, N. Y., where a fussy legislature is interfering with
the cheap and simple pleasures of the poor.
The bill, if passed, prohibits, on pain of fines ranging from $100 to
$500, the earning of an honest though hazardous living by exposing the
skull to the aim of snipers at Coney. Many persons who have no more
profitable use for their heads will join the army of the unemployed, and
the millions which throng Coney each week will have to content their
violent natures by throwing baseballs at wooden heads instead of at the
“African brother.”
Big Steer Hurled from Train.
A Northwestern east-bound fast fruit and stock train, while running at a
terrific speed, lost a big steer between Logan and Woodbine, Iowa, when
the side door of the car became unfastened.
The steer, after performing a series of acrobatic stunts, picked himself
up minus one horn, and walked to the F. C. Hodges yard on the Plumer
farm. Railroad men say that the accident is without a parallel. The snow
drifts along the track may account for the steer escaping fatal injury.
Beware of Food “Jag.”
“Many popular artificial foods, which people imagine to be good food in
concentrated form, contain more alcohol than sherry wine, and will cause
intoxication if enough is taken,” said Doctor Franklin W. White, of
Boston, Mass., in speaking on “Food in Health and Disease” at the
Harvard Medical School.
Comparing the relative value of foods, according to the “glass-of-milk”
and “bread-and-butter” standards, Doctor White asserted that a glass of
milk was equal in food value to twenty glasses of soup or broth, and
that a small slice of bread and butter equaled a large plate of beans or
a dozen oysters. He emphasized the nutritive value of olive oil, a
spoonful of which, he said, equaled in value a glass of milk.
“A lot of money is spent for flavor instead of for real food value,”
Doctor White said.
Fed Hens Auto Grease.
As hen food and an egg producer, automobile grease is now more popular
in Brielle, N. J., than corn. Ralph T. Pearce, an engineer, made the
discovery.
Recently one of his hens discovered a quantity of grease that had been
spilled near the yard. In his capacity as bookkeeper to the bird, Pearce
found that her productivity increased suddenly and remained at the new
high level. Investigation gave him an idea. Now all his hens have a
grease course in their menu.
The engineer says that not only do his birds lay better, but their new
diet costs less than recognized varieties of hen food.
Heiress Scorns High Life.
Miss Lillian G. Carter, of Atlanta, Ga., who inherited $2,000,000 from
her father, Josiah Carter, still declares that she will devote her life
to settlement work. She does not care to be a social butterfly, she
says.
Close Call for Aged Woman.
When Mrs. Marcus W. Church, seventy-one years old, of Wheeling, W. Va.,
was overcome by a paralytic stroke, a maid sent at once for Mrs.
Church’s son, Frank Church, who, on reaching home, thought his mother
was dead. He called an undertaker, who arrived two hours later.
When the undertaker began preparations to embalm her, Mrs. Church sat
up, rubbed her eyes, and asked: “What’s the matter here?” A few minutes
later she was able to be about the house, and in the evening she partook
of her dinner as usual.
“Ferocious” Bear is Captured.
The bear that has been bothering people around Poland, Ohio, has been
caught. Like an ordinary criminal, the animal was run down by a posse.
A crowd of men and boys tracked the animal to a hiding place in a
thicket, and then “rushed” the place in a body. They found bruin in the
spot, but he didn’t want to fight. On the contrary, he seemed glad to
see the crowd, and wanted to play. It was then found that he wore a
muzzle, and was hungry.
The bear hunters were at a loss to know what to do with their catch
until a gypsy appeared and claimed bruin as his own property.
Regains Voice Calling Cat.
Mrs. Grace Lambert, of Pinewood Avenue, Toledo, Ohio, was able, the
other day, to use her voice for the first time since March 4, 1914, when
she lost her speech following a long attack of bronchial pneumonia. Mrs.
Lambert’s voice suddenly returned when she called “Pete,” the family
cat, to breakfast.
When Ballet Skirts Grew Short.
In the earlier days of the ballet the dancers were dressed in the
elaborate and fulsome costume of the period--the women in hooped
petticoats falling to the ankle, with their powdered hair piled up a
foot or more upon their heads, the men in long-skirted coats, set out
from their hips with padding.
So long as this costume was worn, the dance was necessarily confined
almost entirely to the dignified and gliding movements of the minuet. It
permitted none of the airy and intricate steps which are peculiar to
the technic of the ballet proper.
Noverre, the eighteenth-century maître de ballet, who is chiefly
responsible for giving the ballet its present form, wrote as follows: “I
wish to reduce by three-quarters the ridiculous paniers of our
danseuses. They are opposed equally to the freedom, the quickness, and
the prompt and animated action of the dance.”
Mlle. de Camargo, the famous dancer, started the innovation in dress.
She was the first to execute the entre chat, a light and brilliant step,
during the performance of which the dancer rapidly crosses the feet
while in midair. In her dances, therefore, she took the precaution of
wearing the caleçon, from which the tight-fitting fleshing of the ballet
dancer was subsequently evolved.
Two National Forest Blazes.
There is the possibility of a dangerous spring and summer fire season in
the national forests in the West, as presaged by reports that two forest
fires occurred in January. Moreover, the snowfall in much of the Rocky
Mountain region and in the foothills has been much below normal.
January fires are almost unheard of in the national forests, and the
snow reports are regarded as especially significant, as they indicate
that, unless the deficiency is made up, the forests will be dry earlier
in the spring than usual, with a consequent increase of the fire menace.
The fires occurred in the Pike forest, in Colorado, and the Black Hills
forest, in South Dakota, the latter believed to have been of incendiary
origin, according to the district forester at Denver. About seventy-five
acres were burned over, all told. They were the only national forest
fires reported for January.
The district forester at Ogden, Utah, in charge of the national forests
in Nevada, Utah, and southern Idaho, reported that the snow in this
region also is far below normal.
Two Beds for Eighteen.
A dapper young man breezed into the Teneyck Hotel, at Albany, N. Y., and
said to “Doc” Benedict, its assistant manager:
“I want to engage two double rooms with bath.”
“For how many persons?” asked Benedict.
“Well,” explained the young man, “twelve men are to occupy one room, and
six women the other. I want a double bed in each room.”
“This hotel won’t rent one room for twelve men or even for six women,”
said Benedict.
“If I were to tell you,” pleaded the young man, “that I am the advance
agent for a lilliputian show, and that none of the twelve men or six
women weighs more than thirty-five pounds, would you rent the rooms?”
“Oh, that’s different,” said Benedict, and he switched the register
around for the advance agent to sign.
Thief Returns Santa Claus Picture.
“Golly,” the famous pickaninny Christmas painting by Angus Peter
McDonall, has come back to the Santa Claus Association, in New York.
No one knows who stole it last December, and no one knows who left it on
the twelfth floor of 347 Fifth Avenue. Yet it was returned by a friend
of “The Meanest Thief” who stole it. With the painting he left a letter
explaining that conscience and inability to pawn the work of art had
influenced him to bring it back.
A man with three days’ stubble on his face and poorly dressed placed a
letter and package in the hands of one of the officials at the
headquarters of the association. He disappeared down the elevator before
any one could learn his identity. The letter read:
“Here is the oil painting I stole from you last December. I was
hungry and had no place to sleep when I took it. I did not know
what it was or what it was for when I stole it. If I had known that
it was used to cheer up the kiddies for Christmas I would never
have stolen it.
“I tried to pawn it two times, but couldn’t. The first pawnbroker I
offered it to showed me the name of the association on it. This was
the first time I found out who owned it. I tried to wash off the
name, but couldn’t do so. The second pawnbroker also refused to
take it.
“I have kept it with me ever since. I have often thought of how
happy I was after Santa had been to my house when I was a boy. My
mind bothered me so much that I could not sleep at times, and I
decided to send it back by a friend of mine. I would have carried
it back myself, but I was afraid of being recognized by some one in
your office.
THE MEANEST THIEF.”
When the officials recovered from their amazement they sent a telegram
to Mr. McDonall at his home, in Westport, Conn., notifying him of the
return of his painting.
Golly shows a little pickaninny standing in front of a fireplace in his
mother’s cabin on Christmas morning. On the hearth is a Christmas tree,
with lighted candles and packages of candy, and a few toys are scattered
over the floor. Youthful happiness spreads over the child’s face as he
gazes on the bounty of St. Nicholas.
Wireless Machine is Carried on an Auto.
What is probably the first automobile wireless apparatus in the country
belongs to O. E. Ruckgaber, Ithaca, N. Y., a senior in the College of
Civil Engineering at Cornell University.
Ruckgaber is already sending wireless messages from his car for a
distance of about ten miles when the atmospheric conditions are good,
and he hopes to send messages for much longer distance in a short time.
Ruckgaber attached the wireless to the car two weeks ago. At first he
sent messages but short distances to his fraternity house, but he has
improved the machine recently.
All that can be seen of the apparatus are two wires running from the top
of the car and meeting at the outer point of the engine hood. The
sending and receiving apparatus is placed on one of the seats.
To Make Lard Out of Corn Oil.
After determining that corn oil is an economic substitute for olive oil,
Dean L. E. Sayre, of the Kansas University School of Pharmacy, is
experimenting to determine whether it is a satisfactory substitute for
lard. Some of the liquid oil, which is heavy and brown, has been
hydrogenated. In this condition it appears white and has about the
consistency of cocoa butter, and melts at the temperature of beeswax.
Dean Sayre has been experimenting with corn oil for more than a year. He
found that it makes a very good substitute for olive oil in salad
dressings, and believes that the hydrogenated oil can be used in place
of lard. The patented frying mediums are hydrogenated cottonseed oil.
Corn oil is extracted from the soft white center of the corn, where the
life spark dwells. It is a by-product of the manufacture of starch,
glucose, and the better grades of corn meal.
Giant Reptile Seven Million Years Old.
Between seven and ten million years ago, in what is known as the
Jurassic Age, there lived a group of giant reptiles called Dinosaurs,
one family of which, the Stegosauridæ, or plated lizards, is perhaps the
most fantastic and curious in all natural history. The most perfect and
complete fossilized skeleton of the genus Stegosaurus, a smaller branch
of this remarkable family group, is on exhibition in the new building of
the United States National Museum, at Washington, just as it was found
and dug out of the sandstone rock. Near at hand is a natural size and
very lifelike restoration in papier-mâché so weird and monstrous in
appearance as to give one the horrors.
Back in the very early days of the world, this armor-plated, lizardlike
monster dwelt in the western part of the United States in what is now
the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains, although at that time the
mountains did not exist.
He roamed about in the marsh and swamp lands of that region, feeding on
the tropical grasses and plants, the fossil remains of which are found
buried with his skeleton. The specimen mentioned above comes from Quarry
No. 1, in Fremont County, near Cañon City, Col., where it was found by
Mr. M. P. Felch in 1885. Brief articles concerning it were written from
time to time, but it was not assembled and mounted until two years ago,
and never completely described until recently.
With the exception of the removal of some of the sandstone which
surrounds this valuable specimen, it has been left in the position in
which it was discovered so that the relation of the various bones and
skin armor may be seen and studied by scientists. In order that the
lower side of the skeleton and the back plates may be seen, two mirrors
have been placed beneath it in such a manner as to reflect the exact
structure and location of the various bones.
The undisturbed position of the bones and the surrounding sandstone
indicates that this monster died in the water, or on the bank of a
stream, and from some natural cause. It is possible that the carcass
floated down the stream, as the arrangement of the different bones and
spine plates indicates a gradual washing and tipping over, rather than
the crushing action of a heavy force. The skeleton is quite complete and
lies partly on its side and back, with nearly all the bones in their
relative positions, rendering it of infinite value to scientists for
study and as a reference type.
In life this peculiar reptile, of such gigantic proportions, must have
presented a forbidding appearance; it measures about nineteen feet in
length, was evidently more than eleven feet in height at the hips, and
was covered with a very tough and horny scalelike skin, studded here and
there with bony buttons or knobs of armor. Along its back were arranged
great sharp-edged plates, set alternately and projecting upward like the
teeth of a huge saw. This odd armor plate extended from the small,
wedge-shaped reptilian head all the way back and well down the tapering,
lizardlike tail, which was tipped with four long, sharp spines. Its legs
were not unlike those of a lizard or other reptile, except that the
forelegs were rather short and much weaker than the hind ones, an
indication that the great animal could sit up like a kangaroo, and was
perhaps descended from a bipedal ancestor.
From a study of its teeth it has been determined that this prehistoric
beast was a plant eater, as is suggested by its habitat. Further
investigation of its head, which is so small as to be quite out of
proportion to its massive body, reveals the fact that it had scarcely
any brain. Although the body of the Stegosaur is supposed to have
weighed more than that of an elephant, the brain of the latter is fifty
times as heavy, which fact appears an excuse for the immense amount of
defensive armor with which it was equipped, making it practically
impregnable as far as its enemies were concerned, provided it had any.
Its bones alone weigh nearly a ton, and it has been estimated that in
life the Stegosaur weighed between seven and ten tons.
Panama-Pacific Fair is Now Open.
The greatest day in California’s history has been recorded. Responding
to the touch of President Wilson’s fingers on a telegraph key, the great
Panama-Pacific International Exposition was formally opened, and 400,000
visitors joined in the cheering, the singing, and the first tours of
inspection of the stupendous show as seen in full running order.
It came through flawlessly. There was no hitch in the ceremonies. From
the dawn, when San Francisco was awakened by a volume and variety of
noise such as never was imagined before, until late in the evening, when
the heavens were lit with the great play of lights from the exposition’s
wizards of illumination, the program of the opening day was carried out
as it was planned in the minds of the fair’s builders.
Shortly before noon a great procession of citizens, headed by the mayor,
marched onto the grounds. Charles C. Moore, president of the Exposition
Company, informed President Wilson by direct transcontinental telephone
that his wireless flash had been received, and the president conveyed
his greetings and good wishes. Thus the two latest methods of
long-distance communication vivified the fair opening. Ceremonies of
dedication and acceptance as brief as possible inaugurated the
exposition.
Forty-five foreign nations, forty-three States, and three Territories
are represented at the exposition.
“To-day is the triumph,” said Governor Johnson, speaking for the State.
“It is the triumph of San Francisco that nine years ago was a city that
lay in ruins.”
Secretary Lane was present as the personal representative of President
Wilson. He brought greetings of the president to the people of
California and to the exposition management.
Mr. Lane, after expressing the greetings of President Wilson, said that
he expected that Mr. Wilson would be in San Francisco within a month. “I
come as a token bearer to speak a feeble foreword to the rich volume of
his admiration for your courage, your enterprise, and your genius,” he
said.
The first day’s attendance at the exposition exceeded the records of all
previous great American expositions on their opening day. Two hours
after the gates had opened to admit the first person, there had been
180,000 admissions to the grounds, and there remained great crowds in
the lines to pass through the turnstiles. On the first day of the
Chicago World’s Fair there were 137,557 admissions, and at St. Louis, in
1904, there were 178,453 admissions on the opening day.
The telegraph key touched by President Wilson was studded with gold
nuggets. It was the same key that President Taft used to open the
Alaska-Yukon Exposition. The ceremony was held in the East Room of the
White House.
As seen from the hills of San Francisco, the exposition presents a great
parti-colored area, perhaps best described as resembling a giant Persian
rug of soft, melting tones. The roofs of the palaces are a reddish pink,
the color of Spanish tile; the domes are green, and gold and blue are
set within the recesses of the towers. The general color plan is a faint
ivory, the color of travertine stone.
It was a new field, this painting an entire city with the colors of the
rainbow. Expositions of the past had been “White Cities,” with the
exception of slight uses of color in the last two, but the directors of
the Panama-Pacific International Exposition wanted a “Rainbow City,”
whose colors would provide a splendid feature.
Cost of Panama-Pacific Exposition, $50,000,000.
Cost of World’s Columbia Exposition in Chicago in 1893, $33,000,000.
Attendance on opening day of San Francisco Fair, nearly 400,000.
Largest exhibit, United States Steel Co. display, weight, 1,500 tons.
Smallest exhibit, three grains of radium, weight, one-sixtieth of troy
ounce.
Most unique display, one hundred tons of carved woodwork and hand-made
wares sent by China.
Bits of Interesting Information.
Since natural gas was discovered in Cleveland several months ago, more
than one hundred successful wells have been sunk within the city limits.
A new dustpan that a woman has patented has a handle on one side and in
front a guard plate, over which dust is brushed into a pocket.
Argentina is one of the few important countries in which no coal is
mined.
Six thousand an hour is the speed of a new machine for sealing and
stamping letters.
A steering wheel instead of the familiar handle bars features a new type
of bicycle.
Switzerland uses a greater proportion of its available water power than
any other country.
A Spanish syndicate is considering building a railroad across northern
Africa, 1,864 miles long.
For motorists there has been invented a cloth-lined rubber pail that
folds flat when not in use.
Rubbing with unsalted butter, followed by bleaching in the sun, will
cleanse ivory ornaments.
Scientists have estimated that more than fifteen per cent of the earth’s
crust is composed of aluminium.
To prevent waste of tooth powder or paste is the purpose of a new cup to
hold a small amount, into which a brush may be rubbed.
Explosions of a mixture of hydrogen and oxygen gases drive the engines
in a new French submarine boat.
The newest foot rest for a bootblack’s stand is equipped with clamps to
hold a patron’s shoe stationary.
Lemon juice in water is an excellent tooth wash, as it not only removes
tartar but sweetens the breath.
Of French invention is a hammock that can be converted into a
comfortable seat that holds a person erect.
Self-propelled steam machinery for clearing land of stumps after
lumbering operations has been invented.
Peru is making its own Portland cement, which heretofore it has imported
from Europe and the United States.
A Missouri inventor’s comb is made of metal and mounted on a block that
will retain heat a considerable time.
For fumigating books in public libraries there has been invented an
airtight case, in which they can be subjected to sulphur fumes.
A new cabinet for raising bread dough is provided with the desired
temperature by heating a stone and placing it in the bottom.
A nonsinkable lifeboat of German invention is equipped with doors that
automatically close upon its occupants should it upset.
In Japan recently there was completed a railroad bridge nearly seven
miles long, built of native materials at a cost of $375,000.
Oil Tanker Rides a Sea of Flames.
The tale of an oil tanker laden with benzine, which rode through a sea
of fire and made the Azores by dead reckoning, was told by Captain
Dekker, master of the Holland-American freighter _Zaandyk_, upon landing
in New York. He got the story second hand at Horta, but he thought it
was true and even more thrilling than the account related to him.
He heard also that one of the tanker’s lifeboats, containing the chief
officer and seven men, had been blown away and was never seen again.
Any man who would take a cargo of benzine from the west coast of South
America to London in the winter, and buck through the worst weather of
the year, he thought, was capable of fighting his way through a sea of
fire.
When the _Zaandyk_ came in from Rotterdam, Captain Dekker was asked if
he had seen any mines in the North Sea. No, he hadn’t seen any mines,
and he had not been molested by any craft of the warring nations.
Yes, he was late, but that was the weather. Fighting westerly gales and
head seas that kept his bow awash and his propellers clear too often to
be comfortable, ate up his coal before he was halfway across, and he had
to run into the Azores.
It was pretty dirty weather, but he didn’t mind that. He didn’t carry a
benzine cargo, like the other fellow, and what happened to the other
fellow was perhaps worth telling.
The other fellow was Captain Bugge, the mighty master of the Norwegian
tanker _La Habra_, who had tried conclusions with the benzine cargo from
the west coast. He had had a fire on board that cleaned up his charts,
sextants, compasses, and chronometers, and let it go at that.
Captain Dekker thought it was like the prank of a mean sailorman who
would catch a shark, chop off his tail, and then turn him adrift, to die
or be devoured alive by its mates.
“I didn’t get over to see the tanker,” said Captain Dekker, “but she
was making repairs when we put into Horta. Her experience was known all
over the Azores.”
According to what he had learned about her, _La Habra_ left Talara Bay,
passed through the Panama Canal, and steamed east from Colon. Gales from
the southwest and northwest did not bother her much, but when she got
within about 400 miles southeast of the Azores the wind shifted to
northeast, and she got a pounding which almost foundered her.
Several times she nearly went over on her beam ends, and the treacherous
fluid cargo was badly shaken. The engine and fire-room crews feared that
at any minute a tank compartment might break and drive a flood of
benzine into the fires. It was sure death for all of them if this
happened, and they hadn’t much faith in the security of any tank in
weather such as they were then running through.
While this northeaster was doing its worst, a terrific explosion
occurred aft of the house. It is not known whether the men below stuck
to their posts but those on deck sought safety, some huddling together
on the bow and others at the stern.
Now, Captain Bugge had carried oil before. He knew his ship and was
ready to save his men.
“There isn’t any use of you fellows getting away up aft and forrid
there,” the skipper shouted, “because if there’s another blow-up, you’ll
have nothing but the sea.”
He knew what was going to happen if the benzine became ignited.
The lifeboats, tackle, and falls would go up like chaff, and all hands
would have the choice of drowning or sticking to a red-hot tanker.
Calling his men from their perches, Captain Bugge ordered all lifeboats
dropped over the side. Although another explosion was expected
momentarily, the sailormen obeyed orders. The chief officer and five men
got into the after-starboard lifeboat, and, making it fast, played out
their line until they drifted astern 100 yards. With this boat out of
the way, the men were prepared to jump and make for it if the fire got
to the benzine. Captain Bugge stuck to the bridge until a great wall of
water heeled the vessel over and ripped open a tank.
Benzine mixed with the spindrift swashed into the flames and drove a
liquid blaze over the house. The bridge and chart room were soon
stripped of everything in them not made of metal, and the compass,
falling from its supports, rolled into the sea. Presently the terrific
heat burst another tank and sprayed the sea with fire.
The water-soaked line to the trailing lifeboat astern soon crumpled into
ashes under the terrific fire the northeaster blew upon it, and, with
its occupants, the boat bounded on to the southwest. It was never seen
again. The other boats, charred and battered, were useless.
When hope had been abandoned, a great wave swept _La Habra_ from stem to
stern, and when it passed the flames were gone. The fire was out for
good.
Throughout the battle with fire and storm no benzine got into the fire
room. The broken tanks were now burned out and the tanker was at least
safe from fire.
Although badly battered by the storm, the tanker’s engines were not
damaged, and under her own steam she started on her course to the
northeast.
Captain Bugge had nothing to guide him but the sun. His bridge compass
was gone, and the one astern made useless by the fire. He said he had
an idea where the Azores might be, and finally got into Horta safely.
Captain Dekker, of the _Zaandyk_, said he believed that the Norwegian
master would eventually get to London with the remainder of his benzine
cargo.
Ore-steal Stories of the Early Days.
Stories of famous steals put across when ore was sampled in the
old-fashioned way are being retold by old-time miners of Denver, Col.
Tales of the stirring days when Leadville was a city of tents and
Colorado miners, hot-blooded young fellows who came West to dig gold
from the earth or die, are being circulated around hotel lobbies and
office buildings of Denver, just as they went the rounds of Colorado
mining camps forty years ago.
The story of the $41,000 difference between the Cresson mine people and
their smelting company over the assaying of samples taken from the
wonderful golden chamber discovered in the great strike in their Cripple
Creek property has quickened the memories of the old miners and brought
to their recollection tales of the good old days, when they wielded the
pick and shovel.
“Yes, I suppose smelting companies were cheated out of hundreds of
thousands and perhaps millions of dollars by crooked sampling deals in
the old days,” said one old-time prospector. “And, on the other hand,
certain practices of theirs shortened up the profits of the miners
considerably, so I guess it was about an even break.
“You see, the old-fashioned sampling of ore was done this way: The ore
haulers drove across the hills from the mines to the smelter, hauling
the ore in great, heavy wagons. At the smelter the custom was to sample
ten to one-hundred-ton lots of the ore. The wagons would drive up to the
smelter, and the husky hauler would throw one shovelful into the sample
bin, then three shovelfuls into the general bin, in succession, until
the load was exhausted.
“Some of the smelting companies beat the miners out of a good deal of
money by always turning in an assay report a little below that of the
miner. Then they’d offer to split the difference. Supposing the miner
split with the company on a two-ounce difference in silver smelting;
that would make one hundred ounces to the hundred ton. With silver at
$1.19 an ounce, which it sold for in the old days, that made $120 lost
to the miner with the smelting of every hundred-ton lot, the sum being
put into the pocket of the smelter owners.
“One way some of the miners got it back on the smelting companies was in
the loading of their sample wagons. They would put a layer of the
highest-grade ore procurable in the bottom of the wagons. Then they’d
fill them up with lower-grade ore. When the hauler bent his broad back
over the shovel at the smelter he had a distinct understanding with his
employer that he was to shovel from the bottom of the wagon into the
sampling bin and from the top into the general bin.
“Old One-eyed Ike, of Leadville, pulled a very neat trick on a smelter
company. Ike made a strike in his silver mine. A good deal of it was
just a fair grade of ore--nothing wonderful. But Ike wanted to get rich
quick. So he fixed up a rubber bulb, which he fastened under his arm
with a long tube running under his coat sleeve to his left hand.
“The bulb was full of chloride of silver. When the sample would get down
small, Ike would press his arm on the bulb and add a good deal of
weight to the sample with the silver that would rush out of the tube. He
got by with this trick for months. But finally the smelter people began
to think that Ike’s samples were running pretty high. So they began to
watch him. They couldn’t find a thing wrong, except that he wore his old
blue coat right through the hottest days.
“Ike was mopping the sweat from his brow with his old red bandanna one
sultry August noon, when a bee lit on his left hand and crawled up his
sleeve. An expression of agony stole into Ike’s one bleary eye. He
squeezed the bee through his coat sleeve, but it only stung harder.
“I couldn’t tell you what he said. Nobody but an old-time miner would be
qualified to pass on Ike’s language. Finally he could stand the torment
of that stinging bee no longer. He tore off his coat, revealing the
tube, and ran for the creek, tearing his shirt to ribbons on the
low-hanging branches of the pines and spruces. The smelter man noticed
the tube when Ike took off his coat, and his little game was over. But
he had got away with $50,000 or $100,000, which the smelter people were
never able to get back.”
Brace of Big Birds are Slain.
C. H. Lewis, a prominent merchant of Randolph, La., saw two large birds
light in the mill pond here. Securing a gun, he succeeded in killing
them. The birds are of an unknown kind, but they resemble huge white
cranes. They measure over five feet from tip to tip, have web feet like
a duck, and are almost snow white except a little dark blue on their
backs.
A Notorious Bandit’s End.
The body of Frank James, the former outlaw, who died on his farm near
Excelsior Springs, Mo., has been cremated at St. Louis. The ashes have
been returned to a safe-deposit vault in this city, in accordance with
the last wish of James. The ex-bandit said he did not wish his grave to
be a mecca for sightseers.
Whatever may have been the faults of Frank James, he kept his word and
was a respected citizen when death summoned him. In the thirty years
since he surrendered to the Governor of Missouri at Jefferson City,
James clung to his determination to live an upright life. The latter
part of his career furnished a good illustration of the doctrine that a
man can quit if he wants to and stay quit if he wills to. James knew
what a man could do if he only made up his mind to do it. That is the
real moral of his story. Supporting himself and his family by honest
work, he won a good place in public opinion and made friends wherever he
went.
A writer, long a friend of the former bandit, visited James several
years ago to get information to be used in a proposed book.
“I promised the governor, when I surrendered, that I would never write a
book about myself or permit one to be written,” said James. Though he
was offered $10,000, he kept his promise, dying without having told the
details of his seventeen years of wild life. It has been his wish to
live down his former reputation, and he died with the satisfaction that
he had done so.
James was seventy-one years old. Apoplexy caused his death; he had been
ill for many months.
Fifty years ago, when the report spread in any one of the hundreds of
small towns in the Middle West, and especially in that section of
Missouri which borders on Kansas, that the James boys were coming, a
reign of terror invariably resulted. Stores were closed, the townspeople
armed themselves with the long rifles in vogue in that day, and a guard
surrounded the local bank. Women and children were usually placed in
cellars and under strong guard for safety. The word “James” was one with
which to conjure terror, for the reputation of Jesse and Frank was known
to every one, from the oldest inhabitant to the smallest barefooted boy.
Frank and his brother, Jesse James, joined Quantrell’s Guerillas in the
Civil War and took part in the sacking of Lawrence, Kan. Scores of
persons were shot and killed at that time, and their relatives swore
vengeance on every one who had a part in the raid. Jesse and Frank were
singled out, and, as the latter often said in excuse for his action,
were persecuted until they turned outlaws in order to gain a living.
Their first big robbery took place one year after the war, when,
accompanied by a band of desperadoes, Frank and Jesse rode into Liberty,
Mo., and surrounded the Commercial Bank. One bank defender was killed
and $70,000 in cash was taken. The audacity of the crime caused
widespread indignation, and a price was set upon the heads of the
desperadoes.
After minor raids in southern Missouri, the James boys, as they became
known, rode into Russellville, Ky., one morning in 1868. Their band did
not wear masks; instead, they darkened their faces with berry stain.
They shot up the town and took $17,000 from the local bank. A month or
two later word was received in Gallatin, Mo., that Jesse and Frank were
in the neighborhood. They were and soon were in Gallatin. Captain John
W. Sheets, cashier of the bank, fired a fusillade at the band and
instantly was shot down and killed.
Then followed a series of raids and train holdups which netted the band
thousands of dollars and made their name a household word throughout the
West.
Word was received by the State authorities in 1875 that Jesse and Frank
were in the James homestead near Kearney, Mo. On the night of the
twenty-fifth of that month a lighted bomb was thrown into the house,
killing Archie James, the bandits’ brother, and tearing off the arm of
their mother.
“We weren’t at home,” Frank afterward said, “but we were in the
neighborhood. We found out that the men throwing the bomb were making
toward Kansas City, and we overtook them. ‘What would you do if you saw
the James boys?’ I said to the leader. ‘We’d shoot them,’ he told me.
‘Well, here we are; so shoot!’ Jesse shouted. Not a one of them was left
alive.”
In 1882, after Jesse James had been shot and killed in his home in St.
Joseph, Mo., by Bob Ford, also a bandit, for a reward of $30,000, Frank
James surrendered in Jefferson City, Mo. He spent a year in jail
awaiting trial. He finally was acquitted. He never was in the
penitentiary and never was convicted of any of the charges against him.
* * * * *
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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.
715--The Knife Thrower.
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.
737--The Mark of a Circle.
738--A Plot Within a Plot.
739--The Dead Accomplice.
741--The Green Scarab.
743--A Shot in the Dark.
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.
778--A Six-word Puzzle.
782--A Woman’s Stratagem.
783--The Cliff Castle Affair.
784--A Prisoner of the Tomb.
785--A Resourceful Foe.
786--The Heir of Dr. Quartz.
787--Dr. Quartz, the Second.
789--The Great Hotel Tragedies.
790--Zanoni, the Witch.
791--A Vengeful Sorceress.
794--Doctor Quartz’s Last Play.
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.
809--The Footprints on the Rug.
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.
817--In the Canadian Wilds.
818--The Niagara Smugglers.
819--The Man Hunt.
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 Keno 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. Dated February 27th, 1915.
129--The Jewels of Wat Chang. Dated March 6th, 1915.
130--The Crime in the Tower. Dated March 13th, 1915.
131--The Fatal Message. Dated March 20th, 1915.
132--Broken Bars.
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