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PM 4“ ..‘.. IP (In! Fully guaranteed. at Mada-lane’s. maker. ANYONE ONE NEEDING New Pumps, Pump Re- pairs, Cement Curbing or Culvert Tile, see . . . . 1N0. SCHULTZ or myself at the 5110;) George Whitmore in. n U R PH ‘3 Proprietor. Twenty"per cent. of the purchase L money on day of sale: balance in {thirty days Without. interest. Pumps_,_Curbing, Tile This property consists of a large two- storey brick Hotel with frame kit- Chen attached. Also a. large frame stable and frame shed. lThis is a. Licensed Hotel and doing a good business. The' undersigned has received instruc- tions to sell by Public Auction at 'A.A. TREMBERT iii“: the McMaster Evangelistic Band L” ‘ in the Baptist Church. Thurs., Aug. 3, ’ll In New Quarters Near the Gal-abut: St. Bridge I wish to announce 1,130 the public that I am now settled in my new quarters, T. Moran’s old stand. near the Guru- THE MURPHY HOUSE, MARKDALE, at 2 p. m. that Valuable Hotel Property -knownasthe Neat the Garafraxa St. Briige HOTEL PROPERTY FOR SALE MURPHY HOUSE AND STABLES fi-axa St. bridge, where I am prepared to cater to their wants in all kinds of custom blacksmith- ing. All work guaran- teed first-class. l. D. McGRATH â€"â€"TERMS:-â€" VALUABLE D. McPflAIL, Auctioneer. The storm swallowed him up; so drove against him that he sat bowed low in his saddle. so drenched-him that it seemed to flow through him. Yet he had no time to feel the misery of it 511. He was riding it seemed in a great void, out of which from time to time huge beasts loomed uncertainly. He knew them for the Herefords which moved lumberingly and unwillingly For the first half hour of his ride he had no time to think. Nature provided him with that panacea of man’s pain, action. In winter upon the northern ranches evening comes early, and on this day of storm it seemed to come upon the heels of midday, so that as im Combe dashed out of the corral it was already dark. - It never seems to occur to a prairie horse to rise at a fence. Certainly it never occurred to that maddened roan, With a rending crash he went through the young pine poles, shattering them like match stalks, and so was gone, the rain-lashed ocean of dim prairie swal- lowing up horse and man. As the roan rose again on its hind legs, Combe drove the long rowels home with 21.1 the cruel force that there was in him. and the panic stricken beast rushed blindly from the corral. There was a fenéekivz the far end .of it, luckily only of light poles, set up to keep in young calves. In spite of Jim. the horse had got its head down. its back was arched so that there seemed nothing in front of the saddle except space, and even that receded as soon as the brute shot up into the air, coming down again stiff legged and sudden at every point of the compass in turn. But this was not good enough to shake off Jim Combe. "Them’s baby tricks.” he muttered, and as if the roan heard him, it reared "ntil those at the window saw nothing in the driving: rain but the vast figure of a horse re. mpant. like the supporter 3; an heraldic shield. The man was invisible until the great beast. jerked backwards by its rider, crashed heavily to earth. Then. for a moment, they saw Jim1 on his feet, his cigarette. one only Sign i of his horseman's vanity. still hpfu'oon l Theh he vanished from the with a crash. 01 ms norseman's vanity. still beim'eEn his teeth, the next he was again astride of the _rising beast. But i; was a magnificent sight for those vxho were safe from the mad beast's heels. It was done so quickly that no one had time to see how Jim scrambled into the saddle, and after that there was not enough time for the spectators to seek shelter in the first doorway that offered. “Guess we’ll have to throw him after all. but it’s a pity to take anything out of him that way,” and then suddenly Jim’s voice came from a higher level. “Gee whiz! Let him go.” The chance had come whilst he was speaking. and with a tigenlike Spring the cowboy had taken it, dodging the flying heels like a miracle. For a quarter of an hour Jim tried in vain to approach near enough to mount the 1‘1”: an but by striking, biting and kicking, the savage brute frus- trated exery effort. (‘inr'h the bag on for me good and tigh . 73033. It might get shook off.” R03: obA.-}'ed. and Jim shook himself ff) :7? the fastenings. “Nothing loose is there? Now, steady. you devil,” he went to the horse’s head. which bared its teeth, Eaid its scars down, and backed away from him across the corral, dragging the four man with it. Jim grinned. “May be,” he said, “this will break him. It’ll break him or me.” and he went over to the stables calling to the men to help him saddle a beast which no one else had attempt- ed to handle. a young stallion as beau- tiful as Lucifer and as tractable. When Rolt hurried out to him with the cartridge case and the flask, four men were trying to hold as perfect a demon as ever wore hide. The wind shrieked around them, the -005e li.ter of the yard rattled about the frightened horses feet, and the ain lashed his blood red flanks. Wit} in a radiu s of twenty or thirty eet of his :f-y 11g heels it “as unsaf» for 43:11: ~ 11g thing to come, but th: men '2 --3d 01; to the ropes, hoping hat in tint- 3 he might quiet do «n a little. “No. I’ll take the young roan. He’s the only horse that could make it.” “That devil! He isn’t broken and never will be.” “What do you mean to ride? We’ve ridden the tails off the best of the stock. Will you take that big hunter? Anstruther’s'?” “Well, if you insist, Boss.” repli‘d Jim, with a queer laugh, “you can put some cold grub and a little whiskey in a. cartridge bag for me. I can eat when the horse plays out.” “Oh, nonsense, man, she has got to take her chance like the rest. I in- sist on your having something before you goJ’ “But you can’t go yet. You haven’t had a bite of food to-day, and after all, Anstruther’s injuries do not appear to be so very serious.” “Can’t tell. She might lose him.” There was something strangely piti- ful in the way in which all Jim’s mind turned upon what she might suffer, the woman who had just dealt him the hardest blow of his life. 51:0 Soda Creek to fetch Protheroe it you can spare me.” Jim came back from his dream with a start and turned a very white and haggard face to his old friend. “Where are you going to, Jim?” ask- ed the 805°, who had followed Combe out of the sick room. A Ride for Life CHAPTER IX. corral .The fence of the pasture had long Since been left behind; it was too dark to look for a stake; there was nothing bigger than a champ oi sage brush to tie to, and tired as the roan was, he dared not leave him loose, as he would have done with any ordinary cow pony. Taking out his jack knife, he dug a deep 11018 in the hard earth, tied a. knot in the loose end of his tie nope, put the $.11}? :1 {he bottom of the hole he had L 9D aced the soil he had taken out his heel. d it in firm and hard with mnnnd +n ‘hlaythWn 0n the frozen ground t0 rest. pull the world fear of losing 11 Twice the roan “peeked” badly, and the third time so nearly came down on his head that Combe came back from his mental wanderings, pulled up and dismounted. If he would ride far- ther he realized that he must give the horse rest even if he needed none "him- self. Jim himself was away, sometimes in one place. sometimes in another. Now he was holding a yellow-haired child up on his shoulder so that she could see over the corral and watch old A] lassoing a wild cow; now he was back in England in places of purely imagi- nary magnificence, where a young queen with that child’s features was holding court amongst innumerable Anstruthers who moved slowly and spoke in Book-English with a low- pitched draw]; or again he was back in the sick-room looking into the heart of the girl he had loved since she had grown grass high and reading in _it the name of another. For half of that night Combe hardly knew that he was riding. A man sat in the saddle in the heart of a great darkness, swaying in time to his horse’ 5 stride, and at the proper time lcr ding such assistance as the rider can to the ridden, but that was not Jim Combe. Fortunately the savage wind had not suffered the sleet to lie sufficiently upon the plateau over which he rode to seriously deteriorate the going. The ground rang hard as iron and as the fever of excitement died out Jim rea- lized that the night had turned bitterly cold. He supposed that the night must have commenced, though there were none of the ordinary signs of time to guide him, and he marvelled at the endurance of his horse. ' He could ride the roan with one hand now. With the other he contrived to extract the sandwiches and flask from the cartridge bag, which still rode se- curely on his back, and reducing h’s pace to a lope he ate and drank as he rode. She would be happy even if her happiness was bound up in that of another man, and therefore at last he tOok a. pull at hiehhorse and begun to ride more cautiously. It was then that he felt how much his own strength had waned. That day he had so far eaten nothing. He had done work enough to kill an ordinary man, and unless he was much mis- taken the boot on his left leg was slowly filling with his own blood. Henceforth the world as he now saw it would be typical of his own grey and barren life, without rest, without warmth, without the light of hepe. But he had taken the plunge, and since it was too late to reconsider it, he made up his mind at any rate he would not be robbed of his reward. He had committed suicide, and he knew it, not an unjustifiable cowardly act, but the voluntary killing none the. less of Jim Combe. ther he broke his neck or not at first, but as the pace and distance began to tell upon the horse, the beast’s tamed mood began to communicate itself to the man, so that instead of the glory of the strife, the misery of those infi- nite waste places through which he rode impressed itself upon him. The homelessness of the prairie was revealed to him and almost frightened him. He had known the prairies all his life, but this aspect of them had never struck him before. He cannon-ed into the flank of one of the great Hereford bulls, half seen for a moment in the gloom, so that his horse reeled and slithered, and almost lost his feet, but the man only laughed as they staggered and went on. His partner Fate was playing his hand now for him. and he refused to interfere in the game. As long as it lasted it was excellent to fly through the dark stinging sleet, and as to the end he cared nothing. When the roan first bolted, the wildness of the'storm, all the splendid energy of the crazy beast between his knees got into Jim’s blood, and he became intoxicated with the madness of his ride. 3 ex he could not Jim was not going to kca aptz. ‘1 at him yet. As long as the wise 3:203 up and kept going, the v--v miles were :atén under his feet. That was all that mattered. Time was of the essence of Jim’s contract. 'Twice he grazed it, so dark had the day become. and each time he left a fragment c: I: is cl-o orhing behind him to mark his CCL :39. On the second occa- sion he strrck hard against a project ing bar, and his left leg seemed to lose consciousness. But he sat down and rode as steadily as ever. He could not afford worry about trifles, and as it grew darker every minute. he roa’ lized 1.1.3? the re were no precautions that he could take to minimize his risk. lie had to stOp or chance every- thing. "‘ "0' "-n. -r.; out of his way, and alongsme mm, though he could barely see it as he raced past it, ran three and twenty miles of the fencing of the winter pas- ture. fay flown on the frozen [and he loves life, but . Unless the roan cogld I tience 0f the hunter ‘ with him, Jim had no ‘patience of the hunted. hls horse so fastened. Jim felt the Dower o M”. film W Contmned on I S¢e wherghe was go- THE DURHAM CHRONICLE. For what seemed like an hour the five savage figures crouched upon their hams around Combe, like wolves around a kill, their mouths shut their limbs motionless, only their eyes, alive but those so vigilant that they seem d to follow his very thoughts. Itis rei‘ vigilance and his eternal patienlcb which enables the Indian to win .e his life-long battle with the ' w‘ig things around him. The beasts’ sens: are keener than those of ' ks and he loves life, but the ti tience of the hunter wears 1.163;: the nnfionnn hf f‘ha 1"““‘A‘ Except for that bludgeon they were none of them armed, a curious thing; Jim thought for Indians Who carry rifles as townsmen carry walking canes, nor was he much less puzzl-;d when he realized that these were the very five whose weapons he had smash ed against the pine trees. Rifles were not as common than as they are to-day amongst the Indians, but as one of these was Khelowna, the chief, he at any rate should have been able to replace his broken weapon. “Oh, Jim. Jim! You dear old Jim! Come quickly; we want you so badly," was what he seemed 1.0 hear; though as the five squatted silently round him they uttered no word. He understood why these five had crept up behind him, through the misty dawn in this featureless waste, but his hand only closed over the revolver which was sheltered in the breast of his coat, and he rolled leisurely over so as to face the five and bring his left elbow across the rifle which he had taken from his saddle before pic}:- eting his horse. Just then the roan snorted, and Jim turned his head in the nick of time. The five figures which .had passed him ten minutes earlier like shadows, stood almost at his back, arrested in their stealthy approach by his sudden movement. He could see, though they had paused, how the leading figure gripped a short bludgeon which he carried, and he knew Davies’ murderer and understood the look in that sullen animal face; but though' his heart seemed to give a jump and then stand still, Comb? did not attempt to rise or show any sign of surprise. i Jim would have liked it better if the.- Indians had visited the ranch to de- mand compensation for those broken rifles, and would almost have been in- clined to listen to their claims, but they had made no sign. The cattle had been disappearing as they had never disappeared before; there had been no friendly visits from the Chilcotens as there used to be. Whenever he had met any of them, even before the quarrel in their camp, they had been sullen and silent. and then there had been the reappearance of Davies’ murderer and that unlucky quarrel. He had become so used to them in- deed as peaceful neighbors, that he had almost forgotten the red stories of which the plains used to be full: legends of burnt ranches, of men and women murdered across their own thresholds, and brutally mutilated in order that their long hair might trim a chief’s robe. But those stories were of Sioux and Apaches. He doubted whether the Indians of 8.0. had ever taken scalps until he remembered a hideous dancing mask which hung in the Boss’s library that had tufts of long soft hair round it, as to the origin of which he had never hitherto trou- bled. Now everything seemed changed. There was a terror abroad on the ranch lands, not so much seen as felt, and though he scoffed at presentiment, he was conscious of it himself. He did not feel easy about it. The expedition of the posse had accom- plished nothing unless it were to prove that the Chilcotens had broken up their camp and left the country, probably for an early winter hunt towards Tatlo Lake, and in all the years that he had lived on the plains and in B. C. Jim had never had any serious trouble with Indians. In the ordinary course of things though they would have passed by in silence, and near enough to satisfy their own curiosity. “Indians: pg eourse,” he muttered, “they must have seen the horse.” And thefi he fell to wondering why they had made no sign and why they were riding at that hour in the morning to- wards the Risky Ranch. For a moment he thought of calling to them, but men do not hail every passer-by on the prairie, and he changed his mind. He did not want anything of them, so he lay still, whilst they, without a pause or turn of the head, rode silently past him and disappeared in the mist. In the mist and darkness he might never have noticed them at the dis- tance at which they passed, so vague and so silent were they, if his ears had not warned him of their coming; but they saw him, of that he felt sure, though he had not stirred in his lair of wet sage brush, and curiously enough his horse had not whinnied. 11 Spite of the cowboys’ constant at ention those vagabond thieves WEN ar too numerous on the home ranc} ”or the roan to pay much attention t: :hem. Still watching the ridge, whic .\'as as yet but a vague line in the fog Tim saw at last what he took to be tw. voyotes moving slowly along it. A onger scrutiny showed him four, no ive indistinct objects passing jus riboxe the line, and at last he knew hem for the heads of riders passing. .13 they believed, unseen on the further side of the ridge. He could see how the heads rose and fell with the move- ments of the horses beneath them, and then for a moment the riders came plainly into sight where a dip occurred 11 the ridge. CHAPTER X. Close Quarters For over an hour Combe lay Where he was, Watching the horse and think ing, whilst the blackness of the niglu paled and grew even more weird am‘ ghastly from the grey that had crept into it. Then it seemed to him that som: thing heavier than a coyote movci among the sage brush on the ridge 1;. his left. He listened, but the nois was not repeated. Jim was too 800' a plainsman to persuade himself the his ears had played him false becaus he could not understand their mes: sage, and beside, the red roan 1122' Ward it too. The horse was standing with his ears bricked, Watching as 1;. vould never have watched for coyote; 0f thig watcbimr laug-cmenus 0y Which our readers can secure most beautiful Corona- tion portraits of their Majesties. King George and Queen Mary. They are by the celebrated “Lang- fier," or London, and copyrighted. Canadian rights, and are now offering these portraits free of charge to all who subscribe to that great Weekly for the balance of 1911 at Fifty Cents. We Will in- clude the Chronicle with the Fam- ily Herald tor the same period for only 70c., and each subscriber Will‘ They are acknowledged by com-: petent judges to be the best por- traits of ’llheir Majesties in exist- ence, and will become historical 94130ng in value year after year. , The small sum of 70c. will \bring I you both papers until January 1st 1912, and the Coronation por- All guaranteed by us to give you perfect satisfaction. 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