The daily morning Astorian. [volume] (Astoria, Oregon) 1883-1899, 1894-11-18


Transformed in his new garb, he left
his lodgings to present himself once
more to his possible employer. His
way led past one OF the large gam
bling saloons. 1t was yet too early to
find the dry goods dealer disengaged;
perhaps the consciousness Of more de-
cent, civilized garb emboldened him to
mingle more freely with strangers, and
he entered the saloon. He was scarcely
abreast Of one of the faro tables when
man suddenly leaped up with an
oath and discharged a revolver full in
his face. The shot missed. Before his
unknown assailant could fire again, the
astonished Flint had closed with him,
and instinctively clutched the weapon.
A brief but violent struggle ensued.
Flint felt his strength failing him,
when suddenly look of astonishment
came into the furious eyes of his adj
versary, and the mans grasp mechan-
ically relaxed. The half-freed pistol,
thrown upward by this movement, was
accidentally discharged point blank in
to his temples, and he fell dead. No
one In the crowd had stirred or inter-
fered. ftf r
you've done for French Pete this
time, Mr.. Fowler" said a voice at his
elbow. He turned gaspingly, and rec
ognized his strange benefactor. Flynn.
81 call you all to witness, gentlemen" !"
continued the gambler, turning dicta-
torially to the crowd, that this man
was first attacked and was unarmed."
He lifted Flints limp and empty hands,
and then pointed to the dead man, who
was still grasping the weapon. "Come"
He caught the half-paralyzed arm Of
Flint and dragged him into the street.
But" stammered the mortified Flint
as he was borne along, what does it
all mean? What made that man at
tack me?"
IT reckon it was a case of shooting
on sight, Mr.. Fowler; but he missed
it by not waiting to see If you were
armed. 1t wasn't the square thing,
and you're all right with the crowd
now, whatever he might have had agin
you"
But" protested the unhappy Flint,
II never laid eyes on the man before,
and my name isn't Fowler"
Flynn halted and dragged him in
doorway. "Who the devil are your"
he asked, roughly.
Briefly, passionately, almost hysteri-
cally, Flint told him his scant story.
An odd expression came into the gam
bler's face.
Look here" he said abruptly, II
have passed my word to the crowd
yonder that you are dead-broke miner
called Fowler. allowed that you
might have had some row with that
Sydney duck, Australian Pete, in the
mines. That satisfied them. If 1 go
back and say it's lie, that your name
amt Fowler, and you never knew who
Pete was, they'll just pass you over
to the police to deal with you, and
wash their hands of 1t altogether. You
may prove to the police who you are,
but it will give you trouble. And who
is there here who knows who you
really are?" f
mo one" said Flint, with sudden
hopelessness.
"And you say you're an orphan, and
amt got any relations livin' that you're
beholden to?"
mo one'
"Then take my advice and be Fow-
Ter, and stick to 1t! Be Fowler until
Fowler turns up and thanks you for it,
for you saved Fowler's life, as Pete
would never have funked and lost his
grit over Fowler as he did with you,
and you've right to his name"
He stopped, and the same odd, SUI
perstitious look came into his dark
eyes.
Don't you see what it all means?
Well, I'll tell you. You're in the big
gest streak Of luck e man ever had.
You've got the cards in your hands!
They spell 'Fowlerr Play Fowler first,
last and all the time. Good night, and
good luck, Mr.. Fowler"
The next mornings journal contain
ed an account of the justifiable killing
of the notorious desperate and ex-con-
vict Australian Pete, by courageous
young miner by the name Of Fowler.
IAN act Of firmness and daring" said
the Pinoeer, (which will go far to
counteract the terrorism produced by
those lawless ruffians.'
In his new suit of clothes, and with
the paper in his hand, Flint sought
the dry goods proprietor-the latter
was satisfied and convinced. That
morning Harry Flint began his career
as salesman and as Shelby Fowler"
From that day Shelby Fowler's ca
reer was one of uninterrupted pros
perity. Within the year he became a
partner. The same miraculous for
tune followed other ventures later.
He was mill owner, mine owner, bank
director-a millionaire! He was popu-
lar, the reputation of his brief achieve
ment over the desperate kept him Sc
cure from the attack Of envy and RI
valry. He never was confronted by the
real Fowler. There was no danger of
exposure by others. The one custodian
of his secret, Tom Flynn, died in Ne
vada the year following. He had quite
forgotten his youthful past, and even
the more recent lucky portmanteau, re-
membered nothing, perhaps, but the
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