Bisbee daily review., 1916-02-13
cHAPTE ER I.

In the midmorning quiet, the bath ing beach and the ocean reflected only the brightness of the inviting sun. But little way back from the glisten- ing sand and converging through a small park toward a suburban station the streets of the seaside resort were alive with men and women, hurrying to the city for the grind of the day. Motor cars, too, glided noiselessly along the boulevards, drew up in turn before the station and discharged their passengers. From one of these mid dle-aged, military-looking man, Gen. eral Holmes, an ex-army officer and a railroad man, alighted on the platform. A governess and pretty little girl, Helen-General Holmes only child had accompanied her father to the train, and when he turned to the open tonneau to say good-by, Helen sprang impulsively half into his arms. His train pulled in as he quite simply but affectionately kissed his child and boarded the nearest car.
 Helen, promised a morning in the parR, left the motor car with her gov erness the moment they crossed a small scenic railroad running back of the beach She already had her eye on what she wanted to play with. A contented dog. at peace with the world and summing himself on a grassy slope, had riveted her alert eye; Helen ad- vanced joyously to get acquainted. The dog seemed not averse to a pas sive friendship, but fhe little maid, sitting down, sought something more, and by pulling hard and with conf dence at his neck, soon had his un- promising head-after a fashion, at least-in her diminutive lap.
 The strain on his sensibilities ap- peared more than her amiable and carefree friend could stand. After submitting for a time he rolled over, jumped up and trotted briskly away for new seclusion and a new peace. Helen. undaunted, sprang to her feet and followed. Her goyerness, engaged with the chauffeur, saw nothing of this part of the incident. But mo ment later the few spectators iD the scenic railroad square. waiting to board one of the miniature trains, saw a protesting dog trotting rapidly away from a curly-haired girl, who briskly and relentlessly followed.
 A newsboy, relaxing against con venient lamp post after the morning rush, watched the pursuit for a mo ment with languid interest, then turned to look at an approaching train on the scenic road. He seemed no more than half awake. His wits, in truth, were wool-gathering. Every morning found him absorbed greatly in the mysteries of the miniature en- zine that pulled the scenic railroad train.
 A shout, then a chorus of cries aroused him from his reverie. The putting train was pulling swiftly to- ward the open space. The unhappy dog, casting reproachful glances over his shoulder at his pitiless friend, was galloping uncertainty. but directly down the narrow track toward the on- coming train. Helen, seeing or heed ing nothing of the train and fixed only on her chase, ran after at top speed. A dozen people saw her danger as the train rounded the curve just in front of her-only one of them made move. Dropping his unsolds, the day dreaming newsboy. waking sharply, ran headlong after the needless girl
 It was none too soon. The dog, dismayed alike by the cries and second pursuit, sprang. almost in the teeth of the engine pilot, right across the track. Helen fast on his heels was ready to jump after, but it would have been pretty certainly jump to her death. The newsboy caught her arm and whirled her from the engine just at it shot past with brakes screeching. on the drivers. Helen sprawled headlong beside the track, and the boy, unbalanced, rolled on the gravel near her.
 He was on his feet in trice, stand lIR ONtI fltitl4. so4lC Ndo II AAe5AiANACA and breathless. and without speaking he knelt by her. Her eyes began to fill with big tears. She sat confused ly up as her companion brushed the granite dust from her pique skirt and with a coarse handkerchief began wiping the blood from cut on one of her pink knees. Her rescuer ma<ss lit- tie of the accident He told her not to cry. He even brushed the round tears from her cheeks-Helen liked him. What is your name, little boy?' she faltered in a would-be command ing tone.
 I'm no little boy" returned her rescuer grufly. A crowd had gathered and he was already red in the face. Helen gave the bystanders no heed. What are you, then?" she demanded gravely.
 I'm a big boy My name is George Storm; I'm named after my father. He was a railroad engineer My father got killed on a train. Who's your ia ther?"