The Birmingham age-herald., 1923-03-25

 Eds fifth year.
 Straight to the saloon went Ed Raleigh and strode through the swinging doors and then he stopped as a man stops in mid. ring when a straight left whacks again. the point of his chin.
 For behind the bar stood big man witt grizzled hair and prodigious paunch. Ed Raleigh winked agair. and then stepped to the bar.
 Are you Olaf Biornsen?" he asked.
 "Yep-that's me-"
 Ed Raleigh closed his eyes and clune less. Olaf Bjornsen! the same man, the same name. No, there was ono discrep ancy: Olaf of his fathers stories would have answered, "Ya, Ay bane that Olafv It was the son, then.
 But the rest of the room was the same The stove in the center had three iron legs as it ought to have had, and the fourth one was of wood, black as iron from age anC much seoty droppings. The familiar cob webs trailed across the ceiling of unfin ished boards; over the side a picture o1 the mighty Salvador spread-eagling his field, and doing a spread-eagle himself te accomplish the feat; behind the bar the resolute face of John L. Sullivan, with al American flag draped around his waist the Boston strong boy in his youth.
 It was all the same, down to the smooth unvarnished surface of the bar-the same bar on which his father had rested his glass of red-eye in the glorious days of old.
 "Whatll you have?" Olaf Bjornsen was asking.
 Ed Raleigh turned his eye to right and left. There were half dozen other mer in the room. That fellow with the scar or his cheek and the sidewise trick with his eyes-surely that was Whitey, the gambler and the old man with the solemn beard beard must be philosophic Dan Morgan who could deliver with equal impromptr ease an election speech or funeral serv ice. They were all there-all:
 "Well?" Olaf was urging with a toucf of irritation in his voice "Come to life kid. Sleepin'?"
 'Red-eye" muttered Ed Raleigh, sno mopped his forehead.
 The bartender stepped back along the bar and picked up bottle and glass; Es waited, suspended. An, there it was! The glass came spinning down the bar and ther rocked to halt directly in front of him If this were not the true Olaf Bjornsen, il was surely his reincarnation-Olaf witf a twentieth century tongue.
 IT, Irso nI membered to toss it off at single gulp Remembering again, he pushed the chaser scornfully away. A chaser for fellow from the mines? Bah!
 "New to town, ain't you?" inquired Olaf, ewing the untasted chaser.
 Ed watched him with incredulous dis gust. According to his father, no question: were ever asked in Sierra Padre. A mar talked of his own volition, or else the towr waited to know him by his actions.
 ''Kind off," SC snapped.
 He turned to glance out the window ovel lordly prospect of rocks and mountain: and calling distance, when the doors swung wide and an unsteady figure stepped within them. He was tall man somewhere be- tween 50 and 60, and generation of harc living had whitened his head and scanned his face as weather and million years have wrinkled the front of Bald Eagle peak it. self.
 But he was dressed like youngster who has lately struck gold, perfect from his new hat to the dark yellow of his Napatar boots. His years sat easily upon him; his eye danced as he looked around the bar. room, and his body was still as light and gaunt as the body of youngster in his prime. His working days were far from