The Cape Girardeau Democrat. (Cape Girardeau, Mo.) 1876-1909, 1894-08-11
4 BICYCLE RIDE.
A Thrilling Incident of the Great
Southwest.

Jack Andrews. or ANDY" as he was
more commonly known among his as
sociatcs, was Il New York city cycli>t
and sport in the days of the good old
ordinary. His was 4 common name
among the cycling club men Of Goth.
am, and when astride his fifty-eiTht-
inch mount he set IA hot pace for the
best of Manhattan'S flyers. jack was
one of those happy-go-lucky sort of
people. with plenty of stuff" to buy
popularity had he been unable to get
it by his genial and clever ways.
Andrews, Sr., wasaccounted wealthy
in the full meaning of the word in a
great metropolis. Wall street had
been a veritable gold mine for aim.
He made his money easily; Jack spent
it for him rapidly.
But there came an end to THESE
prosperous days \ financial crash
drove many of New York's supposedly
wealthy brokers TO the wall, and An
drews, Sr., was one of them. But, I'M
like the great majority. he had had
enough. Wall street had no further
attractions for him and, out of what
little remained of Il once great fortune
he bought a small fruit farm in New
England where he settled down to en-
JOY the remainder of his days amid
the quiet of rural surroundings, in
stead of again attempting to buck
the tiger on the New York Stock cx-
change.
The failure Of Andrews. Sr., wa
probably felt more keenly by his son
Jack than by the old gentleman him
self. ills mad been a life with the
boys where money, and plenty of it,
was necessary. The stopping Of his
~princely allowance meant the discon-
tinuarce of his expensive habits. Bat
New England farm life didn't suit
Jack; he desired something more e.
citing. something more after the
fashion of a hot scorch over smoothly
paved boulevards. Before six months
had passed he had left home ties be-
hind, and, with nothing but his ia
theirs blessing and a mothers prayers
for his welfare, started west. 1t wasn't
a fortune he sought on AriZona's
plains. for Jack was a philosophical
young man, and didn't believe that u
fortune was gathered off of every bit
of western sage brush, but n life worth
the living. A bronchO was to take the
place of a wheel; n pair of buckskin
pants. a flannel shirt and a broad
brimmed western soinbrero were to re-
place the natty, short cycling trowsers,
the white sweater and the silk cap of
his New York cycling days
The half-dozen men sitting around
the camp fire at post four on Y ranch,
In Arizona; looked worried. One of
their number was somewhere on that
broad stretch of sand to the north
ward. Whether or not he WAS yet
living was only conjecture on their
part, for a band of Apaches had left the
reservation two days before and were
dealing death and destruction among
the settlers and cattlemen. Jack An
4drews. the missing member of post
four. had gone to the nearcst railroad
station, forty miles away, for the mail
and an eXpress package for the
ager of the ranch, u remittance to pay
the monthly salaries. If nothing had
gone wrong. he should have been back
ere this. but with Il band of blood
thirsty Indians, beaded by TINT terror
of terrors. the Apache Kid. roaming
over the Arizona desert i'll search OF
scalps. his friends had grave fears for
his safety.
The missing herdcr should have been
in camp by the middle of the after
noon, but as daylight faded into tvvi-
light and then into the deeper dark
ness of night, relieved only by the
glimmcr of countless twinkling stars,
and no Jack appeared, their fears for
his safety Increased. They talked of
the Apache raid and the three cattle
men who had been SO ruthlessly u
dered By: the Indians bat ten miles
west of them the day before. From
that their conversation drifted to
the death of Harry Williams,
whose horse had fallen with him
during q lonely night ride across
the desert; and then of others of
their friends who had met similar fates
on Arizona's broad plains. They could
imagine n lone hor>eman wandering
ABOUT among the sand hills and sage