New Ulm review., 1913-03-19
cnAp'Te.Rl |. Z

y. yiding line between the Cen.
I1 tipedo Ranch and their own.
A~A staring mournfully into .
summer night such ~ only
81 the far southwestern coun.
100 try knows. And az the four
inclined their bodies, they
hcllned also their ears, after the
strained manner of listeners--wh0
1eel anguish at what they hear. A
voice. shrill and human. pierced the
night like . needle, then, with .
vail Of . tortured soul, died away
amd discordant raspings: the voice
Se . photograph. It was their own.
Oe had been until one overcon6dent
Aay, when the Flying Heart Ranch
~ staked It . wager in foot
snee with the neighboring Cent?
De6s, and their own man had been too
aDow. AZ It had been their pride. It
uo0atned their sdiagrace. Dearly had
Ghay loved. and dearly lost it. It
0eant something that looked like
Aoaos. and though there were ten
0lossand thousand Photographs. In oil
- world there was not one that could
0llre its place. a
IAs sound ceased, there was IN ap-
Ds0viag distant mprmur Of mems
sosess, and then the song began:
Jerusalem. jerusalem.
I'm Up your voice and sing
Higher and higher the voice mount
q until It reached again its hrst thin,
sarsplitting pitch.
sStill Bill" Slower stirred uneasily
q tho darkness.
~Whyn'ell don't they keep her
v0QAd up?' he complained. "Galla.
eAer's got the soul Of q wart-hog. It's
Ssiminal the way he massacres that
hymn"
From . rod farther down the wire
fence Willie answered him, in a boys
Aalsetto:
Il wonder II he does it to spite met"
~He don't know you're here" said
Slower.
The other came out Of the gloom,
q little stoop-shouldered man with
spectacles.
Fl amt noways sure" he piped,
Deering up at his lanky foreman.
why do you reckon he allus lets
Mrs. Nelly peter out on my favorite
record? He done the same thing last
night. It looks like an insult"
It's 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
snail man seemed torn by doubt. IF
I only knew he done it a-purpose, I'd
~ him. I bet I could do it from
Aere."
stover's voice was srufr as he com.
4andsd: ID 4a
Forget It! Amt it bad enough for
. fellers to hang around like this
svery night without advertising our
11iocy by . gun-play?"
''They amt got no right to that
Ihonograph," Willie averred darkly.
~Oh yes. they have; they won It
falr and square,"
Fair and square! Do you mean to
the square1'
II never said nothin' like that what
svor. I mean we bet 1t, and we lost
= Listen! There goes Carara's
ysece!"
Out past the corral floated the an
aouncement in . mans metallic syl.
lables:
The Baggage Coach Ahead -
sung by Helena Mora for the Echo
monograph, Of New York and Pass
Fis!"
From the dusk to the right Of the
two listeners now issued soft Spanish
Dhrases.
"Madre de Dios! The Baggage Car
IN 'FRONT.' T'adora Mora! God bless !
eri"
During the rendition of this affect.
ing ballad the two cow-men remained
draped uncomfortably over the barbed.
wire barrier. lost in rapturous enjoy.
0ent. When the last note had died
away, Slower reused himself reluc.
tantly. "A
"It's 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." Stover cautioned.
"Caramba! This ting is brek my
cart" said the Mexican, sadly. "It
seem like the Senorita Mora is sing
that song to me. Mebbe she knows
I'm set out ere on cactus an listen
to her. Ah. love that Senorita yer
much"
The little man with the glasses be
gan to swear in his high faisetto. Hi.
ear had caught the phonograph opera
tor In another mnsical mistaka