fry; go to camp-meeting; and the fact that the latch-string was always hanging on the outside of the door was favorably impressed upon him. It was a case of rural hospitality and true love at first sight. He was a frequent visitor at the little cottage, and he was always welcome; for he was a man in the true sense of the term-a fair exponent of that higher order of railroaders found on all of the great systems of today. He was reckless only when he sat upon the seat-box of his locomotive, and his great heart throbbed with each pulsation of the exhaust. Then he was daring. Several months after first meeting with Amelia his aged mother died. He felt alone in the world. This sad event in the young man's life made him more sympathetic; seemed to Christianize him. His familiar face was missed at the downtown resorts. Though he never drank, he spent much of his time there with the boys in a "quiet game." Now he was avoiding the very appearance of evil. Like all mortals in love, Tom began to grow suspicious of his rival, the operator at G- He well knew how easily he could put an end to his earthly existence by a few extra touches to a train order. This fear grew upon him, and he had come to the conclusion that one or the other would have to resign. This was noticed more forcibly on Christmas Eve, when he went in to sign for orders, and was greeted with a scowl. This phase of the crisis puzzled him, and caused him a sleepless night after he had made the run to the other end of the division. The call-boy came to wake him as usual, but found him up and dressed. "How late are they this morning, little man?" he asked, sighing and looking out of the window at the falling sleet. "Two hours and fifty minutes, sir," replied the lad, as Tom signed the book and handed it to him. He tucked it under his little gum coat and started out after the fireman. Fifteen years before, Tom Thornton had called the little fellow's father, the last day that he spent on earth, when he rode his engine into the jaws of death to save the lives of those in the coaches, while he could have jumped and saved his at the peril of the rest. The company had given his only child this position in recognition of this faithful performance of his duty. "Such is life, though," thought Tom. "Two hours and fifty minutes late and a slippery track. That's pretty tough for Christmas. The same old story-drawbacks' in all the walks of life! I guess that they will put about ten cars to the 53 today, and expect me to make up about two hours of the lost time. If they do, some of the passengers that haven't accident policies will want to get off and walk home." He had not miscalculated the situation. They pulled out of T with a very heavy train. It was up-hill work for eighty miles, with slippery rails and running against a storm of sleet. The fireman worked as he had never worked before, and not until the crest of the ridge was reached, did he breathe a sigh of temporary relief. He knew that sixty miles of the track ahead was mostly down grade and that the train would roll. At C, Tom went in to get orders. "The dispatcher wants to know if you can get to Sfor No. 1," repeated the telegrapher as he copied the message. "Tell him yes," Tom answered, as he looked at his watch and saw that it meant the cutting out of forty minutes of the lost time. The conductor and Tom signed the order, and each took a copy of it. They both hurried from the telegraph room, for each minute meant a mile of steel traversed. The operator sat at his key and reported them two hours and ten minutes late, as they pulled out of the train shed. Running into H-, he whistled four times for the white light, but the red remained. "That's queer," he remarked to his fireman, "orders here for No. 2; something must be the matter with No. 1." He reversed his engine and slowed down so the operator could give him the order. No. 1 had lost time and the meeting point had been changed. The man at the key at G- had been instructed to hold the red light on No. 1, and keep them there until No. 2 had arrived. "I'll never see any light in the window tonight. It's past ten and everyone is in bed by now, or ought to be. I wouldn't mind if I were tucked in at the boarding house myself." The thoughts of a good feather bed at the terminal made him crouch a little nearer the boiler. He was thinking not only of rest and sleep, but of someonewell, of someone else! Amelia, at that far-away little home, was doubtless dreaming of a neat little cottage that Tom had pictured to her on one of his recent visits. She was eagerly waiting for the day when he was so drive up to the front gate with the parson. "Give the old kettle a good fire, George," yelled Tom, good-naturedly, to his fireman. "It's a hard pull to the top of the hill and it will take a full head of steam to make it. Once over and we'll strike that curve at sixty a clip." To the boys in the engine it seemed sixty miles an hour; to the passengers a hundred; but to the speed recorder, seventy-nine. Seventy-nine miles an hour down grade with twelve cars and nine of them loaded with human freight, all longing to see the faces of those that were to meet them at their destination. It was a wild ride. A wild one even to the old conductor, who thought of the dangerous curve at the foot of the hill, and knew how hard such a train would be to control in case anything should happen to the air brakes. Tom's engine struck the curve at a ter When Tom told them of the hoodoo that had run across the track in front of them, they wanted to mob him for throwing them into so many ungraceful and undignified positions. He had faced the god of love and his little darts, and various dangers of railroad life, but this was the first time that he had ever been confronted by a lot of irate passengers. The conductor reprimanded him, and ordered him to mount his engine, telling him at the time that he would report it to the master of trains. The passengers started back to the cars when they were stopped by a shrill whis VIEW OF BIG HORN RIVER, NEAR CUSTER BATTLE-GROUND.-Mrs. J. Britton, Phot'r. rific rate of speed and adjusted herself perfectly to the elevation of the outer rail. The whole train balanced itself like a great ship upon the crest of a mighty billow. "There goes a cat across the track," yelled the fireman. No sooner spoken than the slapping of the emergency brakes against the wheels sounded like the report of a cannon. The passengers played hide-and-seek with one another, and they all imagined that death was near at hand. They finally collected their wits, and several started forward to save the lives of the engineer and fireman. tle of an approaching train, followed by the flickering glare of an electric headlight; then the black outlines of a massive mogul, emitting fiery embers toward the starless sky. There was a scurrying of feet; a silent prayer; then a deathly stillness. A crash! Total darkness that seemed like the wings of death encircled the scene. The hissing of steam and the grinding and gnarling of the drivers of the southbound engine sounded like a beast of unknown species. The home of Amelia's grandmother was converted into an improvised hospital until the relief train could get there. Only the engineer was killed, dying at his post like a hero, and with his hand grasping the greatest of life savers-the air brake. The fireman jumped and escaped with a broken wrist. Many of the passengers came out of it unhurt, while others were not so fortunate. The investigation proved to the satisfaction of the management that the operator at G was at fault, and all the blame rested on his shoulders. When the engineer of No. 1 blew for the signal light, the operator turned it white and The Vial's Secret. BY E. F. STEARNS. The hour had come wherein lower New York draws the cover of its roll-top and bustles away toward the elevated road and uptown dinner. In the laboratory, Gunnison, assistant chemist to that eminent analyst, Dr. Merriweather, had concluded the process of cleaning up for the night. He had slipped out of his apron and into his overcoat, and was about to switch off the lights, when Dr. Merriweather came from his tiny private office. "All done, eh?" BRO. J. BRITTON, MEMBER OF DIV. 624, SHERIDAN, WYOMING, AND let him by, contrary to the orders of his He received his dismissal and his name was entered upon the black list of the road. He cursed his luck, and regretted the fact that he had failed to get the scalp of the man who had defeated him in a statesmanlike manner in the conquest of a woman's heart. THE worst place in the world for a scold or for one who glories in his skill in the use of the two-edged sword of sarcasm is in any publication.-Nat. Printers' Jour. Gunnison eyed with veiled distrust the bottle in the doctor's hand. "Is there anything you wish me to do-" he began, perfunctorily. "No! Not tonight! Let me see! You're going over to Jersey City in the morning, aren't you?" "To report to those Graydon Mining people - yes, sir." "All right. Go straight over there from home. That will bring you back here to the laboratory by noon?" "Easily, I should think." "Well, that's time enough." Merriweather placed the bottle on the table and seated himself upon the distilled water carboy. "Very likely I shall have left when you get backJohnson's acid works, over in Greenpoint, have managed to get into some sort of muddle again. Go to work on this stuff as soon as you come in. I want to report it tomorrow night." Gunnison reached for the bottle and examined it. "Solution Bromide of Soda," he read. "Brand Brothers, Manufacturing Pharmacists. What about it, doctor? Some one getting suspicious of Brand Brothers' preparations?" "Not quite. It just came in from the Coroner's office for analysis." "The Coroner's office?" Gunnison opened his eyes. "Nothing less. There's a thrilling mystery in that bottle. The label, as you see, informs us that it contains bromide of soda-a harmless sedative, of course. The last man who took a dose of it died within six hours!" "And what led Carney to think that it was morphine poisoning?" "He says that he knew it for morphine poisoning on the instant. To all appearances the old man had risen from bed and tried to cross the room; but he must have fallen and carried down the medicine table with him. Plates, glasses-everything-were smashed to bits, with the single exception of that bottle beside you. Carney asked one of the maids about it. She had been helping the niece with her nursing, and she recognized it at once. Here's where the clues begin to bristle, Gunnison. "The maid told Carney that the family BURLINGTON TRAIN CROSSING BRIDGE AT FORT CUSTER, MONT.-Photo. by Mrs. J. Britton. "And they suspect the niece?" "Carney does, and I imagine that he has implanted that belief pretty firmly in the Coroner's office. It seems that about 3 o'clock this morning some one routed Carney out of bed, and he found the old man's butler on the steps, with a hurry call for medical aid. The family physician is out of town. "Well, before long he was examining the poor old chap. None of the women had had sufficient strength to move him -he lay stretched on the floor, just as they had found him. He was just breathing, and Carney went to work to revive him; but it was no go. The old man died within ten or fifteen minutes." doctor-his name's Macgruder-had been in during the evening. The old man had suffered considerable pain all day, and Macgruder wished to leave some morphine for him. He asked for a bottle in which to dissolve some tablets, and, according to the maid, the niece gave him that one. Later on, while the maid was in the room, the sick man called his niece for something or other, and that prepossessing young woman very calmly gave him a tablespoonful of the stuff. Macgruder had instructed her to administer it by half-teaspoonful doses." "Do you do you suppose a young girl could commit a cold-blooded murder like that? "The old man was pain-racked and peevish, and very frequently swore pointblank at the girl. Maybe she's one of these hysterical mortals who go irresponsible after a prolonged strain, such as this nursing must have been. Then, too, the old fellow had willed all his money to her, and Carney says there's a stack of it. She may have needed some." Gunnison was breathing rather heavily. Dr. Merriweather arose and yawned. He turned to leave the laboratory. The assistant chemist slid from his stool and started after him. "Dr. Merriweather!" "Eh?" "What-what did you say the dead man's name was?" "Golden-Philip Golden, I believe. He was a retired broker, or something of the sort-lived up on Madison avenue." The door closed behind Merriweather. Gunnison gripped the table for support and choked back the sharp cry that had almost escaped him. Editha Golden, the niece in the case, happened to be Gunnison's dearly beloved fiancee. Shades were drawn at the Golden home. A silent maid escorted Gunnison to the library, and there he waited, awed at the uncanny stillness of the big house. Very shortly the curtains parted and a slim girl entered, beautiful but haggard and pathetically weary of mien. "It is all over," she said. "Yes, little girl, it's all over." Gunnison gathered her into his arms, and for a little time she sobbed on his shoulder. Presently she allowed herself to be drawn down beside him on the couch. "Bobby, dear, it's so good to have you here," she sighed. "But why didn't you send for me during the day?" "I don't know. I-I think I wasafraid." "Afraid?" Gunnison smiled with tender incredulity. "Yes. I-wanted to see no one, not you, Bobby. I-I was afraid, even and-" "And that doctor last night, toohe said nothing, but when he left he stared at me so strangely. He must have seen it he must have found it out. He'd be sure to know-a doctor would know at once-wouldn't he! She clutched his hands, and he felt that she was trembling violently. "Bobby, I-I-killed Uncle Philip!" "Editha!" Gunnison's heart seemed to cease beating. "I did! I know it! I killed him!" she moaned, clinging to him like a frightened child. "Hush! You don't know what you're saying, Editha. Some of this infernal pack of servants will hear you, and—” "Oh, I'll be quiet," Editha hurried on, the words tumbling forth excitedly, “but I must tell you, Bobby. I must-I'll go mad if I don't. Last night Dr. Macgruder came in for a few minutes-he was leaving the city. Uncle Philip begged him for something to ease his pain, and the doctor took some morphine tablets from his hypodermic case and asked me for a bottle to dissolve them. I gave him one of those bromide bottles-poor Uncle Philip needed so much of the stuff to quiet him that we have empty bottles all over the house. There was a half-empty bottle of bromide on the table, too, and after he had fixed the morphine, Dr. Macgruder handed it to me and cautioned me to label it at once, before I confused it with the bromide. Then he hurried away, for he had barely time to make his train. "Yes?" Gunnison forced from dry lips. "I put the morphine bottle at the edge of the table and apart from the others, and went to my desk in the next room to write the label. Oh, Bobby, I was up all the night before!" she pleaded suddenly. "Go on, Editha." "I suppose it was simply criminal, but I was so utterly fagged that while I was writing my head began to nod, and when I had finished I fell fast asleep at the desk. I must have been there more than an hour before uncle called me. I was sleepy and completely confused for a while. Ellen was in the room-the second waitress, you knowand she had been trying to quiet him; but he insisted upon having me give him a dose of the bromide. He was so impatient and overwrought that I hurried over to the medicine table, picked up the bottle and poured out a tablespoonful. took it, and then-" "And then?" Editha shuddered. He "I went into my room and fell asleep across the bed. Ithink that it was a little past 3 when the crash aroused me. Uncle had left his bed and fallen and overturned |