The log cabin Democrat., 1909-11-05

shal in the service of Uncle Sam, and the sultry heat of a June afternoon in Arizona lay heavily upon the land.
 On the previous night we had both been present at an entertainment of a social kind that was somewhat un- usual in Tucson, inasmuch as one of the principal features had been the address delivered by a lecturer from Boston, who had seen fit to dwell upon the evils of intemperance and indulge in hearty denunciation of King Bar leycorn and his followers.
 Tt wasn't bad talk" I responded, finally, but I imagine he went above the heads of his audience somewhat by dropping into poetry.
 Maybe you're right" returned Flames, but Pm not thinking about the other folks A college education hasn't done much for me in one sense. but all the same I was glad to hear that chap talk last night. He quoted . couple of lines from Tennyson that made me think some, I tell you Do you remember when he said:
 "A man may rise on stepping stones Of his dead self to higher things?'"
 I nodded assent and Eames con tinued: Well, Reno, he told the truth there. Years ago, when I was young fellow, there wasn't more worthless cur stranded in the west than yours truly. I'm not saying that I'm so much now, but the Lord knows I'm prince compared to what I used to be. And it's all owing to one man that's dead and gone long ago. If you want to listen, I'll tell you all about it."
 Consequently it was with feelings of more than ordinary interest that I leaned back in my chair and mo- toned to my companion to go ahead. In substance the tale that he narrat- ed ran as follows:
 On a certain summer afternoon, when not a single cloud showed itself in the expanse of blue sky, a train was passing, at the moderate speed befitting severe grades over a little narrow-g gauge road and literally climb ing into the recesses of the Sierra Madre. It had glided over the plains at the base of the mountains, threaded its way among the foothills, traversed some deep canyons and clung to mar row shelves cut on the side of the rocky barrier. Some of the passen- gers in the chair car to whom the journey was no novelty, were reading or dozing; others, taking it for the first time, gazed delightedly at the ever-changing scenes before their eyes. Then the sun sank behind the great range, the darkness came on apace. and pretty Iris Eames turned from the window and looked at her father who sat on the opposite side of the car in conversation with fellow traveller. This latter individual had fiery red hair and a cropped mus tache; his costume consisted of a gray flannel shirt, somewhat the worse for wear, and trousers of dubi- ous hue, and he was innocent of any ambition in the direction of white linen MT. Flames was a man of good sense and intelligence, whose vaca- tions were few, and he had started on his western trip with the avowed in- tenticn of making the most of his time in the study of the new phases of human nature which he was likely to encounter As his eyes met his daughters he leaned towards her with a smile.
 My dear" he said, "I want to pre- sent felow-passenger the mayor Of Wolf City the place where our days journey will end, and which l learn from him to be an important town, growing and pushing-'booming. to use the phrase of the country. He has given me much needed informa- ton"