The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1897-01-01
Stories Of an Inland State.

The scene is in the rear Pullman Of q
through express. Midnight. Every berth
is made up. The long curtains depend or
either side, making one of those narrow
gorse-like passages familiar to every user
of modern sleeper. The ladder of steps
by which the poorer travellers are expected
to mount to their narrow "uppers' is lean
ing in a state of collapse against the dou-
bie-hinged door between the Ladies Toilet
and the main car; the colored porter, also
in state Of collapse, is sitting on a small
stool beside ii, sound asleep.
The wakeful passengers hear the wheels
creak and grind; the throb Of the steam
and they know in sleepy sort of way that
the train has stopped. They can hear also
sinister gentleman passing from car to
car, striking with hammer the iron wheels
to test their soundness. A brakeman on a
freight train on the next track swears loud
~ in disapproval of the engineers ability.
1t is small station far inland
Presently head. encased in villianous-
looking, dropping hat obstrudes between
the curtains of an upper berth in the rear
Pullman. Then it is suddenly Withdrawn.
The conductor rushes through the car for
the rear platform with the remark:
Damn the ARR
Then all is quiet again. The porter still
Sleeps. again llc NlllldnOuS-tOOk1QR nat
comes out. A pair of sharp eyes look up
and down the hall with curtained sides.
Then with light spring the figure lands
on the car floor. He is a queer specimen
A long rubber coat reaches over rubber
boots which come TO his hips; the hat afore-
mentioned falls over his eyes and his neck
he carries a small vaIise Without a glance
at the porter, he goes quickly through the
front door of the sleeper.
He steps down on the wet platform. 1t
is raining great guns. He creeps along the
side OF the coaches, off the platform and
along the edge of the freight train.
brakeman stops him. IF you've got
two bits you can ride; if not. no ride. Take
the car back of the first sheep-back on
the rip track, eh?'
II don't want to ride" said the rubber
coated man.
'.Fll call back and see about that pretty
soon," sneered the brakeman.
But the rubber-coated figure did not want
to ride. He went past the freight train
and out on the country road, slipping and
slosiling about through the mud.
But this tale should have begun at anoth-
er place.
1t was in this campaign that Arthur Tate
dropped the famous Yancy letter and it
came into the Boss hands. 1t was said 1t
won the campaign. Yancy was a man Of
great power in his party. He had written
a letter to his friend Tate, revealing the
inner and disreputable things he had found
among the controlling factors of his own
party. You will remember that Tate drop
ped the letter in his home town; it got into
the hands of Wayne, the Boss of the op-
posing party, and he made it public.
HOW did WQvpa fhA q lof.
ter? Thousands had asked this. Tate was
a bad man. He had no sooner received the
letter than he determined to sell 1t. He
sent this knowledge to the Boss in a round
about way. The Boss understood. He
would send Ned Corder, at night, to Tates
town and home; he would close the bargain.
No one should ever know but what the let
ter was dropped on the street by Tate ac-
cidentally. This was satisfactory.
Ned Corder was another bad man. He
vas utterly, totally bad; depraved and dis
honest. But the Boss always used him.
N campaigns. He received s125 a month
for his dirty work, and was despised. He
1ever talked; he was always an enigma.
His own side never defended him and the
opposition always attacked him. The Boss
,alled Corder THE INDIAN
The Boss gave Ned Corder $500 in paper
and told him that Tate had the
etter eff he wants more than $500" said
he Boss, 'let the letter co.
1.-THE Indian" took the money; packed his
-ubber coat and boots in his valise; took a
sleeper; went straight-way to bed. 1t was
lie who stole from the sleeper at the little
station and plodded up the muddy, country
Dad.
Tate was waiting for him. The two men
'teaming a kettle for dear life. Corder
ook a pull at flask. Tate did likewise. |
The preliminaries were passed over easily. |
Tate would sell the letter; he hated the |
whole outfit Chis own nominees) and wanted |
o see them beaten.
The price?
Both men grew serious.
They higgled long time. THE Indian" |
insisted that Tate name his price. Tate |
new The Indian was LOADED" and was |
fraid he would not ask enough. The In |
an'' would tell the Boss the letter cost |
400 and would return SO. He meant, how |
Yer, to get it for as small amount as pos
ible and pocket the difference. He wanted |
ate to name the price.
And Tate would not name the price.
Say two hundred" said THE Indian"
t last in desperation.
But that's whole lot Of money, man"
mot enough"
Three hundred?'
mo"
Great Scott, man, you're not selling dia.
nonds"
Three hundred is too little This letter
Now I know about the letter-that's all |
light, but take three hundred and let 'er
O."
Il can't do it."
The Indian went through a mental com.
ilation. He would return so to the Boss. |
Tate took three hundred dollars that |
'ould leave $50 for himself That was his
hare. He would have $50; and for $3.50 |
The Indian stuck.
''I'I take the letter" said The Indian"
and count out three hundred now. What
o you say?"
TITS no bargain. I can't do it for that
mink of my -
Don't say that" said THE Indian" ST
m not thinking of your reputation. want
he letter. ! want il bad. We will pay
ell for it; but We are not buying dia-
londs this year. Now it's three hundred
: nothing. Which do you say?''
Tate walked into an adjoining room. He
ime back with tears in his eyes
'Corder,' he sobbed, II have looked iust |
ow at my little boy-my innocent little |
1y-ha will Soma 6ay