Prisoners and Captives
By H. S. MERRIMAN
CHAPTER XIX. -(Continued.)
Tlie effort of the discovery Unit they
distinctly formed a group apart was bare
ly visible to the keenest glance. Helen's
slow, gentle eyes were turned toward the
center of the house, bent vaguely on the
brightly dressed occupant of the stalls.
"I suppose." said Helen, closing her
fan, "that all this is rather trivial for you.
The interest you take in it must be super
ficial now that you are so busy."
"Oh, no !" Tyars hastened to begin ! he
was looking past her in that strangely
persistent way into the theater, and some
thing he saw there made him turn his head
quicklv toward the stage.
"Halloo !" he exclaimed. Then he
caught her wrist in his grasp. "Keep
still," he whispered.
The painted curtain was bellying right
forward like the mainsail of a bark, and
from the space at either side a sudden
volume of smoke poured forth in huge,
uneven clouds.
In a second the whole audience was on
its feet, and for a moment a sickening si
lence reigned the breathless silence of
supreme fear.
Then a single form appeared on the
stage. It was that of the man referred to
by Claud Tyars a moment before ; he who
played the villain's part so unconsciously.
He' was still in his dark wig and pallid
make-up. On his arm he carried the coat
he had just taken off, and the other arm,
clad in white shirt sleeve, was raised in
a gesture of command.
"I must ask you," he cried, In a full,
clear voice, "to leave your seats as "
And his tones were drowned, completely
overwhelmed by a strange, unearthly
roar; the roar of a thousand human voices
raised in one surging wail of despair, like
the din of surf upon a shingle shore.
The man shouted, and his gestures were
almost ludicrous, even at that supreme
moment, for no sound could be heard
from his lips.
Then tlie gas was turned out, and In the
darkness a terrible struggle began. Some
who came out of it could liken it to noth
ing on earth. Women shrieked and men
forgot themselves.
As the gas flickered and finally col
lapsed those in the stage box caught a
momentary vision of wild, distorted faces
coming toward them. The pit had over
flowed the stalls. Strong barriers crum
bled like matchwood. Into a hundred
minds at once there had flashed the hope
of escape through the stage boxes.
"Grace ! Easton !" It was Tyar's voice
raised, and yet not shouting. The crisis
had come, the danger was at hand, and
Helen knew who it was that would take
the lead. She heard the two men an
swer. "Keep the people back. I will break
open the door on the stage. It is our
ftest chance."
The girl felt herself lifted from the.
ground and carried to the back of the
box.
"Helen !" whispered Tyars.
"Yes."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"I thought you had fainted, you were
so quiet! Hold on to my coat I Never
leave go of that!"
He turned away from her, and above
the din and uproar came the sound of
his blows upon the woodwork of the door.
It seemed impossible that such Btrokes
could have been dealt by an unarmed hu
man hand.
Between the blows came the sickening
sound of the struggle at the front of the
box. Imprecations and supplications, min
gled with groans and the dull thud of mer
ciless fists upon human faces. Shoulder
to shoulder the two men the American
and the Englishman fought for the lives
of the women placed by the hand of God
under their protection. It was a terrible
task, though few women reached the front
of the box. Each man struck down, each
assailant beaten back was doomed, and
the defenders knew it. Once down, once
under foot, and it was a matter of mo
ments. Fresh assailants came crowding on,
treading on the fallen and consequently
obtaining an ever-increasing advantage as
they rose on a level with the defenders,
Neither seemed to question the wisdom
of Tyars' command. It was a matter of
life or death. Those already in the stage
box would only be crushed by the onrush
of the others were they allowed to enter.
With a dazed desperation the two men
faced the frightful odd, hammering wild
ly with both fists. Their arms ached
from sheer hard work and they panted
hoarsely, Their eyeballs throbbed with
the effort to pierce unfathomable dark
ness.. It was quite certain that their de
fense could not last long. ,
"Stick to it 1" yelled Tyars. He might
have been on the deck of the Martial
during a white squall, so great was the
uproar all around him. At last there
was tlie sound of breaking wood.
"Grace !" shouted the voice of Tyars.
"Yes."
"Look after Miss Winter when we
go."
"Easton !" he cried again.
"Yes, old man !"
"Come last, and keep them back if you
can." Then a minute later he shouted,
"Come !"
At the same Instant the roaring crowd
of madmen poured in over the front of
the box, like soldiers storming a bastion.
The door which Tyars had succeeded in
opening was so narrow as to admit of
the passage of only one person at a time,
but at this instant tlie larger door leading
Into a narrow passage, the real exit from
the etage box, broke down before a pres
sure from without, and from this point
also a stream of half-demented beings
triad to force an entrance.
The only advantage possessed by the
original occupants of the box was that
rhey kuew the position of the sauall
door.
The subsequent recollection of such In
dividuals as survived were so fragmentary
and vague that no connected story of the
terrible tragedy in the stage box of the
Epic Theater was ever given to the pub
lic. Miss Winter remembered finding herself
caught up in a strong pair of anus, which
ihe presumed to be those of Oswiu Grace.
Almost at the same moment she and her
protector were thrown to the ground.
After that the next thing she could re
member was the touch of a hand over
her face and hair and a whispered voice
in her ear :
"Agnes Winter is this you?"
She recognized the peculiar American
twang which was never unpleasant. At
that moment, she almost laughed.
"Yes yes," she auswered.
"Then crawl to your feet. Don't try
to get up ; crawl over this man. I don't
know who he is, but I surmise he Is
dead."
She obeyed, and found her way out of
the narrow door and up some Bteps.
Close behind her followed some one, whom
she took to be Matthew Mark Easton,
but it ultimately turned out to be Oswiu
Grace, who was in his turn followed by
the American, but not until later.
Helen Grace heard the word "Come,"
and submitted obediently to the support
ing arm, which half dragged, half carried
her up some steps. She remembered be
ing carried like a child through some dark
some place where the atmosphere was cold
and damp. Then she was conscious of a
halt, followed closely by the sound of
breaking wood and the tearing of some
material probably canvas, for they were
among the scenery. After that she prob
ably fainted, and was only brought to
consciousness by the shock of a violent
fall in which her companion was under
most. Then she heard a voice calling out :
"This way, sir; this way."
She recollected seeing a fireman stand
ing in a narrow passage waving a lan
tern. By the time that she reached the
open air she was quite conscious.
, "Let me walk," she said, "I am all
right. Where is Agnes?"
"They are behind," answered Tyars.
"She is all right. She has twd men to
look after her. You have only me."
"Wait for them," said the girl. "I will
not go home without them."
"All right ; we shall wait outside. Let
us get out first."
They were standing in a small room,
probably the office of the theater, and a
policeman stationed near the window, of
which the framework had been broken
away, called to them impatiently.
The window was about four feet from
the ground, and Helen wondered momen
tarily why Claud Tyars accomplished the
drop so clumsily. In the narrow street he
turned to a police inspector and pointed
to the window.
"Lift the lady down," he said.
A cab was near at hand, and in It they
waited seated side by side in silence
for what seemed hours. The crowd dropped
away, seking some more Interesting spot.
At last there was a movement at the win
dow, and Tyars got out of the cab and
went away, leaving Helen in an agony
of mute suspense. In a few moments It
was over and the girl breathed freely.
It seemed strangely unreal and dream
like to hear Agnes Winter's voice again j
to see her standing on the pavement be
neath the yellow gas lamp, drawing to
gether the gay little opera cloak round
her shoulders.
As Miss Winter stepped Into the cab
she leaned forward and kissed Helen
That was all ; no word was said. But
the two women sat hand in hand during
the drive home.
Tyars and Oswin spoke together a few
words in a lowered tone quite overwhelm
ed by the rattle of the cab, and then sat
silently. The light of occasional lamps
flashed in through the unwashed window,
and showed that the men's clothes were
covered with dirt and dust, which neither
attempted to brush off.
When the cab stopped In Brook street,
Oswin got out first, and going up the
steps opened the front door noiselessly
with a latch key. Tyars paid the cab
man, and loiiowea trie lauies into tne
house.
The gas in the hall and dining room
had been lowered, and they all stood for
a moment in the gloom round the daintily
dressed table. When Oswin Grace turned
up the gas they looked at each other curi
ously. Miss Winter kept her opera-cloak
closed, simply stating that her dress was
torn. Her hair was becomingly untidy,
but she showed no sign of scratch or hurt.
Helen was hardly ruffled beyond a few
little stray curls, almost golden In color,
stealing down beside her ears. She
doubtless owed her Immunity from
harm, and in all human probability the
safety of her life to the enormous bodily
strength of Claud Tyars. It was she who
spoke first.
"Your arm!" she said, pointing to
Tvar's right sleeve. "Have you hurt it?"
He looked down at tne iinm, wiuen was
hanging in a peculiar way very close to
his body, with a vague and questioning
smile, as If it were not his property,
"Yes," he said, "it Is broken.
Miss Winter and Oswin went to his
side at once. Helen alone remained stand'
tng at the table. She said no word, but
continued looking at him with very bright
eyes, her lips slightly parted, breathing
deeply.
lie avoided meeting her glance In the
same awkward, embarrassed way which
he had not noticed before ; answering the
questions put to him with a reassuring
smile.
"It happened," he b'1'1- "Jwrlug the
first rush. We fell down somewhere
through some scenery, mS ttrlu 81U"U
underneath."
"You put it underneath," corrected
Helen, almost coldly, "to save me, I
suppose."
"Instinct," he exclaimed, tersely.
"Shall I fetch a doctor, or will you
come with me?" asked the praotlcal
Oswin, gently forcing ,rl,,'1(1 luto a
chair. "We are surrounded by them In
Brook street."
"I will go with you," answered Tyars.
Refusing all offers of hospitality made
by Oswin And his sister, Claud Tyars
went off with his friend to the doctor's,
leaving the ladies comfortably Installed
In arm chairs by the lire.
They protested that they could not
possibly sleep, and that, as it was only
twelve o'clock, they would await Oswin's
return.
And the two ladies left there sat, each
In her deep arm chair, toasting her neatly
shod toes on the fender, and said never
a word. They both stared into the fire
with such a marked persistence that one
might almost have suspected them of fear
ing to meet each other's glance.
At last Helen moved. She had evident
ly just become aware of a black mark
on the soft mauve material of her dress.
With her gloved hand she attempted to
brush it off, and as this had no effect she
began rubbing it with a tiny handker
chief. Then she raised her eyes. Miss
Winter was watching her with a curious
smile a smile much more suggestive of
pain than of pleasure.
Their eyes met, and for Rome moments
both seemed on the verge of saying some
thing which was never said. Then sud
denly Helen leaned forird and covered
her face with her two hands.
Helen recovered herself as suddenly as
she had given way, and, rising from
her chair, stood with her shoulder turned
toward her friend, her two hands upon
the mantel-piece, looking down into the
fire. Her attitude, moral and physical,
was reflective.
"I wonder," she said, "if every one
got out of the theater?"
"Mr. Easton phomised to come and tell
us," answered Miss Winter.
Helen raised her head and looked crit
ically at her own reflection in the old
fashioned mirror over the fireplace. The
trace of tears had almost vanished from
her young eyes it is only older counte
nances that bear the marks for long.
Before she moved again the sound of
cab wheels made itself audible in the
street, and the vehicle was heard to stop
at the door. Miss Winter rose and went
to let in the newcomer.
It was Matthew Mark Easton. He fol
lowed Miss Winter into the dining room,
walking lightly an unnecessary precau
tion, for his step was like that of a
child.
"I do not know," he was saying, the
etlauette observed in England on these
points, but I could not resist coming
along to see if you had arrived safely
No one hurt. I trust?" continued he.
"Yes," answered the girl, gently j air.
Tvars is hurt his arm is broken.
Easton's mobile lips closed togetner
with a snap, betraying the fact that he
had allowed himself the luxury of an ex
pletive in his reprehensible American
wav. He turned aside, and waiuea DacK-
ward and forward for a few minutes, like
a man made restless by the receipt of
verv bad news.
It was a matter of a second only. Like
a seroent's fang the man's keen eyes
flashed toward her and away again. The
peculiarly nervous face instantly assumed
an expression as near stolidity as could
ha emresaed hv features each and all
laden with an exceptional Intelligence,
Then he turned away, and took up a
broken fan lying on the table, opening it
tenderlv and critically.
But Miss Winter was as quick as he.
She knew then that he had guessed,
Whatever he mieht have suspected before.
she had no doubt now that Matthew
Mark Easton knew that Helen loved
Claud Tyars.
'The worst of it," he broke out, with
sudden airiness, "is that there was no
fire at all. It was extinguished on the
stage. The performance might have been
continued."
"It only makes it more horrible, said
Miss Winter ; "for I suppose there were
some killed."
That is so." he answered. "They took
forty-two corpses out of our box alone."
"I did not knowl" said Helen, after a
painful pause, "that it was so bad as
that."
Oswin Grace came in, opening the front
door with his latch-key. He was greeted
with an Interrogatory "Well?" from
Miss Winter.
"He Is all right," he answered. It
was a simple fracture. Old Barker set it
very nicely, and I sent him off to nis ciuu
In a cab."
"Then " said Easton, holding out his
hand to sav eood-by, "I shall go and
help him Into bed-r-tuck him in, and sing
a soft lullaby over his pillow. Good
night, Miss Winter, tiood nignt, auss
Grace."
(To be continued.)
As It ! I" Chicago.
Jack Beacon Yes, In Boston we
have all cultured love making. When
a young man goes wooing In the Hub
he must embrace all foreign phrases
and noetleal nuotatlons. You don't see
anything like that In prosaic Chicago,
, Dick Lakeside I should say not
Here a fellow 13 satisfied to embraca
the girl.
Ilent Ho Could Do.
"You know," said the young man In
the case, "that I am poor, but don't
you think we might be able to live on
bread and cheese and kisses?"
"Yes," replied the fair maid, but '
"Then," he interrupted, "see if you
can work your father for the bread and
cheeee and I'll attend to the rest.
Home-Mude Milk Cooler.
It Is not nn easy tusk for those who
have but a small quantity of milk to
care for to do It with economy. The
large cooling tanks or refrigerators
which dairymen on a large scale can
ull'ord are not for the man with the
single can, hence he must resort to
some plan on the home-made Idea.
Take n box, which may he liought at
GOOD M1I.K COOl.KK.
any store for a low price, high enough
to contain a barrel of good dimen
sions. Fill In the bottom of the box
several Inches deep with sawdust, and
on this net a bnrrel cut down so that
when a milk can Is set Into it It will
come Just below the level of the top
of the barrel. Around this barrel,
eight Inches deep, pack sawdust. Set
the can of milk in the barrel ami our
In cold water and, If possible, add sev
eral large pieces of Ice. Arrange a
faucet which shall ruu through the
barrel and the box so that the water
may be drawn off when It gets warm.
The Illustration shows the idea plain
ly. In the small drawings at the bot
tom "M" represents the box, "L" the
barrel and "A" the can of milk, and
In the drawing to the left "G" shows
how the faucet Is placed near the bot
tom of the box. Any one can readily
make thin milk cooler at small ex
pense. Indianapolis News.
Lime and Salt Keep V.Kgm.
The water-glass method Is not the
only one of keeping eggs in fairly good
condition for quite a long period. Some
years ago the Rhode Island Experiment
Station tested a number of different
methods, and found that salt brine and
lime water stood second only to water
glass as a preservative. The eggs were
held over a year In the pickle, and all
came out good. The station reported
as follows: The surface of the liquid
was crusted, and considerable silt had
settled to the bottom of the Jar. The
shells of the eggs which were sunken
in this silt appeared very fresh. The
exteriors of the shells were clean and
clear. The air cells were not Increased
In size. The whites and yolks were
normal In appearance. The whites beat
up nicely, but had a slightly saline
taste. Several used as dropped eggs
appeared to be nice, but had a slightly
sharp taste. This old-fashioned method
of preserving eggs is thus again proved
effective.
Kconoiny in the Legume.
Agricultural chemists tell us that
while two tons of timothy hay, or a
good average crop from an acre, takes
away fifty pounds or nitrogen, a crop
of clover of same weight takes over
eighty pounds ; likewise while the tim
othy hay takes off thirty-six pounds of
potash, the clover takes nearly ninety
pounds. With phosphoric acid it is dif
ferent; the timothy takes twenty-one
pounds and the clover only fourteen
pounds. But the nitrogen which Is the
most expensive element Is drawn from
the air, to a large extent, In the case of
clover, and so need not be supplied In
the fertilizer. Here Is the economy In
growing the legume, which has the
power, as It were, of making Its own
fertilizer, or most of It.
Summer Grain for Poultry.
It Is not to be expected that the
fowls can be taken care of wholly on
the range during the summer no mat
ter how extensive It may be so that the
grain must be fed in a greater or less
amount During the summer we do
without the mashes and the corn, feed
ing wheat and buckwheat and, begin
ning in June, more or less cottonseed
meal, adding it In very small quanti
ties and Increasing It gradually until
about one-tenth of the dally ration con
sist! of the oil meaL
n
The object of an experiment at tlie
Ohio station waH to determine whether
silage might not be substituted for u
considerable portion of the grain usual
ly fed to dairy eows. Two rations were
fed carrying practically tho game
amount of dry matter. In one ration
over r0 per cent of this dry matter was
derived from tillage, and less than 18
per cent was derived from grain. In
the other ration over 57 per cent of
the dry matter was derived from grain,
no silage being fed. The cows fed tho
sllago ration produced Dtl.7 iwunds of
milk and COS pound of butter fat a
hundred pounds of dry matter. Tho
cows fed the grain ration produced 81..'t
pounds of milk and .1.!) pounds of butter
fat a hundred pounds of dry matter.
The cost of feed a hundred pounds of
milk was $0.(187 with the silage ration
and $1.0,-) with the grain ration. Tho
cost of feed a hundred pounds of butter
fat was 1,11 cents with the silage ration
and 22.1 ceuts with the grain ration.
The average net profit a cow a month
(over cost of labor) was $fi.,Slil with
tlie silage ration, and $2.4115 with tho
grain ration.
llome-lloof Culler.
If In reshoclng n horse the horse
shoer does not trim the hoof smooth
ly, and the shoe consequently docs not
fit tlio foot perfectly, the horse there
by feels uncomfortable, would be a
question very (llllicult to answer. It
Is natural to Infer, nevertheless, that
when such Is tho case the horse Is un
cer more or less strain. To accom
plish a more uniform and even par
ing of the hoof n Canadian Inventor
has devised t lie hoof-cutter shown in
the Illustration. In this cutter two
knives are pivoted to a central bar,
which terminates Into a hook. Tills
hook Is clamped In position on the
hoof as shown. Tlie operator then
grasps the center handle and one of
the knife handles firmly In one hand.
With the other baud he swings the
remaining handle hack to the point In
dicated by the dotted lines. Thus
with one stroke he Is able to pare one
side of the hoof from heel to toe. The
other knife Is then swung back In the
TK1MS THE HOOK.
same manner, trimming the other side
of the hoof. A quicker or more effi
cient ninner of trimming a horse's hoof
would be hard to Imagine.
Manure Aid to Fruit Trees.
A l'eniisylvanlari states that ho has
never used commercial fertilizers In an
apple orchard. If the ground Is too
poor to produce apples, nothing Is bet
ter than barnyard immure, which an
swers every purpose, both for a mulch
or for enriching the ground. In plant
ing an apple orchard the ground should
be fanned every year for about ten
years, growing -such crops as potatoes,
truck, etc., so that the ground will get
manure as often as the crops will re
quire It, and that will be sufficient for
the growth of the apple trees and fruit.
After that time the land may be seeded
down and occasionally farmed and
manured sufficiently to keep the land
In a fertile condition.
Greatest Alfalfa Field.
Kansas has tho largest continuous al
falfa field In the world. This belongs
to Colonel J. W. Iloblnson, Eldorado,
and Includes more than 2,500 acres, the
product of which brings a small for
tune to Its owner each year.
Save Ammonia from Manure.
. All stable manure will be Improved
If potash In some form Is added, espe
cially of the potash salt. Kanlt has
been found useful for this purpose. ,It
Is crude sulphate of potash and con
tains a large proportion of salt. It will
arrest the escape of ammonia and prove
valuable of Itself when applied to the
land. It Is also excellent on land in
fested with grubs, though not a com
plete remedy for such pests. It Is cheap
and should be used more extensively
where manure Is being laved.
t