Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1913-02-20
CHAPTER :.

strained manner of listeners who
feel anguish at what they hear A
voice, shrill and human, pierced the
night like a needle. then. with q
vail of tortured soul, died away
amid discordant raspings: the voice
Of monograph. 1t was their own
or had been until one over.confldent
day, when the Flying Heart Ranch
had staked it as a wager In . foot
race with tho neighboring Cent?
pede. and their own man had been toe
slow. As it had been their pride, II
remained their disgrace. Dearly had
they loved, and dearly lost it. II
meant something that looked like
honor, and though there were ten
thousand thousand Photographs, In all
the world there was not one that could
take its place.
The sound ceased, there was an ap.
proving distant murmur Of mems
voices, and then the song began:
Jerusalem. Jerusalem.
Lift up your voice and sing"
Higher and higher the voice mount.
ed until It reached again its first thin,
earsplitting pitch.
"Still Bill" Slower stirred uneasily
In the darkness.
"Why'n'ell don't they keep her
wound up" he complained. "Galla.
gher's got the soul of wart.hog. It's
criminal the way he massacres that
hymn"
From q rod farther down the wire
fence Willie answered him. in boys
falsetto:
II wonder II he does 1t to spite me?
Tie don't know you're here" said
Slower.
The other came out Of the gloom.
q little stoop-shouldered man with
spectacles.
81 amt noways sure" he piped
peering up at his lanky foreman
why do you reckon he allus lets
Mrs. Melby peter out on my favorite
record? He done the same thing last
night. It looks like an insult"
ITS nothing but his ignorance"
Slower replied. HE don't want no
trouble with you. None Of 'em do"
I'D like to know for certain" The
small man seemed torn by doubt. III
only knew he done it a-purpose. I'd
git him. l bet l could do it from
here"
Stover's voice was gruff as he com.
mandsd:
Forget it! Amt It bad enough for
US fellers to hang around like this
every night without advertising our
idiocy by gun-play?"
They amt got no right to that
photograph" Willie averred darkly.
"Ch yes. they have; they won it
fair and square"
Fair and square! Do you mean to
say Hump Joe run that foot-race on
the square?'
Il never said nothin' like that what
ever. mean we bet 1t, and we lost
It, Listen! There goes Carara's
piece!"
Out past the corral Aoated the an
nouncement in mans metallic syl
lables:
"'The Baggage Coach Ahead as
sung by Helena Mora for the Echo
Photograph, Of New York and Pa-a.a-
ris!"
From the dusk to the right Of the
two listeners now issued soft Spanish
phrases.
"Madre de Dios! The Baggage Car
in 'FRONT.' T'adora Mora! God bless
'er!"
During the rendition of this affect
Ing ballad the two cow-men remained
draped uncomfortably over the barbed-
wire barrier, lost in rapturous enjoy
ment. When the last note had died
away, Slower reused himself reluc-
family.
"Its time we was turnin' in" He
called softly, "Hey. Mex!"
Isl, Senor!"
"Come on. you and Cloudy. vamos!
It's ten o'clock"
He turned his back on the Cent?
pede Ranch that housed the treasure.
and in company with Willie, made his
way to the ponies. Two other figures
Joined them, one humming in musi-
cal baritone the strains Of the song
Just ended.
"Cut that out. Mex! They'll hear
u.s." Slower cautioned.
"Caramba! This ting is brek my
'eaxt," said the Mexican, sadly. 1T
seem like the senorita Mora IL sing
that song to me- sMebbe she knows
I'm set out ERE on cactus an listen
to her. All, l love that Senorita YER
much."
The little man with the glassss be.
gan to swear In his high faiJetto. Els
ear had caught the photograph opera.
tor in another musical mistake.
THAT horn.eoad let Mn. Melby die
again tonight" said he. "lt's sure
comm to hunnacahpo between him
and me. II somebody don't kill him.
pretty soon, he'll wear ont that ma,
chine before we GIT 1t back"
"Humph! It don't look like we'd
ever get It back" said Slower.
One Of the four sighed audibly. then
vuulting into his saddle, went looping