To my annoyance my shade companion soon began to sing—he was evidently affected by the odors which had passed through him. His manner became familiar, and I had great difficulty in keeping him from kicking the glasses off the tables. At last I succeeded in getting him out of the room, and it was time, for as we floated into the street he began shouting in a most uproarious manner, and I was afraid that we should be arrested for disturbing the peace.

"Be quiet, I beg of you," I pleaded; "see that policeman on the opposite side of the street? We shall surely get into trouble if you make such a noise."

"Policeman?" hiccoughed the shade, "What the devil do I care for a policeman? Watch me go over and punch him in the stomach."

In spite of all I could do to prevent him he started straight for the officer, who was standing all unconscious on the corner, watching a pretty girl who was looking into one of the brilliantly lighted store windows. Now was my time to rid myself of this most undesirable companion, and I wished myself in my own room.

Instantly I found myself floating about over my bed, and there was my body sleeping as peacefully as ever. I was somewhat tired, but I remembered our contract to write down the result of our experiences, and immediately sat down to do it. After I had written it I read it over carefully to see if I had overlooked anything, and then wished myself in bed and asleep. The next thing I knew it was broad daylight. There, on my writing-table, were the pages of manuscript which I had written. They were real enough, whether the rest was a dream or not.



THE MOUND OF ETERNAL SILENCE.

"I ought to know something about it," said the Drummer, "for I went with the Prospector and the Eastern man to see Judson.

"I remember when we started out together the Eastern man asked the Prospector if he thought Judson was really crazy.

"'Yes,' said the Prospector, 'he is as crazy as a loon, as you will see when you get there.'

"'Tell me the story over again,' said the Eastern man.

"'Well, you see,' said the Prospector, 'they found him lying in the hot sand away off on the desert, with his head propped up against a rock, nearly dead for want of water. When they tried to rouse him he stared at them vacantly. They gave him a little water, and as soon as he had swallowed it he fought like a wild animal for more. It took three or four of them to hold him. He cursed and swore at them because they would not give him all he wanted, and his cries were pitiful. He alternately cursed and screamed for water, sometimes as loud as he could shout and then again in faint whispers.

"'Later on, when they dared to give him more at a time, he became tranquil, and towards night, after he had drunk a bowl full of thin oatmeal gruel, he went to sleep. When he awoke they questioned him.

"'He said that he had been prospecting with his partner, and had found a gulch with precipitous cliffs all around it where there was very rich placer digging. Directly in front was a high mound covered with big cacti, and they made their camp on the top of this. There was a little water in the canyon held in rock basins, and with this they washed out the gold and got a lot of it—Judson says three or four thousand dollars' worth. Then bad luck came, and the burro died. Three days afterwards Judson's partner was poisoned in some way, and died a few hours later, cursing Judson and saying he had poisoned him.

"'Judson buried him and also the gold; it was too heavy for him to pack, especially as he had no way to carry water. Then taking a small bag of gold dust in his pocket he started across the desert. He had a hobby for taking photographs and carried a small camera with him, and before leaving he photographed the place, which he called "The Mound of Eternal Silence," so that in case anything happened to him it could be found without trouble. They developed the negatives later, and he has them pasted all around his room. He called the place "The Mound of Eternal Silence" because during the two months he was there he never saw or heard a single living thing except jack-rabbits and a bird or two.'



"'What was that about his killing the dog?' asked the Eastern man.

"'Well, you see when Judson started off alone the dog would not leave his dead master, and sat upon the hill howling. Judson was afraid he would attract somebody's attention if they happened along that way, and after trying to get him to follow him without success, he went back and shot him. The first thing that Judson saw when he awoke the next morning after they had found him was the dog sitting on his haunches looking at him. Judson looked at the animal, but said nothing—something within him forced him to keep silence. After a time he snapped his fingers and called the dog by name.

"'"Did you speak?" asked one of the men, Stevens it was, I believe.

"'"I was only calling the dog," said Judson.

"'"What dog?" asked Stevens.

"'"Why, that dog, of course," said Judson, pointing at the animal.

"'"You are crazy, man," answered Stevens. "The heat yesterday was too much for you; there is no dog there."

"'Judson turned away; he began to fear there might be something the matter with his brain, and that there was no dog there after all. But when he looked again there he was as plain as ever. "I will take the brute outside of camp and kill him when I get a chance," he thought.

"'That evening when they made camp at a small water hole, Judson walked away out of sight and hearing of the camp. When he could no longer be seen he turned, and, aiming his pistol at the dog, pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the ground between the animal's legs, and he ran back a few paces and stood grinning at Judson showing his teeth, and his face looked like that of his old partner. Judson picked up a large rock and ran at the dog; the animal yelped slightly and started for camp. Judson increased his pace and the dog circled out into the desert.

"'"Curse you," cried Judson, "I'll kill you yet." Several times he threw stones at the animal, and twice he fell, bruising himself among the loose rocks. At last he sat down.

"'"What is the matter with you," shouted Stevens. "What are you running about and shouting in that way for?"

"'"That confounded dog of mine," answered Judson unthinkingly.

"'"Nonsense, man, there isn't any dog."

"'Judson walked slowly back to camp followed closely by the dog. The men looked at him strangely. That night when he went to sleep the brute came and lay down beside him. A horrid fear took possession of him and he pushed the thing away, but it immediately crawled back again. At last he arose and spent the rest of the night walking up and down the desert, the dog following close at his heels.

"'When they arrived in Phoenix the doctor advised Judson to go to a quiet place and rest, and gave him an opiate.'

"'Why don't he go back and get the gold?' asked the Eastern man.

"'Because as I have told you whenever he starts to go back the dog meets him on the desert, and he is only free from it when he stays in Phoenix. He says the dog is his old partner, and will never let him go back there again. That is why he is willing to sell his secret.'

"'But how do you know if we pay him this money,' asked the Eastern man, 'that we can find the gold?'

"'Why, his map and directions together with the photographs ought to make it sure. Anyway, I am putting up $250 of my money with your $350, and run as much risk as you do; besides, you never would have known about it if it hadn't been for me.'

"'Won't he take less than $600?' asked the Eastern man.

"'Not a cent; I have tried him too often. If I had $600 of my own I never would ask any one to go in with me. It's a snap.'

"We found Judson seated in a big armchair, smoking a meerschaum pipe. His eyes had a peculiar wild expression, and he glared at us as we entered.

"'What do you people want?' he asked.

"'We have come to buy your claim,' said the Prospector.

"Judson laughed a strange, hard laugh.

"'Always the same—gold, gold, gold. Have you the money with you to pay for it?' he asked.

"The Prospector produced a bag of twenty-dollar gold pieces and shook it. 'Here it is,' he said, 'this gentleman and myself have made up the amount—$600.'

"'Well,' shouted Judson, 'give me the money and take the cursed claim, buried gold and all, and much good may it do you! I will go away—far away from here. My God, to think that I should sell a rich claim like that for nothing! But I wouldn't go back to it for all the gold in the world. Three times I have tried, and each time that dog devil met me at the edge of the desert, grinning at me with the face of my dead partner. Here are the photographs and the map, take them and go, my head aches; go away and leave me.'

"He buried his face in his hands, groaning and muttering to himself. The Prospector put the bag of gold on the table, and taking the photographs and map left the room. We followed him, closing the door softly behind us."

"Did you find the gold?" I asked.

"I didn't look for it," answered the Drummer. "They offered to let me in and give me a third interest for $300, but somehow I didn't like the idea, and the whole thing seemed uncanny, and it is lucky I didn't. The Prospector and the Eastern man got back a week later without having discovered the 'Mound of Eternal Silence,' both mad as hatters, and each laying the blame of the failure on the other. I have always wondered since if Judson was really as crazy as they thought he was."

"Why," I asked, "what made you doubt it?"

"Oh," answered the Drummer, "I can't exactly say I disbelieve his story, but—well, you see, about a month afterwards I was in Phoenix again, and one night I saw the Prospector and the lunatic taking a drink at a bar together. A little later the Prospector passed me without seeing me. He was walking arm in arm with a stranger, and as they went by I heard him say, 'If I had the money I never would think of asking any one to go in with me. He calls it the "Mound of Eternal Silence...."'

"They passed on, and their voices were lost to me in the distance."



STORY OF A BAD INDIAN.

Malita was a half-breed, the daughter of an old squaw man. She had spent several years at the Indian school in Phoenix, and had proved herself an apt pupil. Later she went to work on Simmons' Ranch. She was a very pretty, healthy looking girl, and one day Morgan Jones, the hunter and trapper, asked her to marry him. She went with him to his cabin near the Reservation and settled down.

Jones was a devil-may-care sort of chap, who, when he had a little money, came to the straggling one-horse town near the Reservation, drank considerable whiskey, and amused himself by running his pony up and down the one street, firing off his gun, and shouting at the top of his voice. This was Jones' idea of a good time, and his method of contributing his share to the sanguinary ornamentation of the embryo metropolis.

Malita made Jones a good wife, and attended to his creature comforts to the best of her ability, and when Jones returned to the cabin in an inebriated condition she soothed him, and put him to bed, looking upon such incidents as a matter of course. For a year or more they lived contentedly, and a little boy was born to them.

On the Reservation lived an Indian named Tixinopa, a splendid specimen of a savage athlete, and the most noted runner and hunter in his tribe. Like many of his race, while hating the white man, he loved the white man's fire-water, and it made him surly and quarrelsome. He was a natural leader, and often, at night, he spoke with fiery eloquence of the wrongs of his race, sowing the seeds of unrest and rebellion.

Tixinopa was the only cloud which disturbed the domestic horizon of the Jones family. He haunted the vicinity of the cabin, and was continually asking Malita for whiskey and tobacco when Jones was away, until at last Jones intimated to him gently that his presence was, to say the least, undesirable. Being a child of the woods and hills, he did not have at his command a large vocabulary of diplomatic phrases to enable him to do this politely, in fact, he was blunt.

In describing the interview to Malita afterwards he said:

"I told him if he cum around here any more I'd smash his head, an' he grunts an' draws himself up this a-way, and looks ugly and says, 'he's a big Injun,' and I told him to go to hell!"

For some time Tixinopa kept away from the cabin, but one day he appeared and demanded whiskey. He was half drunk, and his bloodshot eyes blinked at Malita as he swayed unsteadily in the doorway.

"No, Tixinopa, there is no whiskey."

Tixinopa's eyes grew ugly. "You lie, you half-breed squaw; but be it so, I will take the boy away until you remember where it is."

So saying he lifted the baby by the arm and swung him on to his shoulder. The child cried out with pain from its twisted arm. Malita's heart sunk with a dreadful fear.

"Give the child to me, Tixinopa, do not be so rough; see, you have hurt him."



She tried to take the boy, but Tixinopa pushed her away roughly and she fell to the ground. Up she sprang and threw herself upon him, trying to get the boy, and in the struggle she scratched his face slightly, so that the blood came. With a curse he struck her full in the face with his clinched fist and she fell as if dead, and lay with her hands twitching feebly.

"Take your half-breed brat," he hissed, throwing the baby roughly on the ground beside her. He turned to walk away, but something in the motionless form of the child caused him to look again, and he saw that his little head lay doubled under his arm in a way that could only mean one thing—a broken neck.

Malita rose unsteadily to her feet and looked about in a dazed way until her gaze rested upon the little body of her dead baby; the next instant she was striking and cutting at Tixinopa, screaming like a mad thing.

The attack was so sudden and fierce that, trained athlete and fighter as he was, Tixinopa received a deep cut on the shoulder and a slight one on the arm before he succeeded in grasping her wrist, and twisting the knife from her. Then, seizing her by the hair, he drew her to him and drove the knife twice into her breast, throwing her to the ground, where she lay gasping her life away in broken sobs.

Tixinopa stood for a moment looking at Malita and was quite still. His arm pained him and he held up his hand and watched the blood dripping from his fingers. Then he took a self-cocking revolver from his belt and fired shot after shot into the bodies of the dead baby and the dying mother. Twice the hammer clicked on an empty shell before he ceased to pull the trigger, and he slowly turned away, pushing his empty pistol into his belt. As he did so he found himself face to face with Jones, but a different Jones than the one he had known. This Jones' face was white and drawn, and looked years older than the other Jones. The hand which held a pistol pointed at him shook unsteadily. A minute, perhaps two minutes, passed, and still the two men faced each other; then an evil light came into Tixinopa's eyes, and his hand slid slowly towards the handle of his knife, to be instantly smashed by a bullet from Jones' pistol. Another shot and the other arm was broken at the elbow. Neither man had spoken, but now Tixinopa began a low, wild chant. Raised to his full height, with his broken arms hanging by his sides, he chanted the death song of his people, the same song which had been sung by his father, and his father's father, and for generations past by all the dying warriors of his tribe.

"Tixinopa," the voice was a husky whisper, "for her sake I won't torture yer as I would like ter,—God give me strength to keep from doin' it!—but I'm afeared He won't unless I kill yer quick. All I hope is that if there is a hell, your black soul will roast in it for ever and ever, amen!"

The muzzle of the pistol was now within a few inches of the naked breast; still the low, wild chant went on, the bronze figure standing as if turned to stone. Then another shot and the chant stopped.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later a horseman rode slowly into the desert. To his left, as he crossed the half-dry bed of the alkali stream, two Indian boys were skinning a rabbit alive and laughing at its agony. From afar back on the other side of the valley he heard the strains of the "Star Spangled Banner" played by the pride of the Reservation—the Indian band!



A QUEER COINCIDENCE.

"You say," said Doctor Watson, as he rested one arm on the mantel and looked thoughtfully at the open fire,—"you say there is no proof of the actuality of what is called telepathy or thought-transference, and perhaps you are right, but I have several times in my life had experiences which were very difficult to explain except by some such theory, and if you care to listen I will tell you one of them which I have in mind."

Our chorus of approval evidently left no doubt as to our desire to hear the story, for Watson smiled, and lighting a fresh cigar he began as follows:

"On the seventeenth of January last year there was a slight wash-out on the Northern road not far from Chicago, and the forward trucks of one of the cars on train 61, on which I was a passenger, left the rails, but luckily the train was going slowly at the time and there was little damage done except a general shaking up of the passengers in the car as the forward wheels bumped roughly over the sleepers for a few yards before the train stopped. The other cars did not leave the track, and only one man was seriously injured.

"This man had been standing on the platform at the time and was thrown between the cars and badly crushed. I was close to the end window and saw him fall, and when the conductor called for a doctor I responded at once.

"I found the man lying on a blanket surrounded by a number of the passengers. He seemed to suffer but little pain, and I feared, from a casual examination, he was badly injured internally, although he was perfectly conscious; he was bleeding at the mouth, and his legs seemed to be paralyzed. He asked faintly if I thought he was going to die, and I cheered him up, as is customary in such cases, but shortly afterwards he developed such serious symptoms that I felt forced to tell him I feared he was seriously hurt, and it was quite possible he would live but a few hours.

"Upon hearing this he became very much agitated, and whispered to me that he wished to speak to me alone, saying he had something of the utmost importance to communicate.

"I thought it was probably some message to send to some members of his family, or some instructions regarding his affairs, but after a few words I became very much interested. He talked for fifteen minutes, part of the time being sustained by the use of stimulants. His story, which was a very strange one, I will repeat as nearly as possible in his own words. After repeatedly asking me to assure him there was no possible chance of his recovery he said:

"'It is not necessary for you to know my name, but it is sufficient for me to tell you that I received a good education in my youth and graduated with high honors at one of the large universities in this country. I always had more or less interest in the study of physiology, and during my college course conducted a series of experiments in hypnotism, and made some interesting discoveries regarding the exaltation of the senses, and especially in relation to illusion and hallucination by the aid of post-hypnotic suggestion.

"'It had been my earnest desire to occupy the position of professor of physiology in one of the universities, but failing to obtain a position of this kind, and having no means of support, I gradually became poorer and poorer, earning a livelihood as best I could, until I became discouraged and attempted to make money in a way not quite so honest.

"'The idea suggested itself to me during a series of experiments which I had conducted with a friend of mine. It so happened that this friend was paying teller in one of our well-known banks of Chicago, where he is to-day. He is a thoroughly honorable man in every way, but I found that he was a good hypnotic subject, or sensitive, as we call it. At first he could not be considered first class, but he was much interested in the subject, and allowed me to hypnotize him repeatedly. After a few evenings he became very easily influenced and one of the best subjects I had ever had. I could put him to sleep in a moment, simply snapping my fingers and telling him I wished him to sleep; of course this can only be done with sensitives who have been repeatedly hypnotized.

"'Under these conditions I succeeded in making him do very many wonderful things, especially in the way of post-hypnotic suggestions; a post-hypnotic suggestion is a command given to hypnotized subjects that at some future time they perform a certain act. In most cases, in waking from the hypnotic sleep they have forgotten that the suggestion has been given them, but at the time set they perform the act unconsciously, as though by their own volition. Not only will they do this, but after the act is performed they usually sink into a quiet sleep,[1] from which they awake after passing into the normal sleep, and, as a rule, have forgotten that they did anything unusual, or that they have been hypnotized, and take up the thread of thought again at the point where they first entered the hypnotic condition. They do not remember what they have done or seen. Their mind is a blank as to all that occurred during the time they were hypnotized.

[Footnote 1: This is unusual; the subject rarely falls asleep after carrying out a post-hypnotic suggestion unless commanded to do so.—ED.]

"'For the last two years I have been rather fortunate, in a small way, speculating in stocks. My capital being small, the amount of money I could make was, of course, comparatively little; yet I succeeded in doing very well until about three weeks ago, when, by two or three unfortunate speculations, I found myself absolutely destitute, and without a penny in the world. It was then the idea suggested itself to me to hypnotize Mr. Herrick and make him bring me money from the bank. This of course was perfectly possible, if no accident occurred, or no unforeseen difficulty presented itself, which I had not previously thought of, as the cashier would act simply as an instrument, being governed entirely by my directions. I asked him in a casual way several times about the affairs of the bank, and learned one day that the bank would have an unusually large balance in settling with the clearing-house. It was the custom for Mr. Herrick to lock up his own funds, and simply state to the cashier that he had done so.

"'According to a carefully arranged plan, I hypnotized him last evening and commanded him to take all the money and securities he had in his possession, after settling with the clearing-house, and instead of locking them in his vault to put them in a bag, of course taking precautions to do this when no one was observing him, and then leave the bank in the usual manner.

"'He was to take a carriage and drive directly to a small, unoccupied house which is situated on the corner of Blank and 117th streets.

"'It was my intention, as I had gone so far, to go still further. I knew that Mr. Herrick would bring me the money and securities, and that I should find him asleep in the house, but what I did not know positively, and what I feared was, that he might not forget what he had done when he awoke. As a rule, sensitives obey the command to forget, but in the course of my various experiments I have found sensitives who had a vague idea of what occurred, perhaps nothing tangible, but still sufficient, in a case like this, when there would be a great row about the lost securities, to suggest a possible clue.

"'It was a very cold day, six degrees below, I think, and I had deliberately intended to leave Mr. Herrick asleep after I had taken the money from him and let him take his chances, sleeping without any fire or covering, in an hypnotic condition, with the temperature below zero, and you can judge what his chances would have been. This scheme I thought out deliberately, and what seems strange, I had not the least repugnance against arranging for the death of my friend. After I had once made up my mind to make him steal the securities his disappearance seemed to be the only way to insure my safety. Of course no one could know I was connected with this matter. I would not go near the bank, and unless he was followed, which was most unlikely, as he had been with the bank some years and was a thoroughly trusted official, there would be absolutely no chance of my detection.'"

Watson relighted his cigar, which had gone out, and continued—

"While he had been speaking another train had arrived with a lot of workmen who were busily engaged jacking the car back on the rails. The train was about to return to Chicago, so I inquired the name of the bank and its president, and the address of the house, writing them down so there could be no possible mistake. I then hastened on board the train, leaving my patient under the care of Dr. Morse, a local physician, who agreed to notify me as to the condition of the man later in the day.

"Upon arriving in Chicago I immediately drove to the bank, but found it closed. I was told, however, that Mr. Bartlet, the president, was attending a corporation meeting in an office in the same building. I immediately hunted him up, and, upon hearing my story he hastily ordered a carriage and we drove to the house as described.

"On our way out we stopped and picked up Dr. Marsh, who as you know is very much interested in such matters. It was quite a long drive, but we found the place without difficulty. It was unoccupied, and many of the windows were broken, and altogether it presented a very dilapidated appearance, such as the cheap houses on the outskirts of a great city often do after having been unoccupied for a year or two. We tried the door and found it unlocked. On the first floor the rooms were entirely empty, loose papers scattered about, and no signs of any one having entered the house. Upon going upstairs we found the door on the first landing at the head of the stairs closed, but not locked. At the back of the room was a cracked wooden stool and a dilapidated hair sofa, which had evidently been considered too used up to be of any value. Part of the cover was torn away, one of the legs was broken, and some of the hair stuffing was lying scattered about the floor. On this lounge lay Mr. Herrick apparently sound asleep; his lips blue with cold, his face pale, and the general appearance of a man half frozen to death. He was breathing very quietly, however, and his heart action was still fairly good, although somewhat slow. By his side lay a small bag, which, it is needless to say, was pounced upon by Mr. Bartlet. It contained some valuable securities, and a great bundle of bank bills of large denomination. Both Marsh and I considered Herrick's condition as decidedly interesting and unusual, and we were both of the opinion that, as part of the story had proved true, it was very likely the whole would turn out just as described.

"If this proved to be the case, all that now remained to be done was to restore Herrick to his normal condition, which might or might not be easy to accomplish. The first thing to be done was to get him out of such a low temperature. We tried various methods of restoring consciousness, but without success. What we did not like was that his heart action was gradually becoming weaker. We gave a hypodermic injection of strychnia, and the heart was soon acting in a much more satisfactory manner. There was no return to consciousness, however, so taking him in the carriage we drove back to Dr. Marsh's house, and arriving there we all turned to and did what we could to restore Herrick to consciousness. Now that he was in a warm room the drawn expression and the blue look left his face, but otherwise he appeared to sleep as soundly as ever. The heart was now acting very well, and aside from the coma the condition of the patient gave us no cause for anxiety. As time went on, however, and we absolutely failed to waken him, and the heart again showed signs of weakness, we began to feel somewhat uneasy.

"You see," said Watson, "we did not know what suggestion was given the patient; these post-hypnotic suggestions are peculiar in their action upon some sensitives. If, as it is fair to suppose, this man was ordered to sleep, he should in the natural course of events sleep for a number of hours and then awake, after passing from the hypnotic sleep to the normal sleep; but we know very little of the effect on some nervous systems of post-hypnotic suggestions. Another thing, in many cases the patient will not waken or cannot be wakened except by the person who put him to sleep. The reason for this is plain enough. Part of the effect on the mind of hypnotic suggestion is due entirely to sleep. The skilled hypnotist commands one of his sensitives to sleep under certain conditions. The sensitive expects to be awakened by the same voice and in the same way, and habit and association have fixed in his mind certain conditions which he associates with the order to awake. There is no doubt whatever that Mr. Herrick heard what we were saying when we spoke to him in a loud voice, but he heard it without understanding, much as a person in a sleepy condition hears noises about him without trying to comprehend them. It is undoubtedly true that the man who put Herrick to sleep could have wakened him in a moment, while we, with all our knowledge and experience, were unable to make his brain regain its normal condition. We decided to let him sleep; and if, at the end of a few hours, he did not regain consciousness, we would try again what we could do to assist him, of course watching the heart in the meanwhile and using nitro-glycerin or strychnia if indicated.

"At that moment Herrick suddenly spoke, at first huskily and then in a loud, clear voice, shouting, 'Yes, yes, I hear you; I am awake.' Then he sat up, asking in a dazed way, 'Where am I? What does this mean?'"

"As he did so the old-fashioned clock in the hall struck the hour of seven."

The queerest part of this story is suggested by a letter received from Dr. Morse the next day, which read as follows:

DEAR WATSON: You asked me to write you about the injured man, and I do so now to tell you he is dead. He died a minute or two before seven o'clock last evening; I know the hour exactly, because I was watching him at the time, and for some moments he had been whispering and muttering to himself, but all I could catch was something about, "I withdraw my command;" when, suddenly raising himself, he shouted, "Wake up, wake up!" and fell back dead just as the clock in the church-yard struck seven.

I should be much interested to hear whether his story was true or not. Drop me a line about it when you have time.

Very sincerely yours, F. MORSE.



STORY OF AN INSANE SAILOR.

"That pocket-piece of yours," said the doctor, "reminds me that I have an interesting one of my own; perhaps you can tell me what it is." He took from his pocket a silver coin and handed it to Jennings, as he spoke. One edge had been flattened, and a hole pierced in it.

"Ah! an old Spanish piece," said Jennings, "evidently of the time of Pope Leo Fourth, sometime in the sixteenth century. A very interesting piece. Where did you get it?"

"There is a curious story connected with that coin," meditatively remarked Dr. Watson; "perhaps you would like to hear it."



We had been dining with Watson and were now comfortably seated in the library before an old-fashioned open fire. It was snowing outside, making the warm, bright study all the more cheerful by contrast.

"Perhaps you remember," said Watson, "that during the winter of 1886 I devoted much more of my time than usual to the Insane Asylum. I was very much interested in testing the value of hypnotism for insane patients, especially mild cases and those having illusions and insistent ideas. I had been quite successful in one case—a woman who had tried to starve herself to death under the impression that the devil commanded her not to eat was greatly benefited by post-hypnotic suggestion. Suggesting that the devil would not come any more induced pronounced hysteria, but when hypnotized, and told that the devil commanded her to eat, instead of to abstain from food, she took nourishment readily, and soon developed an extraordinary appetite.

"An immediate improvement in her condition was noticeable, and as her general bodily health improved, the illusions became less and less frequent, and she was discharged from the asylum as cured in less than three months."

Watson paused and gazed meditatively at the end of his cigar. "Ever tried to hypnotize an insane person, Jennings?"

"Not that I remember."

"You, Morris?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Hm! Well, sometimes you succeed, and sometimes you don't; more often you don't. There was one patient, a man by the name of Allen, who had been a sailor. He was subject to fits of extreme melancholia, and at times was positively dangerous, as he imagined some one was trying to poison him.

"I never succeeded in hypnotizing him, although I tried repeatedly. However, I saw him every day, and as his general health improved, his attacks of melancholia became less frequent. He seemed grateful to me for taking an interest in him, and often talked with me about his early life and the out-of-the-way countries he had visited. Shortly after I was called away and did not return to the asylum for two weeks, and when I did go back I found that Allen was dead. He had cut his throat one afternoon with a large pocket-knife and made a mighty clean job of it, too.

"Well," continued the doctor, "among his effects they found a package addressed to me, which contained a letter and a silver coin. The coin you now hold in your hand, the letter I have here in my desk."

He opened a drawer and took out a large yellow envelope containing a number of pages of closely written manuscript.

"This letter," said Watson, as he slowly turned over the pages, "contains a story so strange that I did not for a moment believe it had any foundation in fact; but during the past year or two I have learned certain things which have caused me to change my opinion. Whether the story is true or not we will, of course, never know, but I now believe that it is a true record of events which actually happened. I have made some inquiries and find that the places mentioned do exist, or did at the time this story was written, and—but never mind; I will read you the letter and you can form your own conclusions:

"'DR. S. T. WATSON:

"'DEAR SIR: I have made up my mind to kill myself, but before I die I wish to make a confession of my wrong doings, as he insists that I shall and I dare not disobey him. I therefore write this confession, to be read by you after I am dead.

"'You tell me I imagine I hear the voice and see the man. I tell you, doctor, you who think me crazy are the one who is deceived. You do not believe in telepathy and thought-transference, and yet I could tell many times when you looked at me of what you were thinking. I tell you that I hear Jim's voice as plainly as I ever heard yours, and he talks to me and tells me that he will never leave me while I live, and then he laughs. Oh, that laugh! He comes often at night and wakes me out of a sound sleep with that awful laugh, and then he whispers to me to go to sleep again. Of course you do not believe in spirits or ghosts, and you believe I am crazy, and that the half-invisible form of my dead partner which comes to me and talks to me, and whose voice I hear as plainly as I ever heard yours, exists wholly in my imagination. Well, doctor, you have been kind to me, and I hope and pray you will never suffer the way I have suffered during the past three years.

"'Just three years ago to-day I was on board the "Ada Gray," a small schooner off the coast of Florida, bound for the Isthmus. There were seven of us in all, including the captain and mate, the latter an old pal of mine who had arranged to get me in as one of the crew. In some way he had learned that the captain was to take with him some two thousand in gold, and although we had no plans, we intended to get the gold in some way. On our way down we had talked over many schemes, but none of them seemed satisfactory. The gold was kept in a small fireproof safe in the captain's cabin, but it was an old-fashioned key-lock affair, and we did not anticipate much trouble from that quarter, even if we could not find the key. The great point was, how we were to get the money and get away. At last we decided to drug the men's coffee, and when they were sleeping from its effects, we would take the money and leave in the schooner's yawl, in which, as the weather was very calm and the Florida coast could be seen in the distance, we should have no difficulty in making the shore.

"'Jim had overhauled the medicine chest and had found a vial containing a lot of morphine pills marked one-eighth grain, and as neither he nor I knew how much morphine it took to drug a man, he watched his opportunity and emptied the contents of the vial into the coffee.

"'After supper we kept on deck for some time waiting results. At last Jim went forward and reported everything quiet and the men apparently all asleep. We found the captain in his cabin lying on his bunk breathing heavily. The key to the safe was in the captain's pocket, and we opened it without difficulty. There were six rolls of twenty-dollar pieces marked two hundred dollars each, eight rolls of ten-dollar pieces, and a bag of silver.

"'We took the money and some other things we found in the cabin, including a pair of revolvers, a double-barrelled shot-gun, and a rifle, and put them in the boat, together with a small keg of water, tinned meat, and a bag of ship biscuit. After these were carefully stowed away in the yawl, Jim went back to the cabin, while I busied myself arranging things in the boat. He soon came on deck again bringing several bottles of brandy, and coming to the side of the schooner reached them one by one to me over the side. As he handed me the last bottle I saw the burly form of our negro cook rise slowly out of the hatchway, rubbing his eyes as if half asleep. Jim saw my stare of surprise, and, turning quickly, faced the negro, who was looking at us with a dazed expression. He could not have drunk of the coffee, for I have since learned the amount of morphine Jim put in the pot was more than enough to kill the entire crew.

"'Jim turned, and, walking slowly up to the man, said hoarsely: "Go down," at the same time pointing to the hatchway.

"'"What for?" asked the negro, moving a step backward.

"'"None of your business what for; go down, I tell you."

"'"I don't take no orders from you, nohow," answered the man. "Where's the captain?"

"'Without a word Jim struck him full in the face with all his strength. The blow was an awful one, and the negro staggered back, and would have fallen had not he brought up against the foremast. He roared with rage, and came at Jim with a rush like a mad bull. Jim bent sideways, and something flashed in his hand, as he struck upwards under the man's arm.

"'Instantly the negro stumbled forward, and fell on the deck, and then sat up and began to cough. He coughed incessantly, like a man who has swallowed something which choked him. Jim looked at him a moment, and then, without a word, cast off the painter and jumped into the boat. There was not a breath of wind, so we each took an oar and pulled towards the faint line of land just visible in the western horizon.

"'The schooner lay almost motionless, with the silence of death about her. The negro had stopped coughing, and all was still, save the faint creaking of the masts and spars and the sounds of our oars in the rowlocks.

"'In the west the sun-painted clouds lay in great masses of gold and purple, tinting the sea with ever-changing colors.

"'"Damn pretty sunset!" remarked Jim, as he drew in his oar, and bent over to light his pipe, and then, musingly: "I wish I hadn't had to kill that nigger."

"'Shortly after dark a gentle breeze sprung up from the southeast, and we put up a little sail we had brought with us.

"'Fowley Rocks light was in plain sight, and about midnight we rounded Cape Florida, and entered Biscayne Bay, and by daylight we made the mouth of the Miami River, where we tied up to a small pier, owned by a man named Brickle. On the other side of the river stood a long, low stone building, which, they told us, was once used as a government building, and was called Fort Dallas.

"'We told the people we had come from Key West, following the coast along inside the keys, and were on a hunting and fishing trip. Upon inquiry we learned that there was very little game about the bay except crocodiles, but that we could get splendid sport by going up the river into the everglades and following the shore line north to New River. They advised us to get an Indian to go with us. This plan suited us exactly, as once having disappeared in the wilderness we could come out at some other point, and having assumed new names could go forth into the world in perfect safety.

"'Before starting we bought a light flat-bottomed boat for use in shallow water, and after rowing up the river a few miles we made camp and burned the yawl, first breaking her up with our axes. This took up the greater part of the day. In the afternoon Jim went up to the head of the river and reported meeting an Indian who told him of a large island which was, as near as he could judge, about thirty miles to the north, on which there were deer and turkeys.

"'We had plenty of provisions, and for three days we pushed our boat northward among the islands of the great grassy lake. In many places the water was so shallow we had to push our way through grass and reeds. We noticed a great many white flowers growing on the banks of the islands, and water-lilies were abundant, but they had no smell.

"'Towards evening, on the third day, we landed on a large island on which there was a high mound. Hundreds of white herons and various other kinds of birds were nesting in the trees, and there were a good many ducks about. We shot some of the herons and cut off the long hair-like plumes, but the flesh was strong and unpalatable. The ducks, however, were very good.

"'We camped on the mound, which was much higher than the rest of the island, and decided to stay there for a day or two. While putting up the tent I saw something shine, and picked up a silver coin which had evidently been worn as a medal, as one edge had been flattened and a hole pierced in it. There was no date, but it was evidently very old.

"'That day we tried fishing, and shot several ducks. We had but one shot-gun, so took turns with it at the ducks.

"'That evening Jim produced an old pack of cards from his pocket and suggested a game of poker. My luck went against me from the beginning, and when we stopped playing I had lost fully two-thirds of my share. The next morning I awoke feeling remorseful and sulky, and demanded that Jim play another game to give me a chance to get even. He assented readily enough, but my bad luck continued, and in an hour I had lost all of my money and had nothing left to bet. Jim got up, taking the gun, and went down to the boat to repair a leak which had bothered us the day before. I sat on a log, inwardly raging and cursing myself for my foolishness. The rifle was leaning against the log near me, and involuntarily I took it and dropped the lever to see if it was loaded. It was empty, and the hammer moved back and forth at the touch of my finger. Evidently the spring was broken. But how? Why? I felt in my pocket for my revolver with feverish haste. Gone. Then I understood!

"'I rose and walked slowly down the slope of the mound, and nearly stepped on a large rattlesnake which lay coiled up beside a palmetto root. I looked at the snake as he lay there watching me, rattling angrily all the while, and then I looked at Jim's coat which hung on a branch near by, and at the doctored rifle in my hand, and the more I looked the more wicked thoughts came into my mind. I glanced towards Jim; he was apparently busy with the boat, and I could just see the top of his back as he bent over. I hastily fastened one of the dead herons to a stick and held it in front of the snake, which immediately struck it in the breast, and then uncoiled and slowly retreated into the scrub. Taking two pins from my coat, I inserted them into the holes made by the fangs of the rattlesnake, and took them out covered with blood and poison. In a few minutes this dried, and I then fastened the pins inside the arm of Jim's coat in such a way that his hand would be scratched when he put it on.

"'This done, I hung the coat back on the branch and walked off a little way, but feeling more than half inclined to go back and take the pins out again while there was yet time. Perhaps Jim did not mean to kill me, but simply wished to protect himself against treachery on my part;—but then I remembered the negro and the morphine, and—well, dead men tell no tales. As I turned to go back, I saw Jim in the act of taking down his coat, and I felt a queer choky sensation in my throat and a sort of half catch to my breath as he pushed his arm through the sleeve, at the same time putting the back of his hand to his lips in a way that could only have one meaning. I watched him with an ugly feeling of satisfaction, wondering how long it would take for the poison to begin to take effect.

"'Jim put a couple of sticks on the fire, and then sat down on a log and commenced to fill his pipe, but soon laid it down. "Curse it!" he said; "I feel queer."

"'He got up and walked up and down, rubbing his arm. He looked at me in an odd sort of way once or twice, and then went into the tent and lay down. Shortly after he called to me, and on my going to the door of the tent he tried to rise, but fell back and became delirious, laughing and shouting my name, and muttering to himself. He breathed with difficulty, and in a little while became unconscious, and just as the sun was sinking over the faint line of trees in the west he died.

"'I took down the tent and dug a hole and buried him where he lay. I built a huge fire and sat by it all night without closing my eyes. Towards morning the moon came up and the sounds of the night noises ceased, and as soon as it was light I put the gold and what things I needed in the boat and made haste to leave the island. I paddled for two or three hours before I noticed that the sun, which had been to my right when I started, was at my left, and I knew that I must have turned the boat around.

"'I turned about and paddled on steadily all day long, but night found me with no signs of dry land anywhere, nothing but an unending stretch of grass and water as far as the eye could reach.

"'When it grew dark I lay down in the bottom of the boat and tried to sleep; but as soon as I closed my eyes I felt cold all over, a creepy sort of cold, and heard voices whispering. At first I told myself they were not voices, 'twas a trick of my imagination, the wind, perhaps, or the rustle of the grass about me; but then I heard Jim's voice. There could be no mistaking his horrid, sneering laugh; it made me afraid, but do what I would I could not help hearing it. I stopped my ears and wrapped my head in my coat; but still, from time to time, I could hear the voices whispering, and Jim's laugh, and at times I felt cold.

"'The next day I poled and paddled until late in the afternoon. I felt very hot, and my head ached as though it would split. I had a pain in the back of my neck and drank a great deal of water. I knew I had some sort of a fever, but having no medicine I could do nothing but push on, hoping to find my way to dry land.

"'All that day I continually heard Jim's voice laughing at me, and the next I knew I found myself in an Indian camp, and was told that I had been found in the boat sick. The gold was gone; the Indians claimed it was not in the boat. One of them seemed to be a chief and wore a big turban on his head with a silver band around it. They told me his name was Tom Tiger.

"'And now, doctor, good-by. Jim is whispering to me again and telling me it is time. In five minutes after I sign this I shall be dead. I shall make no mistake. My knife is very sharp.

"'JOHN ALLEN.'"



THE ELIXIR OF LIFE.

"Behold," said Doctor Watson, "the Elixir of Life!"

Robinson looked up from his writing and assumed an expression of deep interest.

"Wonderful! I have often heard of it. Is it the true Elixir vitae of the ancients, or a new and more subtle compound?"

"Listen, scoffer; if you will behave with a decorum consistent with the gravity of the subject, I will explain how I became the possessor of this wonderful powder. Perhaps in your life of seclusion and deep toil you may not have noticed this advertisement which has appeared for the last month regularly in the morning paper?" Watson took from his pocket-book a newspaper clipping and read as follows:

"METHUSELAH CLUB.

"The object of this club is to enable its members to live to be one hundred and fifty years old. All persons desiring to become members should apply for particulars to Rengee Sing, No. — Twenty-seventh street, City."

"Are you a member?" inquired Robinson.

"Not as yet, but Jones is, and it was through Jones that I came into possession of this mysterious drug. It seems that Jones decided after reading the advertisement that he would like to become a member of the club. Jones' health is not very good, as you know, and he called on Rengee Sing, and the result of the interview was that he came away with this small vial of the wonderful Elixir, for which he paid twenty good dollars. He was so impressed by the gentleman who sold him the powder that he came to me, as his medical adviser, to ask my opinion as to the advisability of taking some of it. He brought with him a paper purporting to be the translation of an ancient papyrus manuscript, the original of which was in Thibetian or Sanscrit and which was ingenious, if fraudulent. He told me a rambling story of how this Rengee Sing had procured this powder, and the whole thing was so peculiar that I decided to interview the gentleman myself; but first I made a point of getting our friend Strauss to analyze the powder. His report of the analysis shows it to be composed entirely of chloride of sodium or common salt, with a small quantity of some unknown vegetable matter which gives it a yellow color. Armed with this information, I called upon Rengee Sing at his office on Twenty-seventh street."

"You interest me," said Robinson, glancing at his work, and palpably attempting to suppress a yawn.

Watson arose, and gently but firmly removed the pen from Robinson's fingers; he then placed a book on the papers, and continued:

"The office was distinctly oriental, and there were numerous Bokhara and other good rugs scattered about; besides there were gorgeous divans, and the air was heavy with peculiar Eastern odors. I was admitted by a gigantic negro dressed in oriental costume, and another negro arose as I entered, and stood respectfully at the inner door. I asked for Rengee Sing, and was informed that he would 'be at liberty in a few moments,' and 'would I sit down and wait,' all in very good English from one of the gigantic sable guardians who bowed me in. I was kept waiting but a few moments, when the door opened and a small black-bearded Hindoo came softly into the room dressed in the ordinary European costume. There was nothing striking about him except his eyes, which were really the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen in a human being. With the gentle manner peculiar to his race he smiled and asked me to take a seat near the window."

"Is it possible?" said Robinson, languidly, lighting a cigarette.

"Is what possible?" inquired Watson, frowning slightly.

"Why, that he asked you to take a seat near the window."

"Robinson," remarked Watson sternly, "remember that your mental infirmities will not prevent my punching your head if you interrupt me with any more foolish questions."

Robinson grinned, and after ostentatiously placing a paper-weight within easy reach, Watson continued.

"I inquired if he was the person to whom I should apply for information about the Methuselah Club.

"He answered that he had the honor of being the president of the club, and would be glad to supply me with all information in his power. Did I wish to join?

"'A friend of mine,' I said, 'has already become a member, and the description of a wonderful powder has interested me, likewise the history of the powder.'

"The Hindoo smiled gently, showing his white teeth, and said that he was not surprised at my curiosity. He then went to a desk and took from it the printed circular which Jones had already shown me, and which was supposed to be a translation of the ancient manuscript. It is the one I hold in my hand; please glance over it before I continue my story."

Robinson took the paper.

"What is this hieroglyphic affair at the top here?" he asked.

"That," said Dr. Watson, "is probably a copy of some very ancient amulet or talisman. The fish at the bottom was often used to designate 'Dag,' or the master; next above we have the Solomon's seal, then the four Chaldaic letters Jod-He-Van-He-Iaho, which is 'The Deity;' the other symbols are strange to me."

"Ah," said Robinson, "a weird sort of thing, is it not?"

"Don't be sarcastic, read it," sententiously remarked Watson.

Robinson did so.



"'Let him who dares to live forever take of the powder, but let him think of "Aum;" but speak it not on pain of death; let absolute "muckta" be known to him; let him study the secret "mantras," and ponder on the mysteries of "Vach;" let him also say each day in his prayer "Aum ma-ni pad-me hum."

"'He who takes of the powder three times should acquaint himself with "{Hebrew: khet dalet}" the marcaba and the lah gash, then he will never die. Even though he wished to live a thousand years, so it shall be!'"[2]

[Footnote 2: Translation of the sacred manuscript found with the "Elixir of Life."]

"Well," remarked Watson, "what do you think of it?"

"Fake," answered Robinson.

"Verily, out of the mouths of babes, etc.," said Watson, "but, O learned friend, you have not heard the whole story. Listen. I asked Rengee Sing if he would be good enough to explain to me fully about the powder and especially how and where he obtained it.

"'My dear sir,' he said, 'I see you are a scientific man, and it always gives me great pleasure to meet such, and to explain to them as fully as possible how I, Rengee Sing, obtained possession of one of the most valuable treasures in the world, the Elixir of Life; but before doing so I must enroll your name among the members of our Society; in fact, one of the rules of the Society is that unless a person becomes a member we can tell him nothing, beyond allowing him to read the circular which you have already seen. The initiation fee is five dollars, and you are at liberty not to take the powder if you desire not to do so after you have become a member, but if you wish to become a member in high standing, and to take the powder, which will insure you a length of life far beyond that of ordinary mortals, an additional fee of twenty dollars is charged for the powder.'

"I decided," continued Watson, "that the experience was worth five dollars, so I intimated that I should be delighted to become a member of the Society, and handed Mr. Sing five dollars, whereupon he wrote me a receipt and gave me a member's card, which stated that I was a member of the Methuselah Club of the second class, and entitled to receive the Elixir, and to become a member of the first class upon the further payment of twenty dollars any time within the next ten days. After which, if I had not been made a member of the first class, my name should be dropped from the rolls.

"Rengee Sing was the embodiment of courtesy when he bowed low and handed me my receipt.

"'My dear sir,' he said, 'I shall now be happy to explain to you anything that I can.'

"'I would like,' I said, 'if possible, to see the original papyrus which I understand was found with the Elixir, and I also would like to learn more fully the details as to how and where this Elixir was obtained.'

"Rengee Sing bowed, and, going to the corner of the room, opened a small fireproof safe, taking from it a roll of what proved after being unrolled to be an ancient papyrus manuscript written in the Sanscrit language. As far as I could make out it seemed to be the original of which the printed circular was a translation. It certainly appeared ancient enough.

"'This manuscript,' said Sing, 'and the box of powder was obtained by my brother and given to me at his death. He died from the effects of a fall from his horse, which broke three ribs and otherwise injured him internally. He never would have died except from the accident, as he had taken several doses of the Elixir. Just how long it will enable a man to live we do not know, but certainly one hundred and fifty years and perhaps even two hundred years. He obtained it in the following manner: My brother had long been desirous of visiting Lassa, which is, as you know, the wonderful capital of Thibet, but was unable to do so until a few years before his death, when he accompanied a Hindoo who went there for the purpose of making certain reports to a foreign government. His name I am not at liberty to disclose, but his report was simply signed Punjaub A.B. My dear brother described Lassa to me very minutely, and from all accounts it must be the most wonderful city in the world. As you probably know, no European or Christian has ever been allowed to enter within its walls. According to my brother's description the city is situated in a fertile plain on the Sampo river some six hundred miles north of Calcutta, and has a population of fully sixty thousand persons. The streets are wide, and the houses have their walls whitened and the frames of the doors and windows colored red and yellow.

"'Nearly west of the city, connected with it by a splendid avenue, is the mountain of Buddha, where now stands the temple of the Grand Lama. This temple is four stories high, and therein dwells the Grand Lama and his High Priests. Some idea of the magnificence of this temple may be obtained when I tell you that its great pillars are covered with plates of pure gold. The Grand Lama can live forever, and many people believe he does so, but he really does not. After a certain time he reincarnates himself into a new body. All of the priests, however, are very old. It is claimed the Pandita is at least one hundred and fifty years old. The Grand Lama has about him two priests of the highest grades, one the Pandita and the other Tchoiji. The Grand Lama sits upon an altar or throne for hours at a time, clothed in gold-woven cloth and jewels of fabulous value. Over his head is a magnificent peacock's tail composed entirely of gold and precious stones. It is the custom of the Grand Lama to receive persons who desire to receive his blessing at certain hours of the day. For a small amount of money one is allowed to bow before him; for a little more one may touch his garment, and receive his silent blessing; but for the sum of twenty rupees he will speak to the person and touch him with a little wand. The Punjaub A.B. in describing his interview states that the Grand Lama talks in a hoarse voice which he tries to make as much as possible like God's.

"'It was during his visit to the temple that my brother learned of the wonderful treasures preserved there, fabulous stories being told about a huge emerald with an ancient inscription engraved upon it,—the mystic seal of the first Lama, which had been handed down for ages, together with the greatest treasure of them all, known as the Elixir of Life.

"'The wonderful powder was and is used by the high priests, some of whom are of great age. It is supposed to have been brought into Thibet by King Srongb Tsan, during the seventh century, and that it originally came from Nepaul.'

"'How did your brother procure it?' I asked.

"'By bribing one of the priests. My brother was wealthy, and being very desirous of procuring some of this wonderful powder, he tried to buy some of it. Under no circumstances, however, would they listen to him or even allow him to see it. He succeeded, however, as I said, in bribing one of the priests, paying him a large sum of money, several hundred rupees, I believe, and was shown the sacred chests containing this powder, and other treasures, including precious manuscripts and some jewels of great value. The powder was contained in five little gold boxes, of beautiful workmanship. While examining them they heard a door close and the sounds of footsteps in the passageway. The priest became very much frightened and begged my brother to replace the boxes and manuscript at once, and was so agitated that he did not notice my brother when he slipped one of the gold boxes into his pocket. The person, whoever he was, passed on down the passageway, and as soon as they dared they hurriedly left the vault. Luckily for my brother he left Lassa with the Punjaub that evening, and never learned whether the theft was discovered or not. Probably his powder would have done him little good had it been so and had he been suspected.'

"'But how,' I asked, 'do you know that this Elixir will really prolong life?'

"Sing smiled sweetly, and said, 'I myself, my dear sir, am a living proof of that; I am one hundred and ten years old, and to-day there are in New York some sixty men who will live to that age, having taken the powder, unless they die from some form of disease. This elixir will not protect them against poison or diseases where the poison germ has entered the system. That is impossible; but it acts upon the nerve centres and upon the blood corpuscles in such a wonderful way that there is no degeneration. The person simply lives along the same as he would between the ages of thirty and forty; he is always the same. He may die from many causes, but it would not be from old age.'

"'My friend,' I said, 'took the liberty to analyze some of this powder.'

"'Ah! And may I inquire the result of his analysis?'

"A peculiar yellow light came into those eyes, and although he smiled—Have you ever seen a caged tiger languidly looking at the crowd of people in front of his cage suddenly discover a dog near him?"

"I don't know that I have," said Robinson.

"Well, if you do you will notice the same yellow light flash into his eyes, and the sudden change of expression that I saw in the eyes of our friend Sing. It was gone in a moment, however, and he was again smiling sweetly.

"'I understand he found it to consist principally of common salt.'

"'Quite so,' answered Sing; 'but he must have discovered that it also contained something else?'

"'That is true,' I answered, 'there was a small amount of vegetable matter which gave it a yellow color.'

"'That is the true Elixir,' said Sing; 'salt is merely necessary for the results. You, as a scientific man, know that the poison which kills so quickly from the fang of a cobra and the ordinary white of an egg can hardly be distinguished by the chemist. He finds them both to be albumen.'

"'Why, then, should one kill and the other be harmless?' I asked.

"'Simply the minute "something else" which is contained in the snake poison and which is held in solution by the albumen.'

"'Have you any other proof of the power of this Elixir?' I inquired.

"'My dear sir, I trust you do not question the truth of my statement regarding my own age.'

"He frowned slightly, and those wonderful eyes of his glanced like lightning towards the two huge attendants standing in plain sight in the hallway.

"'Not at all,' I hastened to assure him. 'It all seems so wonderful to me, you must excuse my apparent incredulity.'

"'The most natural thing in the world,' smiled Sing with grave courtesy, 'but I will let your own eyes banish any doubt you may have as to the wonderful properties of this strange powder.

"'Ashmed,' he called, 'ask my son to come here a moment if he will be so good.'

"The attendant who had spoken to me when I entered immediately disappeared, and in a moment a back door opened and the bent figure of a very old man entered the room and spoke to Sing in a weak voice. The language was evidently Hindustani, but I caught a word here and there which sounded familiar. Sing spoke to him sharply, and turning to me said, 'This is my son; he is nearly eighty years old, but refuses to take the powder on account of his religious principles—he belongs to the sect who believes that to die is better than to live, that his spirit will become incarnate in another body, and in his next life he will be at least a Kobtchie.'

"My eyes must have betrayed my incredulity.

"'You do not doubt that he is my son?' sweetly asked Mr. Sing.

"'Certainly not,' I answered.

"'I trust, then, that I shall have the pleasure of furnishing you with some of the wonderful powder? There is not very much of it left, but luckily it requires a very small dose. I have enough probably to supply one hundred men to insure them existence for one hundred and fifty years. When that is gone the supply can never be replenished.'

"He sighed.

"'Thank you,' I answered. 'I shall think the matter over and in all probability give myself the pleasure of calling upon you again.'

"Then I came away, being bowed out by the sable attendants with all ceremony possible. There! What do you think of that?"

"Do you intend to return and purchase the powder?" asked Robinson.

"Perhaps," answered Watson, "but I think I will wait awhile and see if Jones lives to be one hundred and fifty!"



THE VOODOO IDOL.

Jones lay on the sofa watching the consul mix a long, cool drink of Apollinaris water and crushed sour-sop. His arm pained him a good deal and the bandages felt hot and uncomfortable. By his side was a little table on which were piled numerous articles in a manner common to mankind, among which were a bottle of whiskey, a revolver, several books, and a plate containing some bananas and sapodillias. A light breeze stirred the curtains behind him, and under the awning he could see the long stretch of green palms and waving cocoanuts, back of the city. A faint white line indicated the road to Lecoup.

"I tell you what, old man," said the consul, as he poured the mixture from the shaker into the tall, thin glasses, "you are almightly lucky to get out alive, and you took big chances. Stealing a god of the Voodoo priests is about as dangerous an experiment as playing with fire over a barrel of gunpowder. From your description I should judge the place you found it was about fifteen miles back of Gantier."

Jones nodded in silence.

"Well," continued the consul, "it was somewhere in that vicinity they killed that Frenchman last year, and how they ever let you get out alive I don't know. They meant to kill you fast enough, tried to poison you at Gantier, and knocked out that servant of yours. You escaped by not drinking the coffee. Then some one shot at you on the road, and even then you did not have sense enough to throw away the idol; but even if you had I don't know that it would have made any difference. Then the day before yesterday they put a bullet through your arm at Lecoup, and if old Chabeau had not gone himself with you part of the way, I do not believe you would ever have reached here alive. What on earth made you monkey with that idol anyway?"

Jones explained that he could not resist the temptation to steal it. He had been camping on the banks of a nearly dry stream, ten miles or more east of Gantier, where he had found the little hummingbird, Mellisuga minima, the smallest bird in the world, very abundant. He had also trapped a specimen of the extremely rare Solenodon, and being anxious to procure more he had stayed there for several days. Within half a mile of his camp was a small stone tower open at the sides, in the middle of which stood a little idol on a sort of pedestal. This little idol was about eighteen inches high and was carved out of stone, the eyes oddly enough being bone. Jones had cast longing glances on this idol, but did not dare to touch it, or in fact to go into the tower, as the natives were sullen and suspicious, and on more than one occasion showed signs of being decidedly ugly.

Jones saw enough to confirm his impression that these people were a bad lot, and one dark night he "folded his tent like the Arabs and silently stole away," taking with him as a souvenir the little idol, which he had carefully rolled in a blanket and packed on one side of his pack-horse to balance his box of specimens on the other. Fear of possible unpleasant consequences had caused Jones to ride fast, but he had been followed and three separate attempts made on his life by unknown persons. The last one resulted in a bullet through the upper part of the left arm. He was safe enough now, however, as he remarked, there being little likelihood of danger while under the protection of the American consul in the city of Porto Prince.

"Don't you be too sure of that," said the consul. "There, try that and see how you like it."

Jones sipped the cool mixture; it seemed like nectar to him in his feverish condition. The bullet which had passed through his arm had made a wound, which, while not in itself serious, had left him weak and feverish.

"Yes," continued the consul, "you were mighty lucky to get off as you did. You may not know it, but right here in Hayti the people in the interior are as savage and bloodthirsty as any Central African tribe. Most of the inhabitants are descendants of negroes brought from the Gold Coast many years ago. They have reverted to their original wild state, keeping up many of the ancient customs. Mixing as they have with the Indians of the interior, the present race is even worse than their ancestors. From Toussant l'Overture in 1804, when he first ruled, to Hyppolite Florvil and Salomon, the island has been the scene of continuous insurrection, intrigue, and murder.

"Salomon was probably the best of them all. He was an immense negro, some six feet four inches tall, with a pock-marked face, who had received an education in Paris and married a Frenchwoman. He, like the rest, however, was superstitious and cruel at heart. Hyppolite was a Voodoo priest and, it is said, an anthropophagist. The people of the interior have an intense hatred for the white man, and still retain many of the barbarous customs of the savages of the African interior.

"The Voodoo dance is presided over by a high priest, who usually commands a goat or a hen to be killed, but in some of the more important ceremonies a child is murdered, and its blood mixed with the tafia and drunk by the dancers. The high priest is called Papoloy. Every two years after the dance of the moon a human sacrifice is ordered; generally a young girl is killed and eaten. You probably ran up against one of the Voodoo gods, and the large stone in front was undoubtedly the sacrificial stone. How you ever got away alive passes my comprehension. They evidently thought that you would try to leave in the day-time, and had things all arranged for taking a shot at you somewhere, but your nocturnal skedaddle knocked their plans galley west. There is one thing dead sure, those Voodoo priests are bad medicine, as we used to say out West, and you want to keep your weather-eye open until you are safe on board a steamer and out of the harbor. I wouldn't give five cents for your life if you walked about the streets of Porto Prince. When the time comes to leave I will have you smuggled on board. The authorities would wink at your assassination, but they would not openly countenance it."

Jones remarked wearily that he had begun to believe it might be as well for him to rest quietly in the consulate, and not give them another chance.

The soft flower-scented breeze blew softly in through the open window and was soothing to Jones. Lying there on the lounge with his eyes closed, he soon fell asleep, and the consul left him to attend to his various duties. When Jones awoke he lay in a sort of drowsy condition—half asleep and half awake. Through his partly open eyes he looked through the open door leading out on the broad piazza. There was a chair in front of the door, and over the top of this he saw a face and a pair of very black eyes looking at him intently. For a moment he imagined it was some freak of his imagination, as the face was as still as though it was carved in wax. Right in line with Jones' eyes, and within a foot of his half extended arm, was the little table, and the handle of the revolver seemed to stand out as though placed there for his especial benefit. That was certainly real, and it required a very slight movement for his fingers to close over the pistol handle; but he did not move and lay watching the figure, which began to rise slowly and developed into the form of a large, ugly-looking negro. Jones remembered particularly noticing a white scar across the cheek just under the eye. The man was not looking at him now, but was glancing about with the stealthy look of a hunted animal. At the same time he drew from under his coat a long, unpleasant-looking knife. As he did so Jones lifted his pistol, and, aiming hurriedly at the breast, fired. The man dropped, grasping at the chair as he did so, but immediately rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily. Bang! went Jones' pistol again. This time the negro did not fall, but stood seeming half dazed, steadying himself by holding on to the back of the chair. Jones fired again, and at the report the man clapped his left hand tightly over his heart, and with a muttered imprecation threw the knife at Jones just as he fired his fourth shot, the thud of the knife driving deep into the wood close to Jones' head being followed by the sound of a falling body on the hard floor. As the consul ran into the room followed by one of his men he found Jones sitting on the lounge, pale and weak from excitement and fever.

"Lucky you had the pistol," remarked the consul; "might have been unpleasant. See that gummy green stuff on the knife? Well, that is poison, and a mighty bad poison, too; one little scratch—But all's well that ends well; the steamer is in, and if I were you I would make a bee line for the pier, and get on board just as soon as the Lord will let you!"

Jones rose with some difficulty and went out upon the wide balcony. On the blue waters of the bay he saw a large steamer, and at her stern, floating in the breeze, the most beautiful flag in the world, the Stars and Stripes.

The effect on him, in his half hysterical condition, was to make him want to cry and cheer at the same time. The room he had just left was dark in contrast to the bright sunshine outside; but he could see the knife and the dead body of the negro, from which a narrow dark red streak was slowly making its way across the floor.

"We can't go any too quick to suit me," said Jones.



AN ARIZONA EPISODE.

I.

Wendell Harrison was a club man with no ambition in life beyond making his small income pay his club fees, and leave enough for him to live in the manner peculiar to young men of his class. His one hope in life, as he often told his particular crony, was to find a rich wife, and it seemed to Harrison that chance had played into his hands when he received an invitation from old John Stiversant to join his party on a trip to the Grand Canyon in Northern Arizona.

Harrison had met old Stiversant on the yacht of a mutual friend a few weeks before, and knowing how to make himself agreeable he had done so to the best of his ability, with the result that he had been asked to make one of a party on this western trip in Mr. Stiversant's private car.

"Good luck to you, old man," said his chum as he was leaving the club on his way to the station. "Go in and win."

"Trust me for that," answered Harrison.

The trip out proved a delightful one. Miss Nellie Stiversant, the young lady who, Harrison had decided, was the most likely catch, did not prove as easy as he imagined. While charming and agreeable, she had evidently seen more or less of the world, and was not to be gathered in by the first man who made up his mind he would like to have her ornament his home. Likewise, she was a girl with common sense, and knowing her position and advantages did not lose her head when a man showed an inclination for her society. In fact, just before the party arrived in Flagstaff she had made it very evident that she did not care for serious attentions from any one. She was, however, of a decidedly romantic nature, and Harrison pondered deep and long as to the best method of gaining her affections. Late that evening he was reading a sensational novel, when suddenly he laid it down and a far-away look came into his eyes.

"By Jove," he muttered, "the very thing—on this very road too. Whether the story is true or not, it is reasonable enough, although a trifle dramatic, but that is what is wanted to attract a girl like Nell. She don't care for me and never will, and all she wants is excitement and novelty, but if she thinks I saved her life or risked my own in protecting her, there might be a chance. In this story the chap had led rather a tough life, but had reformed, and the road-agents recognized him and knew he meant business. He got pretty well shot up, but the whole thing cast a halo around him, which would undoubtedly attract any romantic girl. Damn it, why couldn't I do it? It is that or nothing, the trip will be over in two weeks, and it is pretty evident that I am not in it unless something extraordinary happens."

II.

The saloon was pretty well filled with a sprinkling of miners, Mexicans, and ranchers. Men in blue overalls, flannel shirts, and wide-brimmed hats were playing the different games of chance or standing in groups in front of the bar. A harsh brass-sounding piano on a raised platform at the end of the room was being played by a short-haired individual in a dress suit, and a young lady who evidently did not object to the calsomining process to aid nature was singing a topical song. In the corner stood Wendell Harrison surrounded by four rough-looking men, who seemed very much interested in what he was saying.

"Now I think you understand thoroughly what is required," said Harrison. "I am to pay you five dollars each now, and twenty dollars each when the job is done, likewise if it comes off successfully and the bluff works I am to give you twenty dollars more upon our return to Flagstaff. Don't forget to carry out the plan exactly as we have agreed. When I spring from the coach waving my pistol and firing blank cartridges, one of you is to shout, 'Fighting Harrison, by God!' and shoot two or three times as you run. The thing is easy, but requires a little judgment. I do not care where you stop the stage. Stop it any old place, but not too near Flagstaff. I shall be alone in the coach with an old man and two young girls, so there is not the slightest danger, and I will see that the old man is unarmed."

III.

"Say, Jimmie, I must tell yer something, but let me larf first. Say, I nearly fell down in a fit. I am going to tell yer all about it, but don't call me a liar, or I'll kill yer. What do yer think? Oh, Lord, how my stomach aches!—what do yer think? Wait a minute—I'll tell yer in a minute, let me larf it out now, or I shall drop down right here!

"Say, I sat in that booth over there having a quiet drink, and what do yer think? A dude in the next booth commenced putting up a job with four ducks; one of them is Mexican John and the other is Brady, our assistant bar-keeper here. As far as I can make it out Brady got the three other ducks. Say, wait a minute! I don't believe I ever will stop larfin'. What do yer think? this dude is going up to the Canyon on my next trip, and is going to have these four fellers stop the stage to put up a bluff on his girl to show what a fighter he is, and he is to give um twenty dollars each. He is going to jump out and pull his gun and clean out the crowd, and then go back and bask in the sunshine and admiration of the young girls. Oh, Lord! The skunk don't care how much he scares the girls and the old man who are goin' along, but all he wants is to pose as a fighter from away back. But say, Jimmie, what do yer think? I have been thinkin' this thing over, and I don't believe his little picnic will transpire. He calculates to blow in eighty dollars to make a monkey of himself, and I am thinkin' that we can use that eighty dollars in our business and teach the fellow a good lesson all ter wonce. What breaks me up more than anythin' is that he told Brady to hunt me up and tell me on the quiet that there was a reformed desperado going with me who used to be known by the name of 'Fightin' Harrison.' Worked me into the job too, see? What do yer think?"

IV.

The stage was slowly toiling up a dusty hill some five miles from Flagstaff. The road was rough and the day was warm. The stage-driver let the horses take things easy, and from time to time shook with suppressed emotion. "I hope I may die," said he to himself, "if this ain't the damndest."

In the back seats the two young girls, the old man, and the would-be hero were enjoying the scenery and the novelty of the trip in spite of the dust. Suddenly three men sprang into the road, and a loud voice commanded the stage to "hold up."

"What is the matter?" asked Nellie excitedly.

"Don't be afraid," said Wendell, pressing her hand, "remember I am with you."

A rough-looking man appeared at the side of the stage.

"Is your name Harrison?" he said, addressing Wendell.

"It is," answered Harrison boldly; "what do you want?"

"I have a bill here for eighty dollars against you, which will have to be paid or you will have to get out and go back to town with me."

"What do you mean?" gasped Harrison.

"Just what I say, young man; your name is Wendell Harrison, isn't it? You used to be known here by the name of 'Fighting Harrison,' didn't you?"

"Certainly not, you have the wrong party," answered Harrison indignantly.

"Well, I don't know about that; didn't somebody tell you that this fellow was 'Fighting Harrison,' Bill?"

"They certainly did," answered the stage-driver.

"It is all a mistake," said Harrison.

"Mistake or not, you will have to pay or go back to town with us; that is all there is to it. I believe you are the Harrison I want."

"Oh, Mr. Harrison," said Nell, "do pay this man and let us go on; you can easily recover the money when you go back to town."

"Yes," said Mr. Stiversant, "that certainly is the best way to settle the matter; it is, undoubtedly, a case of mistaken identity, but this man is evidently acting in good faith, and you will have no difficulty in straightening matters upon your return at Flagstaff."

Harrison's face was very red, and he looked and acted ugly; but this man evidently meant business, and there was no way out of it but to pay the money, which he did with a very bad grace, taking a receipt made out to Wendell Harrison, alias "Fighting Harrison of Arizona."

"An exciting incident," said Nell, as the party rode away.

"Yes," said Harrison, "but one that might just as well have been left out of the programme."

The stage moved on, but Harrison seemed uneasy; every few minutes he mopped his face with his handkerchief and pressed his hand to his head as if in pain. Visions of the little reception committee some few miles ahead were constantly in his mind. What would he say and do when the stage was stopped, and he received his cue to spring out and fire off his six-shooter, especially as he had only fifteen dollars left in his pocket. What would these pseudo-gentlemen of the road do to him, if, after his little exhibit of bravery, he failed to wind up the melodrama by settling with the actors? He didn't care to find out, and his mind was bent now in deciding the best way to get back to Flagstaff. He continued mopping his face, and once or twice he groaned.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Stiversant; "are you ill?"

"I fear so," answered Harrison faintly. "I have a dull pain in my head and I feel faint."

"Oh, let us go back," said Nell, "it is only five miles, and we can start again to-morrow just as well."

"Perhaps it would be as well," said Harrison weakly; "I fear I am going to be ill."

In the privacy of a room at the hotel Harrison hastily manufactured an urgent telegram calling him at once to San Francisco to see a sick uncle, and had barely time to explain matters and express his deep regret at being forced to leave the party at such short notice.

An hour later he lay back in a luxurious chair in the smoking compartment of the California Limited, and gazed out of the windows at the vast desert plains through which they passed. His eyes had a far-away look in them, and ever and anon he sighed.

Far up the Grand Canyon road late that evening Brady and his three companions still sat watching sadly for the stage which came not. There they had sat in the burning sun without food or water since ten o'clock that morning. They did not speak to each other, but occasionally they cursed, sometimes the birds, sometimes the inanimate things about them. At times they thought of Harrison—but what their thoughts were no one will ever know.



ONE TOUCH OF NATURE.

"Pretty good cigar this," remarked the Cowboy.

The Eastern man nodded.

"Nowadays we can buy good ones out where I live, but 'twa'n't very long ago when good cigars were as rare out there as buffaloes are now round Kansas City."

"The enormous increase in population in some of your Western cities is astonishing," remarked the Eastern man.

The Cowboy glanced at him with an amused smile. The Eastern man smiled back good-naturedly.

"What's the joke?" he asked.



"Oh, nothin'," answered the Cowboy, "only I was thinkin' maybe you didn't live out West."

"No, I am a New Yorker," answered the Eastern man.

"Well, I guess they raise pretty good men in both places," remarked the Cowboy.

"Our late war proved that, I think."

The train had stopped, but there were no signs of a station, although two or three rather dilapidated houses and a typical Western saloon could be seen a short distance ahead.

"Wonder what we are stopping here for," remarked the Cowboy; "it strikes me we've been here a pretty long time."

Just then the porter passed the door of the smoking compartment, and the Cowboy called to him:

"Say, porter, what's the matter? Seems to me we have been stoppin' here a whole lot. What's the name of this metropolis?"

"It's mighty lucky you've got whole necks," answered the porter. "The eccentric, or something about the engine, is broke, and we came mighty near having a bad accident. They've sent on for another engine."

"That's pleasant," remarked the Eastern man. "How long do you think we shall have to stay here before the other engine arrives?"

"Give it up," said the porter. "Maybe an hour, maybe two; can't tell exactly. The train conductor will be along pretty soon and he will know all about it."

"Guess I'll have to appoint myself a committee of one to investigate," remarked the Cowboy.

He arose and went out on the platform of the car, followed by the Eastern man. They climbed down and walked forward to where they saw a crowd gathered about the engine. The eccentric rod had broken short off, and had the engine not been slowing up at the time, the result might have been serious.

The two men strolled down the track for a short distance, and the Cowboy discovered a small colony of prairie dogs. Several of the comical little creatures were sitting on their hind legs on the mounds beside their holes ready to disappear at the least sign of danger. Occasionally one would run from one hole to another a short distance away, usually diving out of sight, to reappear again in a few moments when satisfied that there was no immediate cause for alarm.

The Cowboy amused himself by listlessly throwing small stones at the little animals. After a few moments of this he turned to the Eastern man and said:

"Say, I am goin' to take a little stroll over yonder towards that luxurious mansion and get a drink from the well. Want to go along?"

"With pleasure," answered the Eastern man.

The two strolled slowly towards the house, which was decidedly in need of repair. The fence surrounding it was broken down in many places, weeds and grass filled the little yard in which there were still evidences of some past attempts at ornamentation in the way of flower-beds, and the whole place gave evidence of poverty and lack of care. On the porch was seated a girl apparently between twelve and fourteen years of age. She was hugging an immense shaggy dog and crying as if her heart would break.