Gilpin observer., 1920-06-24
Anderson's
Ambition
BY GEORGE FoxHALL
(Copyright.)

table broadcloth Of Arthur Anderson's
exemplary life.
Other ideals Of youth had given way
to the staid conservatism of middle
age, but this one. from the moment of
its inception nearly thirty years ago,
had remained unquenchable.
For the ambition of Arthur Ander-
son, president of the File and Finish
Ing Company, Incorporated, millionaire
| and philanthropist, small and dyspep-
tic, was-to hold up train. He had
gained all things but this.
1t was pathetic. Even his name was
| against him.
Arthur! Never In history or fiction,
from King Arthur down, had there
| been n villain named Arthur. Arthur
is the very key to virtue.
! Yet, in an indirect way and to linn
tied extent, the ideal actually had got
the better of him. At the age of four
teen he had invested three dollars in
n secondhand revolver, with which he
practiced joyOusly, rehedfsng hold
ups with icy coolness and increasing
ly deadly aim.
Here, by all the rules. his down
fall should have commenced; but it
didn't. He progressed steadily in both
the open and secret branches of his
life; from Office boy to president of
the File and Finishing company from
a bepatched practicer with an old
pistol to the foremost though unknown
authority on small firearms in the
United States.
He had written reveling in the al
Turing pen-name of Dead Shot Dan
a brochure called "Touchy Triggers"
which. was the standard and final rev.
elation of the mathematical science Of
pistOl-shooting in all its branches from
draw to trajectory. from Dick Turpin
to the Battle of Stepney.
And yet. Anderson had never held
up a train! He had practiced assidu-
ously until hand and eye were instinct
i've rails down which he could zip bull
lets at will with the precision of a
cash-carrier In department store,
| but
1t was so futile; he had never held
up train--probably he never would.
| On these things he was ruminating
as he walked toward Cassavera station
one evening.
| He had dined with the president Of
the Cassavera Compound Engine COM
.pany, and had failed to get ten-thou-
sand-dollnr order he had been trying
to train robbery.
| He abandoned himself to his imag-
mary and reckless amusement and
was having a decidedly prosperous in
terview with an express messenger
when the shrieking of whistle told
him that only hard run and short
cut would get him to his train.
| Had Anderson been more familiar
with the territory round Cassavera
station he would probably have
watched that train go, with wise
shake of his head at the treacherous
ground between. Not being familiar
with It, and tempted on by the bright
moonlight, he stepped boldly into the
alluring trap which was to prove the
long preparing magnet of adventure.
| The grass was long and rank, and In
something less than two minutes he
had found and explored hidden ditch
about two feet deep and having at the
bottom soft bed of mud and water.
About the same time he found and ex-
| plOred hidden wells of vocabulary. but
fortunately neither discovery broke
any bones.
| When he scrambled out he found
that he had gathered sickening
amount of mud and had lost his hat,
his train and his temper. He regret
ted none of them.
The ditch lay behind and the swamp
before. To the left he saw the CLEAN
Of what looked like road. but might
he river that passed under the track
With nerves fiickering like fame
OF a burned-Out candle, and stepping
for NIL the world like the stealthy vii
lain in a melOdrann. Anderson stored
his course toward this goal.
| This time fortune was his guide. The
white streak proved to be II road set
up n little above the low-lying swamp
land, and up the embankment Ander-
son wns thankfully climbing when he
was halted by the sound of voices just
In front Of him and evidently coming
from behind n group of bOulders.
ats no use. Jake, I'll never be able
to. make 1t tonight. I can't stand up
20 save my life. ] reckon that canned
stun must a give me ptomains."
The voice trailed Off into n groan.
'I reckon, Pete" said n second voice
surlily, that it's more likely chill
blains or some other frosty foot dis
ease"
Pete pressed his stomach in n
pnroxysm of pain.
"Now do you believe me?" he quav-
cred. In feeble triumph.