Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-09-13

though thin tilmv white Grapes were being hung
with increasing gray effect the black skirts of
night. Inch by inch the prairie Crept into view
like sweep of brown sand left bare by receding
tide.
kinnaird swung the door with a sigh as though
he barred peace from his thoughts and. building
fire in the chimney, cooked his simple breakfast :.
pot of oatmeal When it was ready he punched
a hole in tin of syrup and poured some of the
tents into his bowl of porridge, not noting in the
dim light of breaking day that the syrup thin.
As he swallowed the first spoonful he sprang to
tin gasped, Whisky! Curse the stuff
The taste of it on his tongue 1t burned his
throat as though fire scorched. The smell of it
in his nosrils. 1t hung fend1shlv. claiming
voice of temptation out of the dead past that he
had thought buried forever. Beads of perspra
ton hung dew of fear on his forehead His heart
beat in fierce tunult. and his mind filed
with nameless dread; but in his stomach or hidden
somewhere in his being. a devil of desire calling
for more.-for just soothing quaff of the elixir
that lay like red blood in the white bowl.
He had from the open doorway chilled
his body his soul, in a lake of fire. The
mastery doomed larger and larger, blurring from his
sight the room and everything in it. 1t was like
a Medusa head
Kinnaird wheeled and threw the wooden door
open. its hinges screaming In the wrench. He was
choking. gasping The struggle was upon him that
he had walked in dread of for years.
Something in the man, or for him. Whether
it the vastness of the great created solitude
without, the stepping in of silent God to his side.
he knew not but with rasping cry of conflict he
turned to the table and sweeping bowl a and tin
to the hearth like an animated demon seeking es-
cape
kinnaird crushed it with his heel if it
serpents head. and kicked it back among the live
Goals. Blue flames shot up the chimney roaring
and kissing; devil voices in miniature hell he
likened it to, CRYING hoarsely. Mems souls are fry
ing there! He stood on the hearth with dropped
head watching the tin blacken. the melted solder
etching it with tiny streams of silver white. Then.
dropping heavily into chair he buried his ashen
face in his hands and went to pieces, unstrung by
the fiercest conflict that come to any MANA
battle with himself.
PRESENTLY growing caner his mind took up the
matter of the liquors presence. He had bought
the tin labeled syrup from Cayuse George in Mayos
trade the previous day. and doubt had
been given the whisky filled in mistake. Evil
IDENTIFY MAYO made of rather common eXpedi-
ent in handling his contraband goods, which
to empty his imported fruit and syrup tins of their
contents, and refill them with the far profitable
whisky. The legitimate stuff was then repacked
in wooden kegs and pals, and the illegitmate
fairly we'll disguised by the labels.
These minor matters. the method of handling the
whisky. were Of little Importance kinnaird in
his mission. \ few watts, a copper still, snakelike
coil liquefving the venom. hidden somewhere up in
Mad Squaw Gorge, dominated not only his
mission but the whole endeaVor of the Government
forces to cripple the illicit trade.
Had he been less thorough, he might have gone
away with the evidence he had but what ruinous
of the whisky jacks for the grand coup. he should
find that he had made mistake! He must be able
to say that the moonshine machine was there that
he had it.
Pacing the floor turning in his mind how
and when to make his dangerous trip of discovery
into the pass his eye by chance sought big calen
dar the wall. tangentlv. and at variance with
his thoughts, dating the passage of days Friday"
AS though somebody had spoken, the rang
in his ears in revelation. 1t was the day of Stand
Offs hilarity; the Civic Round Up" it had been