Randy: A Story V–VII

RANDY. BY ELVIN J. NORTON, SUPERINTENDENT Y. M. M. I. A., POCATELLO STAKE. V. Christmas morning came, cold and clear. Warm greetings were exchanged by Mrs. Palmer, Rachel, and Henry. Although circumstances prevented their suprising one another with expensive gifts, it was found that Santa Claus had not forgotten any of them. Some useful article—a necktie, a ribbon, a pair of scissors —was found by each where least expected, but in a conspicuous place. All agreed that Randy would probably not hurry home, and they sat down to breakfast without him. As they were ab- sorbed in their meal and conversation, they did not notice a sleigh stop in front of the house, and were made aware that someone had approached only by a vigorous stamping on the back door step. "Here's Randy, after all!" cried Rachel, hastening to open the door. It was not Randy, however, but the constable who faced her. "Good morning," said the visitor politely. "Is the boys home?" "Henry is here," answered Rachel. "Won't you come in, Mr. Anderson?" "No, thanks " said he. "I'd like to see Henry a minute out here." Henry walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving his mother and sister in no easy state of mind. After an attempt at a polite greeting, the constable said, "Well, I guess you know my business."

258 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "Yes," answered Henry, starting towards the gate, where Jack Billings was waiting in the sleigh; "but I must say I am sur- prised that Jack didn't sleep off his foolish notion." "Well, ye know, Henry, I'm only doin' my dooty—what I'm under oath to do, ye know," the constable said meekly in his own defense. ' '0, yes, of course, " and Henry bit his lip to keep from say- ing more. When he reached the gate he gave Jack a slight greet- ing, and plunged boldly into the subject at hand with, "Look here! If you men want to handle anyone for last night's affair, take me. I'm more to blame than Randy is." Jack put on a conciliatory air and answered, ' Til tell ye, Henry, I know Randy ain't pertic'ly to blame; 'n' I hate to touch 'im; but I'll tell ye, Henry, 'tain't Randy I'm after so much as 'tis that crowd o' little toughs that's kep up this kind o' work for so long; 'n' if I don't take one o' the crowd, not meanin' that Randy's partic'ly bad, ye know, of course, 'twouldn't do any good where we want it to —" and so on, with.roundaboutexplanations and ex- ceptions too complicated to follow. At last the constable, either fearing that Henry's arguments would prevail or desiring to end a useless dispute, interrupted Jack by saying, "Well, boys, I don't see's we're makin' any headway. I guess, Henry, the law'11 com- pel me to ask you where I kin find Randy." * I'm not trying to hide him from you, " said Henry, with some sharpness, "but I think you know as much about where he is as I do." "He hain't been home since the dance?" asked the officer. "No," answered Henry. "Well," continued Mr. .Anderson, "I guess likely he stopped all night with Dick, then." "I suppose he did," was Henry's frank reply. "Then a,ll we can do, I guess, is to go out to Rogers'," the constable added, turning to Jack. "If you're not in too big a hurry, I'll get my hat and ride out with you," Henry said. ' 'I wish you would, Henry. This thing's kind o' unpleasant an'—." Henry did not stay to hear the speech finished. He returned

RANDY. 259 to the house and in a few wordsconfirmed the women's fears, and told why he was putting on his hat and coat. "I'm glad you're going, Henry," said his mother, the tears gathering in her eyes. "Do all you can for Randy a-id hurry back; for we're anxious about him. 0, I'm sorry that he—I wish they wouldn't have him arrested. " Henry knew his mother had checked herself from completing a sentence that would have increa&ed his self-reproach. His con- science had not been at rest since he yielded to George's invita- tion to go out of the dance the evening before; and now, as trouble seemed to be gathering round his brother, he took upon himself the blame for all of it. Oa the way to the Rogers home he renewed his protests against molesting Randy, urging Jack to take himself instead. Jack tried to agree with Henry in all that was said, but insisted that the greater good would b? done to the community by following out the original plan. He^iry at last ceased his arguments, and remained silent until the sleigh stopped in front of Mr. Rogers' house. "Good morning, gentlemen! A merry Christmas to you. Get out; come in; perty cold this morning." This greeting was from Mr. Rogers, who was walking from the barn towards the house. "Good morning," "Good morning, Mr. Rogers," "Same to you," came from the men in the sleigh; but they did not comply with the kind invitation. "Get out and come in, I say," urged Mr. Rogers, coming up to the gate. Jack and the constable looked awkwardly at each other and then at Henry; who, though a third party in the case, decided that he should have to state the purpose of their visit. "No, thank you, Mr. Rogers, we won't come in," said Henry. "We wanted to see Randy a minute, and called around for that. We thought he'd be here, for he was with Dick last night." "Yes, Randy and Dick's always together when anything's goin' on," said the good-natured Mr. Rogers. "But I didn't know he stayed here last night. I guess he ain't up yet; Dick jest got out. You might as well come in.—There's Dick now. Say, Dick, these men want Randy." Dick turned at hearing his name, and asked, "Want who?" "Randy," answered his father.

260 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "I ain't seen Randy since he got on Nibs last night," said the boy. "Dick," and Mr. Anderson put on all the dignity of a power- ful officer, "I guess you know as much about this thing as anyone. Now we mean business. There's old Nibs now jist out of the barn door. ' ' **Yes, but when—" "I'll tell you, Dick," said Henry quietly, "we've talked the thing all over, and I'm not trying to keep Randy away from them. Tell them where to find him.", "What does all this mean?" asked Mr. Rogers, who had heard nothing of the trouble. "Is the constable after Randy?" "That's it, Mr. Rogers, " said the officer. "Well, now, it don't look to me like anything very bad when Henry's along helpin' find 'im. ' Come in an' we'll see about it."' And Mr. Rogers opened the gate. ' 'But I tell you I ain't seen nothing of him, " insisted Dick. "When he got on Nibs, I told him to come back if he wanted to; but if he didn't, I told him to put the reins over the saddle horn and turn the pony loose. When I got home I opened the outside gate an' the barn door to let the pony in; an' when I went out this morning, there stood Nibs with the reins tied to the saddle jest as Randy had fixed 'em. Let 'em come in if they want to; but there's no Randy Palmer here. ' ' VI. No attempt is made to describe the sorrow in the Palmer home when it was found that Randy had evidenty run away. As is usual in such cases, all kinds of conjectures were made as to the cause. Some said that Mrs. Palmer v;as too lenient with her boys; others, that she was too exacting; some contended that Randy was justified in going; others, that he was not. There were a few, however, who neither censured nor approved, but simply gave consolation by words of comfort and hope spoken tO' the grief-stricken mother and her two remaining children. Henry was deeply grieved. Thinking over the whole matter, lie found reason after reason for putting all the blame on himself.

RANDY. 261 This peculiar condition prevented him from giving much actual comfort to his mother and sister; for he connected his own course very closely with every act of Randy's, and he had not yet ac- quired sufficient moral strength to open his whole soul to his mother. This was not because he wanted to appear as justifying his own course; but rather because he thought an acknowledg- ment of error should be accompanied by a promise to do better; and he doubted his ability to keep such a promise. Could all three have talked together with perfect freedom, they would have contributed greatly to one another's comfort. As it was, when they were together, each had to guard against men- tioning what lay nearest all of their hearts; and if a chance word brought them face to face with the subject, tears would fill the eyes of mother and sister, and Henry would withdraw, leaving the others to weep together while he passed a painful hour alone. Week after week went by without word from Randy. The layer of snow gradually thickened through January and February, and at last began to yield under the warm rains and sunshine of spring. Still sadness reigned in the Palmer home. The tender green of springtime shot forth on every hand, birds returned with their merry songs, buds appeared and opened into beautiful flowers; but all these seemed only to increase the gloom in that home, by coming in so striking contrast with sorrow. Finally, weighed down almost to despair, but^still with a weakness which he himself could not account for, Henry gave way again to his strongest temptation, and took from his mother and sister—and even himself—the one support which had kept a great load of sor- row from crushing their very last hopes. Then followed days and nights of'anguish. Mrs. Palmer, who,, after the death' cf her husband, ^had found comfort in the fact that her children were still spared her, now reaped only bit- ter tears from the conduct of her sons. Henry seemed helpless as a child. His conscience told him he did wrong; but he would seek to forget his sorrow by following the very course that had brought it about. fAt times, ^indeed, he would make an effort to reform, and for a week or 'more would succeed; but his lack of faith in his own power kept him from the benefit of that increased strength which an open]avowal of his purpose to a]sympathetic

262 IMPROVEMENT ERA. mother and sister would have given him; and so he would smother again and again in blackest darkness the faint ray of hope which a struggle to improve had sent into their hearts. Yet there was one comfort of which the poor mother was not deprived: her daughter shared with her the great burden and gave her strength to bear up under it. Rachel could not help be- lieving that sometime the clouds would rise. This simple, unaf- fected faith alleviated her mother's suffering as well as her own. Though each repeated indulgence of her brother's would almost chill her heart to inaction, the measure of despair was always more than equaled! by a sister's love, which, she believed, must in the end prove stronger than the power of sin and turn Henry from his unn-itural course. As summer and autumn went by, and signs of winter re- minded the Westside people of the advance of the season, they began to talk again of Christmas. The return of this sacred day promised no joy to the Palmers. Henry was more reticent than ever, and was less and less at home. Rachel battled against her own feelings in order to comfort her mother. Everything about the home seemed to remind them of the Christmas before; and every day, in their thoughts, they were compelled to live over the whole sad year. Nature herself was evidently following the course pursued twelve months ago; there was another snowstorm a week before Christmas, followed by the same clear, cold nights. Then another Christmas Eve dance was announced, and the boys once more agreed to clean'and arrange the schoolhouse. On every hand was the recurrence of the very action and conditions which told louder than words of one great difference—Randy Palmer was not present to take his accustomed place in the familiar scenes. Only a few days before Christmas, Mrs. Palmer sat at her work trying to banish the thoughts of a year ago; but in spite of her efforts the tears streamed from her eyes, and at last she buried her face in her hands and wept. Rachel walked up to her, but could think of no comforting words to offer. Then she knelt down and, with her face buried in her mother's lap, gave vent to her own grief in unrestrained tears. For a moment no words were spoken, mother and daughter weeping together. When the natural relief had come after this outburst of feeling, Mrs. Pal-

RANDY. 268 mer said: "A year ago I had trouble, —but how much worse I feel now." Rachel hesitated before attempting to answer, and her mother continued, "I was just thinking how much everything outside looks as it did a year ago. There is only one change I can see from this window—that's the new saloon Miles has built down by the station. I couldn't help thinking how that one difference made me sad; and then, of course, I thought of one or two other differences, and broke right down." "How much better I always feel after a good cry," said the daughter cheerfully, as she rose and resumed her work. "The gloomy clouds seem to spend their strength by giving up a shower of tears. Anyhow, things seem more hopeful than they did." And from this position on middle ground, she led the conversation a step farther to a different subject. Her cheerfulness revived the blighted hope in Mrs. Palmer's heart, and for a time both found joy in spite of their sorrow. As the conversation was gradually dying away, each was suddenly roused from her thoughts by a light rap at the door. Rachel answered the knock, and saw Dick Rogers standing on the step with a riding whip in his hand. "Why, Dick Rogers!" she exclaimed, "how are you? I haven't seen you for a long while. I thought you were at Maple Creek. " She had grasped his hand and drawn him into the room. Before he had a chance to speak, Mrs. Palmer took his hand and said: "Well, Dick! Come home for Christmas, have you? How glad we are you called on us! Take this chair by the stove; you look cold." Dick did not notice the offered chair, but said, as free from excitement as possible, "I wanted to see Henry. Is he home?" "No, he isn't," answered Rachel. "I—" "I wonder where I could find him," continued Dick. "He started toward the store when he left here, " said Rachel, "but it is time for him to come and do his chores. Won't you wait till he comes?" "No, thank you," returned Dick, partly hiding his uneasi- ness. "I'll come in after I see Henry." And he hastened away before anything else could be said. Mrs. Palmer and Rachel

264 IMPROVEMENT ERA. gazed in wonder after him, both feeling that he had important news for themselves as well as for Henry, and both certain that the one he sought would not be found at the store. "I'm afraid that you sent him in the wrong direction, Rachel," said the mother, with a deep sigh. "What can he want of Henry? I am sure something is wrong." Rachel could not conceal her own anxiety and remained silent. After a moment's pause her mother continued, "I think you'd better go down the other way, Rachel, and see if you can find Henry, I am alarmed." "I am anxious about it, too, mother," said Rachel, trying, however, to hide the real depth of her fear; "but don't feel too much worried, mother. Dick said he' d come back, and we shall soon know what it all means. I'll try to find Henry. " It was only a short distance from the Palmer home to the railway station, near which had recently been built the "Miles Saloon," the building Mrs. Palmer referred to while sitting at the window a few minutes before. Rachel was soon on her way to- wards the station. Dick in the meanwhile had reached the store and had evidently learned where Henry was more likely tobe; for now he, too, was coming towards the station, urging Nibs at full speed, and watching the smoke of an approaching locomotive. Rachel saw him coming, and when he drew near her she raised her hand to stop him. He reined Nibs down to a speed corresponding to hers, and she lost no time in saying, "Is something wrong, Dick? You must tell me what's the matter!" Dicl<"'s face had the expression of painful despair, but he an- swered quickly, still watching the train, "Randy's awful sick, and they've sent for Henry or someone. There's the train, an' I'm afraid it won't stop, for it's puffin' yet!" Rachel, though fully expecting bad news, felt a deadening chill pass through her entire being when she learned the truth. Just then a shrill whistle sounded through the cold air, and she saw dimly in the twilight the coming train, throwing a broad gleam before it. In another instant all round her seemed confusion. She saw black darkness cut by numberless shafts of glaring light shooting forth from the direction of the coming train, whose rum- ble her distracted senses magnified into, terrible, continuous thun-

RANDY. 265 der. But her consciousness did not entirely leave her. In spite of the conf ision, she realized that now of all times she must be herself. With a great effort she rallied, -to find herself staggering on with uncertain steps, and Dick watching her with increased anguish. She met his eye with an intense though firm glance, and said hurriedly, "Go, flag the train, Dick! I'll find Henry!" Dick shot ahead, and Rachel followed at a speed which only her excited condition could sustain. She watched Dick eagerly. She saw him leap from his horse to the middle of the track and swing his hat as a signal. Then she was immeasurably relieved by hearing two sharp blasts from the whistle as a promise that the train would stop. But she knew there was still no time to lose, as the! train would stay only for a moment. She ran on, compar- ing the distance before her with that between the station and the train. She was now a hundred yards from the station and stopped in front of the saloon. She paused an instant to see Dick step from between the rails as the train with decreasing speed came near him. Then with a determined face and a step firmer than her great exertion would seem to allow, she opened the door and rushed into the saloon. Inside were about a dozen men, old and young. Those near the door turned towards Rachel in great astonishment: but their sur- prise at seeing a woman in such a place perhaps prevented any dem- onstration that would attract the attention of the others, who were absorbed in games at the back of the room. But Rachel did not notice the wondering faces, except to look for the familiar features of her brother. For a moment she could hardly recognize the men. The polished wood and marble bar, colored glass bowls and jars, bottles arranged fantastically to catch the eye, large mirrors reflecting the bright lights, warm air heavy with fumes of tobacco smoke and liquor, the clicking of billiard balls, the jingling of money, the shouts and careless laughter of men, —all had such an effect upon her that she wondered if her consciousness was again giving way. But she drove the thought from her and hastened past the bar to the gaming tables. Then she began to recognize faces. Her eyes glanced quickly from one to another until at last she saw Henry sitting at a card table in the corner farthest from her. He was deeply intent on the game and did not see her. On

.266 IMPROVEMENT ERA. his face was the foolish expression of a man trying in vain to keep up a shrewdness equal to the requirements of the game, while in- toxication was getting the mastery over him. But Rachel did not notice this. She was at his side in an instant and had grasped his arm. "Oh, Henry!" she cried, "Randy is dying! You must go to him at once! The train is here!" Henry staggered to his feet and tried to lead, though he ac- tually followed, his sister towards the door. The noise in the room had suddenly ceased, and all were listening breathlessly. "Why, Ray! You here?" Henry said in bewilderment. "What is it?—Randy?—Dying?" "Henry," she said, with remarkable clearness, "Randy is very sick. Dick Rogers has stopped the train and will tell you where to go." Still he did not fully comprehend. Rachel was almost desper- ate. Suddenly she heard the subdued sound of the locomotive bell. "OhjHenry!" she exclaimed. "The train has started! If you won't go, I must!" And breaking away from him, she rushed wildly from the room. Henry ran through the door an instant later, but did not catch her until she was half way to the railroad. She glanced at him and at the rapidly moving train^ then she uttered a despairing cry, and fell fainting into the arms of her drunken brother. vn. Westside lies on the eastern foothills of a tributary range of the Rocky Mountains. During only a few years preceding the in- cidents mentioned in this narrative, the little village- had been brought into close commercial relations with the world by the rail- road and the telephone. Henry Palmer was large enough to do a man's work when a branch line or ' 'spur" was built along the little valley and joined to the trans-continental railroad fifty miles southward. In the winter time only one regular daily train was run over this branch line—a "mixed" train, for both freight and passenger traffic. Over the mountains to the west, reached by a roundabout way of more than a hundred miles, was a tract of land unbroken by

RANDY. 267 streams or larp^e mountains, and covering thousands of square miles. As there was no water running through this region, it could not be utilized for agriculture, and for the same reason cat- tle herds were obliged to avoid it during the dry part of the year. This region is called a "winter range," because usually the fall of snow is light and does not cover the grass and shrubbery, but while it lasts takes the place of drinking water for grazing ani- mals. Sheep herds are especially frequent here in the winter, because sheep can live fairly well on the dry vegetation of arid land. At one of the "sheep camps" on this "winter range," a few days before the events just narrated, were a man and a boy in charge of a herd of sheep. The man was the "herder, " whose duty it was to guide the sheep in the way of the best grazing, to keep them from mixing with neighboring herds, and to guard them against attacks from coyotes and other wild animals. ^ In much of this, it should be said, he was merely the director, for great assist- ance was given him by his faithful dogs. The boy was the * 'camp mover." He was expected to take care of the horses; to keep the wagon within convenient distance of the sheep; to supply the camp with water by melting snow, or in summer, when they were nearer water, by fetching it with a "pack horse;" to gather the necessary fuel, and to do the cooking and other work at the camp. As night drew near the herder gradually drove the sheep to- wards the wagon. The animals moved freely: for, guided by the natural instinct of self-protection, they gathered together before dark a short distance from the camp, where they lay down in hud- dled contentment to rest and keep warm till morning. After seeing the flock safely "bedded," the man was glad to seek his own rest, under the triple canvas cover of the sheep wagon. "I tell you, Frank, that supper smells good," he said, as he closed the door behind him; "but I must have these wet brogues of mine oflf before I kin eat." "Take all the time ye want. Mack, and then help yerself when ye're ready," said the boy, dropping on the bed in the back of the wagon. "I don't move from this bunk agam tonight." "Don't ye feel no better tonight, Frank?" asked the other

268 IMPROVEMENT ERA. sympathetically. "I think I'll haf to see what I kin find to dose ye up with. I'll try to give ye a good sweat, an' then ye'll be all right. But ye mus'n't go out tomorrow. The feed's perty fair' here, an' we wun't need to move. I kin cook my own grub for one day." ''There ain't much left to cook," returned the boy. "We'll be out o' grub an' snowed in too, if the boss don't send some stuff perty soon." "Oh, well, we've got plenty o' mutton, Frank, " said Mack. ' 'But then I think a load o' stuff '11 be here soon. Anyhow, I'll eat hearty tonight, I tell ye." The conversation ceased by common consent. Mack was hungry and desired to satisfy his appetite with the warm supper, and the boy, by reason of his illness, was not disposed to talk. After finishing his meal. Mack turned towards the bed. He no- ticed the boy was in a troubled sleep, and decided not to wake him to give him the promised "dose," but rather to go to bed himself at once, for the sheep allowed him little enough time to rest. Mack lay on his bed for an hour, but he could not sleep. Though little accustomed to wait on the sick, he understood the boy's increasing restlessness as a sign that a fever was develop- ing. He rose, lighted the lamp, revived the fire in the little stove, and sat down to wonder what to do. The flushed face gave him some uneasiness. Occasionally the boy uttered inar- ticulate words, among which Mack caught "Dick, " and "Ray" and "mother." Mack opened a little box containing his meagre supply of medicines, but could find nothing that might prove effective in this case except a few quinine tablets and a bottle of brandy. After measuring out appropriate doses of these, he roused the boy in order to administer them. Upon waking, the boy showed no indi- cations of not possessing his full faculties. Mack did not know, however, how soon these faculties would yield under the influence of the fever, and at once renewed an attack at a point he had often assailed before. "I don't think ye're in any danger, Frank; but yer mother could do more for ye than I kin. Ye'd better strike out fer home when the team comes up. I'll bet yer mother'd like to see ye."

RANDY. 26J^ "No, Mack," the boy answered; "I'll not go home yet. I'm not goin' to stay away all the time. One of these days I'll draw all my wages an' go; but I don't want to go home sick. I'll soon be over this little spell." "Well, I'll do all I kin fer ye, Frank, an' I don't think but what ye'U come around all right," continued the good natured herder. "It didn't take ye long to git over it the other time. — But I think jest the same ye ought to go home. Ye must 'a' been away fm home a year now. It's time to give yer folks a call, sick or well." "I've been thinking myself of going home fer Christmas, " said the boy; "but it's a long ways, an' I think I'd better stay the winter out. The boss 'as raised my wages, an' I ought to make quite a bit this winter; an' there's nothing to do at home. But give me the dose, if that's what you've got there. Let me take it an' be done with it." Mack administered his simple remedies and then sat down on the bed to watch over his patient. He was rather uneasy to see the boy re'=iume a restless sleep, but beyond this natural result of a slight fever, he saw no alarming symptoms during the night. Early the next morning he prepared himself a little breakfast, be- cause he knew the sheep would begin to move at daybreak. Then, as the tinkling of the bells told him that his flock was already going, he roused the boy and charged him, much against the lad's will, to remain in bed during the day. Agreeably to his promise of the night before. Mack kept the sheep near the wagon, and at every opportunity returned and rend- ered the boy what help he could. About noon his anxiety was greatly relieved by the arrival of a load of provisions. Mack and the young man who brought the load held a consultation as to what should be done with the boy. They agreed that the lad might be seriously sick, and ought to have better care than was possible in a sheep wagon; and that the "boss," whose home was in another state, was too far away to communicate with before action was taken. They decided, therefore, to move the boy at once, and re- port their action to the "foreman," who had local charge of several herds of sheep that belonged to the man for whom they worked. Since Mack's home was only about twenty miles away, and the

270 IMPROVEMENT ERA. other young man had no home, it was also decided that Mack's mother should be asked to take care of the boy for the present. Accordingly, Mack Burke and his ''camp mover" drove away early in the afternoon. Little was said by either as they traveled. Mack drove the team, carefully avoiding all unnecessary jolting; and the boy lay as comfortably as possible in a bed of sheep-skins and blankets. It was dark when they reached Mack's home— a house of two small rooms, whose furnishings could claim no higher purpose than answering strict necessities; yet a place which had never, during the memory of Mack, suffered from cold or hunger. No urging was necessary to induce the good Mrs. Burke to nurse the boy. She made him a comfortable bed, and administered simple remedies to him in a way that cmly a mother can. Under the in- fluence of her consoling words and kind actions, the lad soon fell asleep. In spite of comfort and kindness, the boy was no better the next morning. Mrs. Burke had such cause for alarm that she told her son to bring back a doctor with him when he went to town to see the foreman. At daybreak Mack set out for Pine Fort, a little railway station on the ''main line," about eight miles from the Burke home. Having arrived at the town, he made his report to the foreman, who approved his course and sent help to the man at the camp. Free now to devote himself to his sick friend. Mack lost no time in finding the doctor and returning home. The physician pronounced the sickness pneumonia. He ex- pressed satisfaction with the conditions surrounding the boy, and gave a few hints and directions, which he knew Mrs. Burke's quick perception and ready hand would follow. He was much interested in what Mack knew of the boy's history, and of course recom- mended that word be sent to the parents, if anything could be learned of them. In fact, he tried himself to learn the mystery but the boy persisted in holding the secret, saying that he would go home in the spring and stay there. Seeing that the boy was perfectly contented, and knowing how well he would be cared for by the good woman, the doctor decided not to disturb his peace of mind by urging the matter. He charged Mrs. Burke, however, to watch him closely, and, if she could do so without worrying him, to learn the whereabouts of his parents.

RANDY. 271 Later in the afternoon Mack drove the doctor back to Pine Fort. His willing horses drew the light sleigh rapidly over the snow, and in two hours he wrs again at the boy's bedside repeat- ing the doctor's directions for administering the medicines he had brought back with him. All that night and the next day he watched anxiously vith his father and mother for the desired change. But another evening brought an increased fever. "Don't ye think I'd better go fer the doctor ag'in, mother?" Mack asked, noting the short breath and flushed face of the boy. "No, I don't hardly think so, Mack," she answered, after a p3use. "I don't think he's any worse 'n 'e was when you was away las' night. Fever's nearly always higher in the evening, you know." "Well, maybe we kin tell better in the mornin' how he is," saii Mack, "but a person always seems awful sick to me when he gits to groanin' an' talkin' that way." "It's natural with most people in a fever," returned the mother, assuringly. "But now you must git a little rest. I'll call ye when I git ready to lay down. I think I'd better watch him while the fever's up. He'll be better towards mornin', an then you can stay with him." As Mack had had very little sleep during the last three nights, he lay down and slept for a few hours. Shortly after midnight he rose to take his place at the bedside that his mother might have some rest. There were no signs yet of the expected change. Hour after hour passed, and still the boy was hot with fever. Mrs. Burke and Mack anxiously watched until six in the morning, when it was decided that the doctor should be brought again. When Mack reached Pine Fort he learned that the doctor had gone to a small town a few miles west, but was expected to return on the morning train about ten o'clock. Arranging, therefore, for a sleigh to bring the doctor as soon as possible. Mack hurried back home. His anxiety was much relieved to find the boy no worse. Shortly after noon the doctor arrived. He at once pronounced the situation dangerous. The boy was exceedingly restless, and continued his mutterings. The doctor administered a preparation to check the fever, and then sat a few moments in deep thought. * 'Has he said anything yet to throw light on who he is?" he asked.

272 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "No," answered Mrs. Burke, "an' somebody's heard every word he's said." "I hoped he would let a word fall during his spells of delirium,'' said the doctor. "All the names he's said is them same ones," continued Mrs. Burke; "jest 'mother' an' 'Ray' an' 'Dick.'" The last word seemed to have been caught by the troubled senses of the sleeping boy; for he turned his head nervously and repeated the word, "Dick!" Acting instantly on a quick impulse, the doctor bent over the boy and asked, softly but distinctly, "Dick Jones?" "Dick Rogers!" came back quickly from the parched lips. Mrs. Burke and the doctor looked at each other for a moment. "I wonder if Rogers is his name, " said the woman. "It may be," returned the doctor, thoughtfully. "Anyhow, you may be sure Dick Rogers is nearer right than Frank Smith." "I wonder if you couldn't git him to say the names of the others," suggested Mrs. Burke. "I was just thinking of that," answered the doctor, "but it is hardly probable. It is only by rare accident that things around him would affect his senses. Besides, you can see how that little effort has disturbed him, and it would be a dangerous experiment to tire him. " Just then Mack and his father came in from the barn, and listened eagerly to an account of what had happened. "They used to be a fam'ly of Rogerses way up on Maple Creek," said Mr. Burke after a pause; "but that's eighty or ninety mile f'm here, an' I don't know of any one o' that name nearer by."^ "It may be a clue just the same," said the doctor. "Do you know whether there is a telephone or telegraph line near that place?" "Yes, they's a telephone runs through Maple Creek," said Mack, who was better acquainted than his father with recent changes in the country. "I think, then," continued the doctor, "that you had better go to Pine Fort and see if you can find the boy's family." The wisdom of telephoning to Maple Creek flashed upon the minds of Mack and his parents even before the doctor made the suggestion; and Mack prepared at once to leave.

RANDY. 279 "I'll have a bite ready for ye by the time ye're hitched up," said Mrs. Burke. "Yes," added the doctor, looking at his watch; "you had bet- ter eat. Of course we don't want to lose any time; but if you find the people, they cannot come in until evening." Mack went out to get his team ready. The doctor bent over the bed a moment, and turned again to Mrs. Burke. ' 'Are there no papers or articles about his clothing that would help to identify him?" he asked. "I've looked an' can't find nothin'," answered Mrs. Burke; "but may be you could. They ain't nothin' here in the shape of outside clo'es but coat an' overalls. Here they be." And she took from a nail on the wall the articles she had just nameJ. The doctor searched the pockets. He found a pocket knife, a money purse containing a few coins and fish hooks, a short lead pencil, two or three buckles, some matches, and a few other such articles; but apparently nothing of significance in the problem he was trying to solve. Noticing that the inside coat-pocket was partly torn out, he passed his hand between the lining and outer cloth. After feeling round a moment, he drew out a small hand- kerchief, folded with evident care and fastened with a pin. Mr. and Mr. Burke were watching him with eager expectation. So completely absorbed were all three that Mack, who entered at the moment, fairly startled them. Laying the handkerchief on the table and carefully drawing out the pin, the doctor proceeded to undo the little packet. When he opened the last fold, they saw, ground almost to powder, the faded green remnants of leaves, with two or three broken stems; and only by the evidence of a withered red berry was the doctor able to say they had been a sprig of holly. With these shattered bits, and evidently as care- fully preserved as they, was a scrap of paper, wrinkled and later pressed smooth. The doctor turned the paper over; wher, with mingled surprise and disappointment, his eyes caught the words: "Randy: Dont— Go home to — Ray." Pocatello, Idaho. (concluded in next number.)