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transform one evil into worse. You who think you have nothing left to lose, will by that very thought lose what you have. Gather up the fragments that remain to you, and keep them with scrupulous care. In good time this little that is yours will be your consolation. The effort made will come to your relief, as the effort missed will turn against you. If nothing but a branch is left for you

to cling to, cling to that branch; and if you stand alone in defense of a losing cause, do not throw down your arms to join the rout. After the deluge a few survivors re-peopled the earth. The future sometimes rests in a single life as truly as life sometimes hangs by a thread. For strength, go to history and nature. From the long travail of both you will learn that failure and fortune alike may come from the slightest cause, that it is not wise to neglect detail, and, above all, that we must know how to wait and to begin again.

-Chas. Wagner's "Simple Life."

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By V. D. Hyde

HE Cheyenne Special slowly hissed the time away while a group of cowboys chewed alfalfa and swapped stories with the conductor and engineer, and the fireman, a lump of dirty waste in hand, gossiped with the express messenger a few yards down the track. The messenger, a chunky fellow, blinked over his pipe, as he sat in the doorway of his car hanging his legs down till his feet rested on a big box, watching the station master piling up various bits of "outbound" by the track, to be presently tossed up to him and languidly thrown into the car for future adjustment.

Just as a solitary trunk was, with a mighty boost, and crash, landed in the middle of the car, and the messenger, with a regretful grunt, was lumbering to

his feet to arrange the stuff, the fireman called out: "Hi, there, Bake; here's something worth while."

The messenger was wide awake in an instant, and at the door of the car to receive from the fireman the leash to which were attached three fine staghounds, while back of them stood a very young man wearing an unusually large sombrero ornamented with a fine silver band.

"Here's Mr. Baker, the gentleman'll have charge of the dogs, sir," said the fireman, deferentially, with a comprehensive hand-sweep from the youth to the messenger, and an intelligently anxious glance into the face of the latter, recollecting the tip that usually follows such a consignment.

The youth nodded, swept the sweat of a rapid walk from his brow, and stepping up to the door, with a deft dive at the hounds in turn lightly started each on a leap into the car, with a friendly, "In you go, Jerry, and Merry and Terry." Then. he thrust deep into his buckskins and drew out a handful of silver which he

clinkingly handed to the messenger. "Just give your eye to 'em. Pop's in the car," he said, and was off.

"Pop' is old Rathbun, the millionaire from down Denver," observed the fireman, with an anxious following of the messenger's hand as it went down into the trouser's pocket. "He's in a devil of a hurry to get to Holdredge. Hadn't all his baggage. Left the dogs behind. That's his son came tearing down with 'em. He'd raised hell if he hadn't 'em."

The messenger did not respond, as, with one hand he tethered the dogs down at the end of the car, his back to the fireman, who leaned his arms on the cardoor threshold.

"He was a-goin' to give them to Jeffs," continued the fireman, "an' I tol' him you'd take good care of them. Didn't see why you shouldn't get the tip. Conductor gets more salary. 'Sides, he wouldn't have none o' the trouble."

"Ketch!" said the messenger, briefly and rather crossly, as he withdrew the

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other hand with a good-sized silver piece in it, and tossed it to the fireman, adding, "Lend a hand, Billy."

Billy jumped into the car, and in a couple of minutes they had the stuff arranged so as to leave most of the middle of the car clear, the trunk for the messenger to lounge on at the door, and a bucket of water and bundle of alfalfa under the noses of the hounds, who immediately went at the drink with a will after their long run.

"Old Rathbun's about that crazy to get to Holdredge that he's been to the ingineer a dozen times a'ready to ast when we start, though he knows well enough our time," gossiped the fireman. "Offered to pay Jeffs if he'd start ahead o' time. There's his nibs again. Guess he's got business with you. Six minutes to start anyway. So long." He jumped from the car, touched his hat to the sombrero, and moved off toward the group at the head of the engine, while the youth, who appeared to start up from under the car, seated himself on the threshold and leaned over confidentially. "Generally make good time to Holdredge?" he inquired, pleasantly.

"So so," laconically. Baker took the pipe from his mouth and gazed out at the horizon. The dogs dogs pulled pulled the length of their tether, and laid their great shaggy bodies as near the youth as possible. The messenger waited. The youth looked at the dogs and reflected.

"Five minutes to start," suggested Baker, replacing his pipe.

The youth shook himself together anxiously. "Spose it wouldn't be noticed much if you were a little late, eh? Couldn't you just manage it-get caught in a storm-break something-any old thing, so you don't get in on time? Can't matter much. Don't carry any passengers. Only Pop and two dagoes to-day."

"Conductor's chap to 'proach with that," briefly. But there was a sinister twinkle in the messenger's eye.

"How-with that gang around him? And Pop bolting up every minute to bribe him to start?"

"Sure, Mike!" sympathetically.

"Say, it's--it's important. Truth is, my sister's going to get married to-morrow morning, and Pop swears to stop it. No objection, only chap's a hard-work

ing, poor devil," craftily. "He's a brick, though, and Sis will have him. I've fixed the telegrapher, so Pop's message to license clerk-she's only seventeen-won't get through quite on time. But here he goes, and he always is on time. Say-ur-can't you manage? You married-um? Got a girl?"

Baker made a motion with his head which might be taken for anything in the line of concurrence and sympathy.

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'Say, can't you fix the conductor? Say, it's the right thing, and all's fair in love and war, and-ur-here, drink to the health of Sis and Tom-takes place at 8 a. m. to-morrow-more if successful."

With a wink he extended a nice green bill, on which a five and a nought at once caught Baker's sharp eye. The latter took it, rapidly calculating the proper percentage of division between four conspirators not equally active in the plot, folded it deliberately, and placing it in his jumper pocket, at last replied:

"I think I can manage it, Mr. Rathbun; yes, 'Im sure I can. There's the whistle. You won't mind how I do it, and you'll bear me out, or bail me out?" with a wink.

"Will I?" cried the youth, as he blithely swung down from the car, and tossed up his sombrero, with a pirou"Toot-toot!" went the whistle; a

ette.

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Young Rathbun.

long hiss, and the Cheyenne Special slowly drew out from the station on time, got up steam and rolled over the prairie at its usual leisurely rate of speed.

It was about two hours later that Jeffs, the conductor, came leisurely back to the baggage car with a sly smile and a trustful, seeking look, which rested on the trio of hounds. They were sprawled as near to one of the wide-open doors of the car as possible on the bundle of alfalfa, gazing wistfully out over the flitting prairie, glitteringly alight save for the occasional shadow from a passing cloud. Their mouths were wide open, for the air was as close as midsummer in a high altitude can make it. The conductor turned a meaning glance on Baker, who sat on the trunk, chewing a sprig of alfalfa and intently regarding the animals.

"Hot enough?"

The only reply was a shrug of Baker's near shoulder.

"You got peace, anyhow. We are pestered every few minutes by old Rathbun to make time. Wants to get to Holdredge by six. I told him we wan't due till eight. Couldn't do better 'thout or

ders. Wants to put back to Cheyenne for orders. Told him telegrapher was gone on a picnic. Said, 'Hell!''s if he meant it." Baker nodded abstractedly.

"Say, see the c'yotes ?"

No interest from Baker.

"There's a pack out there-least fifty. There's a bounty out here-dollar a head. They're damned pesky on the range." No interest from Baker.

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Say," he came a little nearer to the messenger, and unconsciously dropped his voice: "D'ye ever see a c'yote hunt? Say, Bake," looking at the great animals at his feet, "if they should escape like, we'll have to stop till they're recovered. They're valuable critters."

Baker showed interest. His eyes glinted, his breath came short. Otherwise he gave no sign of emotion over the sudden solution of the conundrum that had occupied his mind since they had pulled out from Cheyenne. "Does old Rathbun know the dogs is here?"

"Guess not. He was on the other side o' the car when they came aboard." "What'll he say at delay?"

"What kin he say at a accident? Same old run, day after day, on the Cheyenne branch. First chance in two months for any fun," grumblingly.

"Better be train accident."

"Sure! yep! There's the leader now -must be fifty years old. Give a month's salary to ketch him." And as he admiringly watched the pack, not more than a good stone's throw from the train, nosing about the prairie dog holes unsuspiciously, he gently pulled a cord overhead, and the train slightly slackened its speed.

"How much?" queried Baker, as he began to loosen the hounds' tether, and they, knowing something was up, arose to their feet.

Suddenly, on the still, hot air, came the short, sharp yelps of the coyotes as, with the swiftness of a shot, but apparently without cause, they all stood at attention and began to form in battle array

-a big circle, tails in, noses out. The hounds, in supreme bliss, opened their mouths wider and squeezed their eyes shut then opening their eyes wide and shutting their mouths, they shook their lithe forms, erected their ears, and ex

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tended their tails, while the skin of their bodies quivered longingly.

"As much as forty dollars," drawled Jeffs. "Salaries isn't high on the Cheyenne trail." He slipped his hands into his pockets and gazed out dreamily at the suspicious coyotes. The hounds whimpered.

"What d'ye stay for, then? They're a little better in Denver," quoth Baker, carelessly dropping the leash after untying it, as he reached up to adjust something in the box where small train tools were kept.

The hounds glanced about them, then out at the now silent pack of coyotes, then plaintively up at Baker. Baker was busy. The train wasn't too fast for a man to jump. There was a rustle and a scraping, a scramble and a spattering, as of something heavily alighting on sand and pebbles; and the hounds were gone with a splendid, deep-throated bay, seconded by a startled yelping from the pack now for the first time seeing its enemy.

Then there was silence.

"Nearest horses at Curry's ranch," murmured Jeffs, rubbing his hands together, his gaze glued to the pack and the pursuers, as he went to the platform and mounted to the top of the car to walk to the engine. It wasn't politic to walk through the passenger car, where already the Italians and Mr. Rathbun were excitedly grouped at the window.

By the time the train came to a standstill, the coyotes, with the hounds in their wake, were simply specks on the horizon, and Baker was striding distractedly alongside of his car, his wide eyes on the distance. As he passed under the passenger window, Mr. Rathbun cried: "Whose hounds are those? Did you have them in the baggage car?"

"Yes, sir," said Baker, regretfully. "Who shipped them? Are they mine? I intended to bring a leash and forgot?" "A young feller in a sombrero with a silver band

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"That's Bub-my dogs. Say, d've know what those dogs will cost the express company?" grimly.

"Nothing, sir," replied Baker, calmly. "It'll be me'll pay the damage, if they ain't recovered."

"Twelve hundred dollars," screamed the old gentleman, as he danced out of

the car. "And I tell you I can't wait to catch them. How'd they get loose? Go on, I say. I must get to Holdredge by morning."

"Somethin' happened to train runnin' gear, and they jolted loose, I guess. An' they jest naturally couldn't stand the sight of the coyotes. I'll see what can be done." And Baker hurried on to the head of the train, where the rest of the crew was grouped, while Rathbun danced excitedly on the sands, alternately swearing at the men as being in a conspiracy, offering rewards for the recovery of the hounds, and prizes to reach Holdredge by morning.

The crew held a grave colloquy, which lasted some minutes, when they were joined by the irate Rathbun. He was

told that a bolt had been lost which might require walking to Sterling to replace. The only consolation he got for the fit of wrath that then assailed him was that they might have to stay where they were all night, if Billy had to go to Sterling; but at any rate he'd get his dogs all right.

The old gentleman almost screamed with rage. Then, with a choky voice, he said: "Say, see here, my men, if money isn't any consideration to you, if you are all millionaires," bitterly, "maybe you'l think of something to help a father whose willful daughter has run off to marry the worst scallywag in Holdredge. Maybe some day you'll be in my fix." There

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