the merchant is just as truly literary material as the chivalric quests

"In days of old When knights were bold And Barons held their sway."

Our men and women as well as other men and women still live and yearn,

suffer, despair, hope and reach out for the infinite and the everlasting. Our Southern land is peopled by a noble race, and sanctified by a glorious history. Its literary future will be equally glorious when this history shall come to be written, and the loves and sorrows, and joys of this people shall come to be told in song and story.

his source, his progress, and his final condition. Whence came we and whither are we going, are questions yet unanswered. Alexander Pope has well said: "The greatest study of mankind is man."

Let us not deal too much with glittering generalities. The thing that concerns you and me is our own personal progress or more especially whether we are making any progress or not. A life, ideal, is rarely seen, yet such life is and should be the hope of every one. Philosophers and religionists tell us what we should be and in the building of air-castles daily we picture what we would like to be. But the attain

ment!

Health as a factor in personal progress is the foundation upon which we build. The problem is ever with us. Most of us fortunately are born healthy, but as soon as the physician has severed the cord that binds infancy to maternity, trouble begins. Happy is he whose childhood is spent in some place far remote from tenement houses, paved streets, smoke, dust, dirt and other objectionable conditions incident to city life. The age at which one takes an interest in his physical con

of his

teachers. Rules for health are not inherent. Mental, moral, and physical cleanliness, temperance in the gratification of our desires and appetites, rules of hygiene, all are taught us. A few only we learn from experience. Nature gives us no definite law and in this she seems unjust, for the punishment inflicted for breaking her obscure laws, if laws they be, are severe beyond reason. In regard to health, we can only hope to live and learn.

The matter of education at present is not so difficult as formerly. Gross illiteracy is inexcusable. Brilliant men and women who have risen from humble surroundings are met on every hand and, thanks to American democracy, merit is usually recognized. Public and private schools, likewise churches and the press-all lead us onward and upward if we will put forth even slight effort. The laborer of last year may be our Congressman next year; the meager beginnings and equipment of today may reach their complete development tomorrow.

Social growth is with many most difficult. To depart from the evil of former days and burn the bridges behind is not always easily done. Too

HE report in the dispatches a short time ago of the death in a hospital at Denver of Tom Sun, a noted frontiersman and Indian fighter of the early days of Wyoming, recalls an incident in which he and I believed ourselves so near the gates of Gloryland that we narrowly escaped being hailed by Saint Peter.

Tom was a typical borderman. He stood something over six feet high in his moccasins, and was straight as a tepee pole. He claimed to be a French Canadian, but was so swarthy of complexion and wore such coarse black hair that the old-timers always believed that Indian blood predominated in his veins. He was fearless of nature, cool-headed in the face of imminent danger, a dead shot with the heavy Sharp's rifle which he always carried, and, if all reports of his life in the far West are true, he had killed Indians sufficient to stock all of the Wild West shows that ever hit the road. On this subject he was always reticent, and would discuss Idian fighting only with fellow bordermen who were as familiar as he with the the perils of border life.

He was one of the most expert handlers of high-grade profanity whom I ever met, interlarding his utterances at all times with profane outbursts which fell as tripplingly from his tongue as the waters of a mountain brook ripples over a pebbly bed. When once asked why he so freely used expressions that would be shockingly out of place in polite society he replied, in his French Canadian vernacular:

"Dat's de sort o' talk I was raised amongst, an' I can express myself better in dat dan in any odder way so I see no advantage in changin' to straight talk."

One winter day in the early '70's when the Indians were lying in their

camps because the dried grasses upon which they depended for sustenance for their ponies were covered with snow, I stopped off at Fort Steele, while on my way to a garrison further down the Platte, to visit some army officer friends. The report had reached the commanding officer that a band of Sioux warriors had been seen some distance to the northward, and I was asked by him if I would not go out and endeavor to locate the bunch and, if possible, learn what they were doing away from their reservation at that time of the year, he having no scout available at the post and no soldier sufficiently versed in the ways of the Indians to successfully accomplish the desired work. I replied that I was at his service, and while we were discussing the matter Tom Sun happened in from a cattle ranch at which he was wintering a few miles down the Platte. Tom possessed a ravenous appetite for adventure, was always hungry for a scrap with the painted savages, and when it was suggested that he accompany me he quickly expressed a desire to do so.

Just before the break of day on the following morning we rode out of the garrison, heading in a northwesterly direction toward the Seminole range. between which and the river the Indians had been sighted.

It was a beautiful winter morning, crisp and cold, and we were in high spirits as we rode along, our horses champing at the bits and tossing their heads in impatient protest against the restraining reins. By riding around the drifts of snow when possible we made good progress, the crust on the level snow bearing up the weight of horses and men, seldom giving way beneath a hoof.

When the winter sun arose in all its

effulgent glory we were about six miles distant from the garrison, traveling through a somewhat broken stretch of country studded with low sand hills and seamed with gullies into which the snow had drifted, making our progress at times very difficult.

Having no fear of encountering hostiles so near the fort we did not exercise the usual vigilance of scouts when on the trail, but rode along chatting and recounting scouting experiences, feeling as safe from danger as if traversing a country inside the limits of civilization which had not known the print of a moccasin for many years. I had not been in Tom's company for several years and I highly enjoyed his oath-spangled utterances as they fell from his lips in easy cadences or were shot forth with catapultic force at the more exciting points of his recitals. I asked him if his rare gift of profanity was inherited or acquired and he replied by asking me if I reckoned he had learned it in a correspondence school.

Our conversation was interrupted by the simultatneous raising of the heads of our horses and the pointing of their ears in the direction in which we traveling. This, to the scout, is an infallible warning of the presence of Indians or wild beasts, and upon looking ahead we were surprised to see, about half a mile distant, a band of Sioux that had just topped a hogback whch crossed the trail. Our field glasses were quickly focussed upon them and we well knew from their painted faces and war-dress that they were on no peaceful mission.

They had discovered us, and as we watched their movements they gathered about their chief, whom we could distinguish by his eagle feathered warbonnet, and appeared to be holding a pow-wow to determine, perhaps, the better way in which to attack the two whites upon whom they had come so unexpectedly They had no doubt recognized us as scouts and were well aware of the fact that Uncle Sam's

trail followers carried the best of long range rifles and knew how to use them. Hence, if by the exercise of Indian cunning they could kill us without giving us an opportunity to effectively use our rifles they would do so rather than charge down upon us in their overwhelming numbers, which would mean death to some of them as well as to us.

Evidently by direction of their chief, they turned their ponies and disappeared from our sight below the top of the hogback. We were well enough versed in Indian craft to at once determine that it was their intention to endeavor to get near enough to us under cover to fire upon us without exposing themselves to our fire in return. After a hurried consultation we determined that our only safety lay in hasty flight back towards the fort, and the hoofs of our horses were soon pounding at the crusted snow, urged on by the roweling from our spurs.

At times drifts were encountered which delayed our progress, but through which our horses gamely floundered, regaining their swift speed when clearer ground was reached.

After we had ridden a mile or more it became evident that the Indians had found easier traveling, an unexpected fusillade of shots from behind a ridge to our left reaching our ears, the bullets cutting the snow arcund us and singing a startling song as they passed us by. One shot hit my horse in the hip, but did not disable him, and on we sped, our rifles in hand and our heads turned in the direction from which the shots came, and from which scattering shots were yet coming, hoping we might see enough exposure of redskin body to warrant return shots.

Suddenly, to our dismay, our horses struck a deep gully into which the snow had drifted until level with the solid ground, crashed through the crust and were mired to their bellies, and our feelings were not of a strikingly pleasant nature as the realization came to us

that we were caught as rats in a trap! A yell of triumph from the savages told us that they had noted our predicament, and they now regarded us as easy prey.

Rolling from our saddles we concealed ourselves as well as possible behind the bodies of our horses and prepared to make the red devils pay as dearly as possible for their entrapped

game.

Tom and I looked into each other's faces, and the expression on each plainly told that we realized the danger in which we had so unexpectedly been placed and that we might be very near the end of the earthly trail.

"How does the situation strike you, Tom?" I asked.

"Looks like we was booked fur a ride over de trail to Kingdom Come," he replied. "De red niggers has got us an' dey know it, an' it makes me madder'n a trapped coyote to t'ink we've got to lose our hair wit'out gittin' a shot at dem. I'd hit de trail over de range singin' halleluyer songs if I could jes' bore a hole t'roo one or two or half a dozen

of the painted whelps before lightin' out. If dey would t'row demselves in sight we could lick de whole bunch an' take enough hair back to stuff half a dozen sofy pillers fur de ladies of de fort."

Through consideration for the sensitiveness of the refined reader I omit his profanity, which was luridly pic

turesque.

The firing had ceased, and we concluded that the Indans were creeping to the cover of a ridge not over two hundred yards from us, from which point they would be able to make short work of our extermination without exposing themselves to our fire. Intensely we watched the crest of the ridge, expecting every moment to see the smoke from their rifles burst forth and hear the sharp reports which might be to us the knell of death.

Minutes passed-five-ten-fifteenhalf an hour, and yet no evidence of the Indians on the ridge.

"De copper-colored coyotes are waitin' fur a good shot," Sun remarked. "Dey're watchin' us, all right, an' dey t'ink if dey lay low a while we'll git careless an' show ourselves. See if I

don't make 'em make a gun play."

He unstrapped his slicker from the saddle, hung it on the muzzle of his rifle, placed his broad-brim hat on the upper end and slowly raised the dummy above the body of his horse, to create the impression that one of us was peering cautiously around to discover if there was yet danger. Higher and highthe ridge. er he raised it, yet it drew no fire from

"W'at t'ell do de red snakes mean?" he asked.

"Yonder is the explanation, Tom,” I replied. "They've hit the back trail."

Looking back over the trail which we had followed we saw the Indians

retreating over the hogback upon which we had first discovered them. The rapidity with which they were traveling led us to believe they had sighted a troop of cavalry from the fort and were making a desperate effort to escape from

the soldiers.

We left our horses in the trap into which they had fallen and hastened to the crest of the ridge, where the sign showed us that the Indians had been crouching behind clumps of greasewood, to fire upon us if we should expose ourselves above the bodies of our mired horses. But no evidences of troops were visible. From the elevation we could see for quite a long distance toward the fort, and no moving objects met our view.

Here was a mystery. As we worked to extricate our horses from the snow we discussed it without arriving at any tenable solution of the puzzle. At one time Tom evidently thought he had found an explanation and asked:

"Say, Jack, did you do any prayin'