Voice of the Intangible VII

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free of censorship, which has been more severe since the Crimean war than for a long time previously. Spain. — In 1812 the constitution abolished censorship and gave freedom to the press, subject to such restrictions of the law that even yet few booksellers are permitted. — Sweden. Liberty of the press granted by constitutional provision in 1812. Switzerland. — Liberty of the press in 1848, with restrictive legislation for offenses against the public welfare.

Censorship Not Tolerable—-In those countries where liberty of the press prevails, neither author or publisher, nor the people generally, will tolerate censorship of the press, because such censorship would be an invasion of the freedom of thought and expression so necessary to the welfare of a free people. In such countries, occasional efforts at censorship have been made by overbearing officials ; but all reputable publishers affected have resisted the intrusion. Often there are facts within the knowledge of newspapers that should not be published, because the injury from publicity clearly outweighs the good in particular instances. In such case, decent and influential newspapers omit the injurious feature upon its being pointed out, or upon request for its suppression. Every attempt at official censorship by officers either writing or supervising and examining articles intended for publication is therefore an unnecessary violation of the liberty of the press, and the publisher who submits to it displays an inferior conception of his right and duty. An obligation which attends the enjoyment of liberty of the press is that the author and publisher do their work in a clean, decent and honorable way, with beneficial aims for the community whose interests are involved.

Abuse of Liberty. — That the liberty of the press often is

abused by vicious and unprincipled writers and publishers is painfully apparent everywhere, and is as deeply regretted by reputable members of the press as by anyone else. Indeed, from present conditions in the United States, the press here owes to itself and the nation the duty of more co-operation and less fault-finding, more constructive advice and less destructive criticism, than seems now to be the generally prevailing policy. In the line of abuses complained of, many persons are berated, maligned and misrep- resented because it is "in the game"-—that is, because they differ

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in opinion with those who assail them but high-minded publishers ;

do not stoop to this method of assault, severe though they find it necessary to be at times; they prefer to discuss differences of opinion on principle, and to avoid false accusation or aspersion. Vituperation involves false accusation and undeserved denunciation,intended to inflict unjustifiable injury; hence the legal and moral truism, "Where vituperation begins the liberty of the press ends," and beyond is abuse of liberty. But all abuses are not on the part of authors and publishers. frequently occurs that It

persons who cannot direct a newspaper into their way of thinking charge its publishers with venality merely because it differs with them in opinion and method. In such case, the accusers abuse the liberty of the press,and in the counter-attack the newspaper is a defender of that liberty which belongs to the press therefore, the ;

legal and moral truism, "Where vituperation begins, the liberty of the individual ends," and beyond is an infringement of the liberty of the press. The publication or utterance of the truth with good motive, and of comment which does not infringe the right of character, mark the limit of reasonable liberty in the press and in

the individual.

Effect of Liberty of the Press. —The history of the growth of liberty of the press to its present reasonable status in the foremost civilized nations is permanently interwoven with the progress of the people toward that desirable human freedom assured by the principles of Divine truth. A direct effect of the enjoyment of liberty of the press has been to educate the people into a more thorough comprehension than previously existed of that higher and better standard of upholding the right, in their ordinary relationships with each other, which is so desirable in the brotherhood of man. has brought the people to a keener sense of responsi- It

bility, and a stronger resolution to bear nobly that responsibility,

in their part in God's great universe, than otherwise would have been possible. As a human agency in the developing progress of earth and its inhabitants, the liberty of the press has been, and is. of supreme importance. (the end)

Voice of the Intangible

BY ALBERT R. LYMAN

Chapter VII— On Day-Herd

The J. B. Outfit employed a variety of men. They always had some erratic fellow to take the part of king's-fool, worry the boss to death, or otherwise keep the camp in a ferment. This element was so sure to be there, that Ben learned to look for it as a curiosity worthy of notice. He was, therefore, not at all surprised one spring when the two outfits "throwed in together" at Fish Creek, to find among the J. B. hands a rider called Montana, to whom no one dared to say very much, and at whom no one ventured to laugh, unless the laugh were mutually agreeable. This Montana towered six feet two inches in the air he had ;

broad shoulders, the activity of a cat, and a silver-mounted, fortyfour calibre six-shooter on his hip all the time. Mightier still

among the elements which made his presence dreadful, was a cool, gray eye, a steady nerve, and a temper which needed only to sizzle slightly, to convince men it contained glycerine and dynamite. Young Rojer recognized him at once as the particular thing for which he was looking, and just kept on looking with eyes and mouth wide open. With one gulping stare he took in the handsome face, the prominent nose, the yellow mustache, and the shapeful, graceful form, erect in the saddle. He saw the fine Cubine boots, the beautiful spurs, the glittering buttons, on chaps and bridle ; he surveyed the magnificent brown horse from head to heels. If Montana spoke a word, Ben knew it, though he may have seen nothing else around that bawling herd. While young Rojer gaped with fine concentration and unrefined manners, a narrow-hipped, heavy-horned Texan bull worried the outfit into a rage by trying to force a passage through the corral fence. Several of the boys drove him away, and brought their heavy raw-hide hondas fiercely down on his supple back, but

THE EASTERN BREAKS OF THE CEDAR RIDGE, IN THE WILDS OF COMB WASH, SAN JUAN COUNTY, UTAH

each time he returned, bellowing and pawing the dust till his spreading horns encountered the cottonwood pannels. Ben saw all this performance only from the corner of his eye, and in such a way as to recall it when Montana whirled his brown horse in that direction with the remark: "I reckon I'll make 'im sick of thisyere J. B. outfit." The brown horse and the bull went hip and hip up the flat on the keen jump, and a soggy fold of lariat swung kerthump around the bulging paunch every time they struck the ground. When this familiarity had almost bred contempt in the bovine mind, the handsome cow-puncher, in less time than it takes to tell it, sprang up from the saddle, and came down astride of the

bull. He alighted just in front of the narrow hips, and settled his long spurs in the animal's flanks to hold his position. Surprised and indignant at this unwarranted liberty, the heavy-breasted, thin-flanked ruminant ran even faster, and the brown horse slowed knowingly down to a stand-still. Montana waved his hands in the air, and with his heavy hat spanked the horned charger's ribs, all the time singing, "Hi ya ya, hi ya ya," with the energy of a fanatical Pahute in a war-dance. The bull described a half-circle, cut a dusty bee-line back to the corral, and flew around it three times like a chariot race, bellowing his white-hot rage, and making a terrible scattering of

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men and horses. Montana drove his heavy rowels against the knotted shoulder, and sent the hair floating away from a path to the flank. He yelled, "Wooh Whoopee Hi yo !" like a medicine- ! !

man receiving extra pay, while the bull's eyes grew beady, and his tail writhed like a snake in a fight. The mad charger made for the hills in desperation, but a hundred yards up the flat, he began to plunge and whirl, and reach with his horns for the man glued to his reeking back. Suddenly, like scat, Montana was on the ground a-hold of the broom-like tail. The nose sniffed keenly after him, and the tail pulled him out of its way. They circled and swung and cut a dashing pigeon wing to the right and the left in the alkali dust of the flat, while the J. B. outfit sat in convulsions on the fence, or fell backward into the corral. Montana had not lost his head nor his breath, in all this

fandango, but knowing the first measure was over, and knowing, too, that his partner was a beginner without knowledge of when to quit, he twisted that broom-like tail till the bull simply shrieked with agony, bolted up the flat, over the hill and out of sight. As the Southerner, for he seemed to be from the south, rode his brown-back to the corral, he nodded towards the vanishing dust on the hill and remarked, "I reckon he don't love me no more." Next day, as the outfit drove down the Comb Wash, they found that identical bull standing forlornly alone under a cottonwood tree. His flanks were swollen, and he wore an outraged expression as the fellows came in sight, and after watching them studiously and contemptuously a short half minute, he threw up his head and broke into a trot for the herd. The Southerner and his brown happened to be on that side, and Foreman Dick, probably to see some fun, called out, "Don't let 'im in." Montana sprang his horse in the bull's way, and the trot slowed down a trifle, but the horned head rose higher, and the ears stood out stiffly trembling.The big man waited till the charge upon him was fully begun, when by a quick start, he led out to where a high bank hemmed them both off from the herd. This little stratagem, however, had taken no account of a deep wash, up to the edge of which the brown horse came with the bovine sniffing four steps behind. All hands expected the

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silver-moimte'd six-shooter to flash from its scabbard. A tenderfoot would have smoked up the situation in good shape, but the Southerner and his brown were no spring chickens. When they saw the wash yawning before them, the reins tightened, and the glittering spurs came into play behind the back cinch. The horse understood in a second. Before that Texas bull realized the gravity of the situation, he had run into a battering ram of hoofs shod with steel, and one of his horns had gone spinning back over the scrub-greasewood. He took his other horn and went, doubly disgusted, to the hills and the handsome cow- ;

puncher mused to himself, "Huh he didn't seem to have no !

respect for my feelin's at all." This blonde horseman cared nothing for praise or compliments, and no one made bold to offer them. He apparently courted adventure, as a relief from the stiff dignity and reserve that held him coldly aloof from every man in the outfit; and the adventure once found, he embraced it with utter abandon. He seemed to recognize danger by defying its possibilities, for when the herd reached Rincone, and a calf fell into the boiling spring current of the San Juan, he spoke, as if to no one, "I reckon me an' ol' Deut kin navigate these yere waters," and spurred his brown horse over the bank into the rapids. The way he came out with the calf in safety, and utterly regardless of the ducking or the danger, was more of a mystery than the fracas with the Texas bull. The outfit looked on in

silence, and Josh Widder looked on in green-eyed silence. was decided to herd the bunch ten days on the sand-hills It

at Rincone, and Montana and Ben and the dog fell heirs to the task. They would camp there alone during that time. Before the outfit left, Fred Rojer called his son off to one side. "I notice you're quite taken up with that fellow," he began, "but you better be mighty careful how you drink into his ways he ;

came here on the run, and he may leave the same way. I don't like the idea of leaving you here with him so long, and it's only because I have confidence in your knowledge of right and wrong, and your courage to resist evil, that I do it at all. Now remember, son, this is the first time I've left you in such company— don't do anything to disappoint me." Braced up with his father's confidence, and firmly resolved

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to honor it as a sacred trust, young Rojer rode away to the grazing herd and the company of the handsome, dignified cowpuncher. They said little the first day. They stayed one on each side of the herd, and the boy talked to his dog as if they two were alone. At night by the fire the barrier melted somewhat. "I reckon your pap's mighty anxious to train you up about right," ventured the Southerner, settling his gray eyes on the boy, "I sort-o like yer pap. I believe he's a good man." Young Rojer made short, modest answers, but the tall blonde seemed eager to strike up an acquaintance. He certainly had spoken with no such ease to the J. B. outfit as he now spoke to Ben. In fact, he stared with those strange, gray eyes, and cast off his stiff mantle of dignity to ask plain, boyish questions, which made young Rojer feel like a small colt opening and shutting his mouth under the nosing caress of an old saddle-horse. The Southerner appeared to refresh himself on Ben's innocence and ignorance ; to gaze into the simple, guileless depths of the boyish heart, as if hungering for some element of peace it contained. He forgot his stern bearing and the rigid concern it must have imposed, just as a man forgets the heat of the sand-hills, when he sprawls in the shade of a cottonwood. At all events, he thawed out considerably as he looked across that camp-fire at the browneyed boy. "I reckon you've never been out of San Juan county?" he queried. "Not very far," Ben answered. "And you've growed up away out yere, and follered yer pap over these yere wild hills ; I reckon ye never drink whiskey er play cards?" "I've never been in a saloon." "That's what I thot," and the gray eyes stared at the fire. The two rested more often on one side of the herd after that, and Montana became so very free that Ben caught the contagion and told some things he wished he might recall. "Yes, kid," the Southerner went on, "I was sort o' attracted to ye when I first saw ye up to Fish Creek." In the same vein, later in the day, he added: "Kid, I don't tell many men what I think, but I will tell you this, an' I know yer pap won't object to it, nuther : Don't, never kill a man —don't think of it."

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Rather strange advice to give a bo> — at least Ben thought so, but the words had a genuine ring of authority, and he lumped them carelessly in with other strange habits of this strange man. From the first evening when the two sat down as strangers by the fire, young Rojer fancied those gray eyes were not the same in the fire-light as in the sunlight. After the third day, when supper was over, and a still, dark night had settled on their cam]), when the herd had lain down in its box-canyon corral, and the silent whispers of the Intangible floated in from all around, the Southerner stared mutely at the yellow coals.With the fixed and glassy gaze of a spirit, he stared on, and on, till Ben decided to signal the dog and sneak quietly away among the trees. "I'm mighty glad they left ye here, kid," the big man broke forth, barely in time to keep the boy in his place. "I wouldn't be yere alone fer the whole blamed herd." Still his gray eyes dwelt feverishly upon the fading flame.

Was it a joke? Could this brave man really have fear of the — peaceful night? No difference his face had lost every handsome line, and a wild, brutal spirit seemed to cringe and cower be-

hind it. "Then ye see, kid," he continued, after several flesh-creeping minutes, "I couldn't talk to them; they're impudent, but yer pap's trained you." Those eyes, still riveted to the dying embers, appeared in the dim, ghostly light to be starting from their very sockets. Afraid to run, young Rojer hugged old Bowse and trembled. "Yes, kid," and the unearthly element had surely found its way into Montana's voice this time, "I see things in the dark," he gasped, "the same bloody, powder-burnt face. Oh!" and two — terrible words half chilled the blood in Ben's veins. Before something worse might happen, young Rojer found his way, boots and all, to his blankets, and located the dear old wag-tail close against the pillow. Then from the covers he peeped timidly at the figure crouched over the smoldering fire. That figure crouched there like a petrified thing, till the last faint glimmer of light died out. Then, half falling backward, as from an impending blow, he threw both hands in the air "Tom :

West! — Oh!" he groaned in a perfect frenzy. If Ben had not been able to stroke the shaggy head, and hear

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the responsive thumping of the shaggy tail on the ground, at this moment, it is likely he would have gone headlong for the willows. When the Southerner went to bed, after a long, long time, and lay there muttering to himself, the sleepless brown eyes still — watched watched through the quiet midnight, watched till the gray dawn. There was no more sweet voice of the Intangible that night. The darkness smacked of terror, and that black roll of bedding that groaned, and started, and writhed, seemed the soul of everything dreadful to the human mind.

With early light Montana arose, the same handsome, stalwart man that sang to the Texas bull, and "navigated the waters" of the — San Juan the same man but for a blush of humiliation which arose whenever the gray eyes met Ben's look. Even before breakfast, that humiliation framed itself into words "What was :

I a-talkin' to you about last night ? I reckon I was sort o' nervous

and half asleep," and the blush grew deeper. "I get that-a-way sometimes, but ye mustn't take no notice of it." He had not yet said enough to allay his annoyance, and the fact that his great, brave self should be disturbed by a callow boy, seemed to annoy him all the more. "Say, kid," he ventured again, when the herd began to graze, "Did I mention any names last night ?"

His yellow mustache loomed up dark against his colorless face when he heard the name, Tom West. "What did I say about 'im?" he finally found breath to ask. "Oh, you just mentioned the name," and Ben succeeded in giving the matter the smallest importance. "Ye see, kid," breathed the Southerner, much relieved, "I sort o' go to sleep an' have nightmare before I reach the bed, if I'm very tired. I was awful tired last night. What a man says in 'is sleep ain't nothin'—ye mustn't take no notice of it." Then, after a pause, he added :"But say, kid, ye won't never mention that name, will ye?" He accepted young Rojer's assurance that the name would not be mentioned, and dropped the lingering traces of night to assume the handsome face he wore in the daytime.

As to Ben, he did take notice, a great deal of notice, of that "nightmare," and another edition of it which came out two nights