The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1916-05-12
BY FRANCIS LYNDE

OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
case, with a lighted candle beside 1t,
and for a crazy half-second I had
shock, Murray-the minute hand was
pointing to four and the hour hand to
seven!"
Still don't see the miraculous sig
nificance," said the photographer.
Don't you? It was only another of
the condolences, of course. While
stood staring at the clock Arson came
In with Grifhth's tool kit. I've got to
tinker her again. he said. She's got
so she keeps Pacific time with one
hand and eastern with the other Then
I understood that he had been tinker
ing with 1t and had merely gone over
to Griffith's tent for the TOOLS"
WELL" said Grislow again, what of
It? The clock struck seven, you say;
but 1t also struck four"
Brouillard's smile tilted his curling
mustaches to the sardonic angle.
THE combination was what called
the turn, Grizzly. Today happens to
be my twenty-eighth birthday-the end
Of the fourth cycle Of seven"
by George!" calculated the hydrog-
rapher in mock perturbation, sitting
up so suddenly that he dropped his
pipe into the ashes of the fire. I'm
that case, according to what seems to
be the well-established custom, some
thing is due to fall in right now!"
II have been looking for it all day."
returned Brouillard calmly.
It was Murray Grislow who finally
rang the curtain call on the prolonged
talk.
Say, man! do you know that 1t is
after ten o'clock" he demanded, hold
ing the face of his watch down to the
glow Of the dying embers. "You may
sit here all night, II you like, but it's
me for the blankets. Now. what in the
name of q guilty conscience Is that"
AS it CHANGED, they were both fac
ing toward the lower end of the val
ley when the apparition flashed into
view. In the deepest Of the shadows
at the mouth Of the gorge, where the
torrenting Niquoia Strengthened itself
momentarily before entering upon its
plunging race through the mountain
barrier beam of white light fiickered
Then it became a luminous pencil to
trace a zigzag line up the winding
| course Of the river, across to the foot
hill spur where the camp Of the recla-
nation service vanguard was pitched,
and so on around to the base of the
Chigringo. For certain other seconds
it remained quiescent, glowing bale
fully like the eye Of some tabled mon
ster searching for its prey. Then it
was gone.
Grislow's comment took the form of
! half-startled exclamation.
"By Jove! wouldn't that give you a
fit of the creepies?-this far from civil
lization and dynamo? What are you
calling it,"
"Your guess is as good as NINE"
was the half-absent reply. Brouillard
had got upon his feet and was but
toning his many-pocketed shooting
| coat.
yonder for investigation purposes.
Want to come along?"
But the mapper of watersheds was
yawning sleepily. Not on your tin
type" he refused. I'm going to cork
| 1t OFF in me 'ammick.'"
It was only short mile from the
camp on the inward slopes of the east
ern foothills to the mouth Of the outlet
| gorge, across which Brouillard could
| already see, in mental provision, the
great gray wall Of the projected Nj
quota dam-his future woodworking
majestically from the broken shoulder
OF Chigringo to the opposing sleeps
Of Jacks mountain. The half-grown
moon, fitting now toward the skyline
Of the western barrier, was leaving the
canyon portal in deepest gloom.
Picking his way judiciously because
the trail was new to him, Brouillard
came in due time to the descending
path among the spruces and scrub
pines leading to the western outlook