Constant - "Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, V5"

Anthony Trollope - "John Bull on the Guadalquivir from Tales from all Countries"

Voltaire - "Jeannot et Colin"

G. A. Henty - "On the Pampas"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Long Chance

P >> Peter B. Kyne >> The Long Chance




"It doesn't look right to me to let a stage-robber go scot-free--"

"Well, I tell you, Doc," drawled Mr. Hennage serenely, "it'd better
look right to you, an' damned quick at that. You seem to think I'm here
a-askin' a favor o' you. Not much. I never ask favors o' no man. I'm
just as independent as a hog on ice; if I don't stand up I can set
down. I run a square game myself an' I want a square game from the
other fellow. Now, Doc, you just so much as say 'Boo' about this thing,
an' by the Nine Gods o' War I'll kill you. D'ye understand, Doc? I'll
kill you like I would a tarantula. An' when they come to ask you the
name o' the man you 'tended at the Hat Ranch you tell 'em his name is--
lemme see, now--yes, his name is Roland McGuire. That's a nice name,
an' it corresponds to the initials on the saddle."

Doc Taylor looked into the gambler's hard face, which was thrust close
to his. The mouth of the worst man in San Pasqual was drawn back in a
half snarl that was almost coyote-like; his small deep-set eyes bespoke
only too truly the firmness of purpose that lay behind their blazing
menace. For fully thirty seconds those terrible eyes flamed,
unblinking, on Doc Taylor; then Mr. Hennage spoke.

"Now, what is his name goin' to be, Doc?"

"Roland McGuire" said Doc Taylor, and swallowed his Adam's apple twice.

"Bright boy. Go to the head o' the class an' don't forget to remember
to stick there."




CHAPTER XVI


Mr. Hennage turned slowly and walked out of the drug-store, for he had
accomplished his mission. Once again, without recourse to violence, he
had maintained his reputation as the worst man in San Pasqual, for his
power lay, not in a clever bluff, but in his all-too-evident downright
honesty of purpose. Had Doc Taylor presumed to fly in the face of
Providence, after that warning, Mr. Hennage felt that the
responsibility must very properly rest on the doctor, for the gambler
would have killed him as surely as he had the strength to work his
trigger finger.

"Well, _that's_ over" he muttered as he returned to his room.
"She's woman enough to cover the rest o' the trail herself now, poor
girl, an' in about a week I'll pull the big sting that's hurtin' her
most."

Hastily he packed a suit-case with his few simple belongings, for in
his haste he was forced to abandon his old rawhide trunk that had
accompanied him in his wanderings for twenty years. But one article did
Mr. Hennage remove from his trunk. It was an old magazine. He opened it
tenderly, satisfied himself that the faded old rose that lay between
the leaves was still intact, and packed this treasure into the suit-
case; then, while waiting for the north-bound train to whistle for San
Pasqual, he sat down at a little table and wrote a note to Donna:

_Dear Miss Donnie:_

I am sending you a thousand by Sam Singer. You might need it. Am in
trouble and must get out quick. Will stay away until things blow over.
Hoping these few lines will find you feeling well, as they leave me at
present, I am,

Respect. yrs.

H. P. HENNAGE.

P. S. I came to say good-by a little while ago and was sorry you wasn't
feeling well.

This note Mr. Hennage sealed carefully in an envelope, together with a
compact little roll of bills, just as the train whistled for San
Pasqual. He seized his suit-case and hurried down stairs, and on the
way down he met Sam Singer coming up.

"Give this to Miss Donna" said Mr. Hennage, and thrust the envelope
into the Indian's hand. "Ain't got no time to talk to you, Sam. This is
my busy day," and then, for the last time, he gave Sam Singer the
inevitable half dollar and a cigar.

"Good-by, Sam" he called as he descended the stairs. "Be a good Injun
till I see you again."

He went to the ticket window, purchased a ticket to San Francisco and
climbed aboard the train. Two minutes later it pulled out. As it
plunged into Tehachapi Pass, Mr. Hennage, standing on the platform of
the rear car, glanced back across the desert at San Pasqual.

"Nothin' like mystery to keep that rotten little camp up on its toes"
he muttered. "I'll just leave that mess to stew in its own juices for a
while."

He went into the smoker and lit a cigar. His plans were well matured
now and he was content; in this comfortable frame of mind he glanced
idly around at his fellow-passengers.

Seated two seats in front of him and on the opposite side of the coach,
Mr. Hennage observed a gray-haired man reading a newspaper. The gambler
decided that there was something vaguely familiar about the back of
this passenger's head, and on the pretense of going to the front of the
car for a drink of water he contrived, on his way back to his seat, to
catch a glimpse of the stranger's face. At the same instant the man
glanced up from his paper and nodded to Mr. Hennage.

"How" said Harley P., and paused beside the other's seat. "Mr. T.
Morgan Carey, if I ain't mistaken?"

"The same" replied Carey in his dry, precise tones. "And you are--Mr.--
Mr.--Mr. Hammage."

"Hennage" corrected the gambler.

"I beg your pardon. Mr. Hennage. Quite so. Pray be seated, Mr. Hennage.
You're the very man I wanted to see."

He moved over and made room for Mr. Hennage beside him. The gambler sat
down and sighed.

"Hot, ain't it?" he remarked, rather inanely.

"Rather. By the way, Mr. Hennage, have you, by any chance, seen that
young man for whom I was inquiring on the day I first had the pleasure
of making your acquaintance? His name is McGraw--Robert McGraw. You
will recollect that I left with you one of my cards, with the request
that you give it to McGraw, should you meet him, and inform him that I
desired to communicate with him."

"Yes" replied Mr. Hennage calmly. "I met him one day in San Pasqual an'
gave him your card."

"You gave him my registered letter, also?"

So Carey had been talking with Miss Pickett again! Mr. Hennage nodded.

"Tell me, Mr. Hennage" purred Carey. "Why did the man, McGraw, send you
to the post-office with an order for that registered letter?"

"Oh, he was in a little trouble at the time an' didn't care to show in
public" lied Mr. Hennage glibly.

"I perceive. I believe you mentioned something about his reputation as
a hard citizen when I first spoke to you about him."

"Tougher'n a bob-cat" Mr. Hennage assured him, for no earthly reason
except a desire to be perverse and not contradict his former
statements.

"Hu-u-m-m! I presume you know where Mr. McGraw may be found at present.
Is he liable to communicate with you?"

Mr. Hennage was on guard. "Well, I ain't sayin' nothin'" he replied
evasively. It was in his mind to discover, if possible, the details of
the business which this man of vast emprise could have with a penniless
desert rat like Bob McGraw.

"Is this McGraw a friend of yours, Mr. Hennage?" pursued Carey.

"Well," the gambler fenced, "I've loaned him money."

"Ever get it back?" Carey smiled a thin sword-fish smile.

"Certainly. Why do you ask?"

"You consider McGraw honest?"

"Sure shot--between friends. Yes."

Carey turned his head slowly and gazed at the gambler in mean triumph.
"Well, I'm sorry I can't agree with you" he said. "Your friend McGraw
robbed me of fifteen hundred dollars on the San Pasqual-Keeler stage a
few days ago."

The fact that Carey had been a victim of Bob McGraw's felonious
activities was news to Mr. Hennage, but he would not permit Carey to
suspect it.

"Yes" he replied calmly, "I heard he'd taken to road work."

"He held up the stage" Carey repeated, in the flat tone of finality
which the foreman of a jury might have employed when repeating the
verbal formula: "We, the jury, find the defendant guilty, as charged."

"Then you recognized McGraw" ventured the gambler.

"The moment I saw him."

"That's funny" echoed Harley P. "I gathered from what you told me in
San Pasqual that you two'd never met up, an' they tell me that durin'
the hold-up McGraw was behind a wall an' wearin' a mask. You're sure
some recognizer, Mr. Carey."

"We had met prior to the hold-up and subsequent to my conversation with
you in San Pasqual."

"Still the bet goes as she lays" repeated Mr. Hennage. "For a near-
sighted gent you're sure some recognizer."

"I recognized his voice."

Mr. Hennage was silent for a minute. Carey continued.

"If the sheriff gets him, I'll see to it that McGraw doesn't rob
another stage for some time to come."

Still Mr. Hennage was silent. He was digesting the conversation, and
this much he gathered:

There was some mysterious business afoot wherein Carey and Bob McGraw
were jointly interested, and they had met and quarreled over it, as
evidenced by T. Morgan Carey's all too apparent animosity. Mr. Hennage
had a haunting suspicion that Carey's animus did not arise from the
fact that McGraw had robbed him of fifteen hundred dollars. He felt
that there was a deeper, more vital reason than that. All of his days
Mr. Hennage had lived close to the primitive; he was a shrewd judge of
human impulses and it had been his experience that men quarrel over two
things--women and money. The possible hypothesis of a woman, in the
suspected quarrel between Bob McGraw and T. Morgan Carey, Harley P.
dismissed as untenable. Remained then, only money--and Bob McGraw had
no money. His finances were at so low an ebb as to be beneath the
notice of such a palpable commercial wolf as T. Morgan Carey;
consequently, and in the final analysis, Mr. Hennage concluded that Bob
McGraw possessed something which Carey coveted. Whether his spiteful
attitude toward the unfortunate Bob arose from this, or the loss of the
fifteen hundred dollars, Mr. Hennage now purposed discovering. He
leaned toward Carey confidentially and lowered his voice.

"Say, looky-here, Mr. Carey. This boy, McGraw, is a friend o' mine. A
little wild? Yes. But what young feller now-a-days ain't? I know he's
robbed you o' fifteen hundred dollars, an' I'm sorry for that, but I
can fix you up all right. I'm goin' to get into communication with our
young friend before long, if he ain't beefed by the sheriff first, or
captured alive--but it's ten to one they get him, an' he'll be brought
to trial. Well, now, here's what I'm drivin' at. If the boy's nabbed,
an' you'll agree to sorter, as the feller says, tangle the woof o'
memory an' refuse to swear that you recognize the said defendant as the
hereinbefore mentioned stage-robber, I'll see that you get your fifteen
hundred back. This is his first serious job, Mr. Carey, an' I wish
you'd go easy on him. He ain't really bad."

T. Morgan Carey pounded the back of the seat in front of him.

"Not for fifty thousand dollars" he said. "The suggestion is
preposterous. The man is a menace to society and it is my duty to
testify against him if he is apprehended."

"Then it ain't a question with you o' money back an' no questions
asked?"

Carey shook his head emphatically. "It's principle" he said.

Mr. Hennage appeared chopfallen. In reality he was amused. Never before
had Mr. Hennage met a man to whom the abandonment of such "principle"
would have been impossible under the terms suggested. Clearly there was
something wrong here. Mr. Hennage had met men to whom vengeance would
have been cheap at fifty thousand, but principle--the gambler shook his
head. He had lived long enough to learn that principle is a marketable
commodity, and he was not deceived in T. Morgan Carey's attitude of
civic righteousness.

"Well, it's too bad you won't listen to reason, Mr. Carey" he said
regretfully. "I thought you might be willin' to go easy on the young
feller. It's too durned bad," and he rose abruptly and returned to his
own seat. Carey resumed the perusal of his newspaper. He was not
anxious to continue the conversation, and he believed he had Mr.
Hennage intimidated, and for reasons of his own he was desirous of
permitting the gambler to think matters over.

Mr. Hennage proceeded at once to think matters over. "Now, I wonder
what that kid-glove crook has against the boy!" he mused. "I can see
right off that Bob has an ace coppered, an' this sweet-scented burglar
would like to see Bob tucked away in the calaboose while he goes
huntin' for the ace. What in Sam Hill can them two fellers have between
them? Here's Bob, just a plain young desert rat, a-dreamin' an' a-
romancin' over the country, while this Carey is a solid citizen. He's
president o' the Inyo Land & Irrigation Company, according to his card.
Bob ain't got no money--Carey has a carload of it. Bob ain't got no
water--Carey's in the irrigation business. Bob ain't got no real
estate, 'ceptin' what he accumulates on his person wanderin' around,
and Carey's got land--"

Mr. Hennage emitted a low soft whistle through the slit between two of
his gold teeth.

Land! That was it. Land! And government land at that!

Mr. Hennage suddenly recollected the letter which Bob McGraw had
written him from Sacramento, requesting a loan of fifty dollars, and
enclosing, without comment, a typewritten contract form for the
acquisition of state lieu lands. Mr. Hennage had read this contract at
the time of its receipt, little thinking that Bob was wholly
unconscious of the fact that he had enclosed it with his letter. Mr.
Hennage had marveled at the time that Bob should have made no reference
to it in his letter.

He took Bob's letter from his breast pocket now, and carefully perused
once more this typewritten contract form. To him it conveyed little
information, save that Bob had been endeavoring to induce Tom, Dick and
Harry to acquire state lieu lands by engaging him as their attorney,
and without the disagreeable necessity putting up any money. A very
queer proceeding, concluded Mr. Hennage, in view of the fact that Bob
apprehended litigation in order to establish the rights of his clients.
At the first reading of this document two weeks previous, the gambler
had merely looked upon it as evidence of another of Bob McGraw's
harebrained schemes for acquiring a quick fortune--a scheme founded on
optimism and predestined to failure; but in the light of recent events
the meager information gleaned from the contract form had now a deeper,
a more significant meaning.

Here was a conundrum. Carey (according to his card, at any rate) had
the water, while Bob McGraw (according to this contract form) was
endeavoring to acquire the land. Both were operating in Owens valley.
Mr. Hennage smiled. No wonder they had quarreled, for without the land,
of what use was the water to Carey? and without the water, of what
value could the land be to Bob McGraw?

"I wouldn't give a white chip for a hull county o' such land" mused the
gambler, "unless I could set in the game with the chap that had the
water, an' Carey bein' a human hog, it stands to reason Bob's a chump
to tie up with Him, unless--unless--_he's got water of his own!_"

Mr. Hennage slapped his fat thigh. "By Jupiter," he murmured, "he's got
the water! He must have it. He might be fool enough to hold up a stage,
but he ain't fool enough to face a lawsuit, without a dollar in the
world, tryin' to make people take up land so he can sell 'em water for
irrigation, unless he has the water. The boy ain't plumb crazy by no
means. _That's the ace he's got coppered!_ He's got the water, and
if Carey can put him across for that hold-up job, who's to protect the
boy's bet? Not a soul, unless it's me, an' I'm only shootin' at the
moon. Bob ain't the man to put up a fight for worthless land, an'
besides, wasn't Donnie askin' me a lot o' questions about water an'
water rights, an' showin' a whole lot of interest, now that I come to
think on't? By the Nine Gods o' War! I smell a rat as big as a
kangaroo. Bob's been buttin' in on Carey's game; Carey's been tryin' to
buy him out, but Bob has Carey on the floor with his shoulders
touchin', so he won't sell an' he won't consolidate. If she don't 'tack
up that-a-way, I'm an Injun. Carey wouldn't compromise with me an' take
back his fifteen hundred. Why! There's a reason. He'd sooner see young
Bob in the penitentiary because it'd mean more money to him. He wants
Bob out o' the way, so he won't be on hand to draw cards, an' then this
Carey person 'll just reach out his soft little mitt and rake in the
jack-pot. All right, T. Morgan Carey! Bob's out of it, but even if he
is a crook I'll string a bet with him, for Donnie's sake, an' I'll deal
you a brace game an' you'll never know that the deck's been sanded."

And having thus, to his entire satisfaction, solved the mystery of the
hitherto unaccountable actions of T. Morgan Carey and Bob McGraw, Mr.
Hennage dismissed the matter from his mind, lit a fresh cigar and
permitted the peanut butcher to inveigle him into a friendly little
game of whist with three traveling salesmen.

Harley P. Hennage had purchased a ticket for San Francisco, but when
the train reached Bakersfield and he observed T. Morgan Carey leaving
the car, bag in hand, the gambler suddenly decided that he, also, would
honor Bakersfield with his presence. He excused himself, hastily
quitted his innocent game of whist, seized his suit-case and rode up
town in the same hotel bus with Carey.

Carey registered first, sent his bag and overcoat up to his room, and
then walked over to the telegraph desk. Harley P. Hennage, standing in
line to register, noticed that Carey had filed a telegram;
consequently, when he had registered and T. Morgan Carey had
disappeared into the barber shop, Mr. Hennage, following up a strong
winning "hunch," walked over to the telegraph desk and laid a ten-
dollar piece on the railing.

"I'm goin' to open a book, young lady" he announced. "I'm willin' to
bet ten dollars that the respectable old party that just give you a
telegram signed Carey is wirin' about a friend o' mine. If I don't
guess right, you get the ten bucks. Fair?"

The young lady operator dimpled and admitted that it was eminently
fair. She had no illusions (although her position required her to have
them) regarding the sacredness of privacy in a telegram, and Mr.
Hennage had not as yet asked her to violate a confidence.

"I'm a-bettin' ten bucks" repeated Mr. Hennage, "that the name McGraw
occurs in that telegram."

"You win" the operator replied. "How did you guess it?"

"I was born with a veil" he replied. "I got the gift o' second sight,
an' I'm just a-tryin' it out. The ten is yours for a copy o' that
telegram."

The operator seized a scratch-pad, copied the telegram and cautiously
"slipped" it to Mr. Hennage, who as cautiously "slipped" her the ten-
dollar bill. He was rewarded for his prodigality by the following:

R. P. McKeon, Mills Building, Sacramento, Calif.

Advise our friend approve McGraw applications at once. Letter follows.

CAREY.

The gambler smiled his thanks and walked across the hotel lobby to the
public-telephone operator. On this young lady's desk he laid a five-
dollar bill.

"I want you to call up Sacramento on the long distance an' ask the
central there to find out who Mr. R. P. McKeon is an' what he does for
a livin'."

"We have copies of the telephone directories of the principal cities in
the state" came the quick reply. "It makes it easier if we ask for the
number direct."

"Five bucks for a look in the book" announced Mr. Hennage. He got the
book, with the information that he might have his look for nothing, but
being a generous soul he declined. He ascertained that R. P. McKeon was
an attorney-at-law.

"As the feller says, I believe I see the light" murmured the gambler.
"Now please get me the agent for Wells Fargo & Company at San Pasqual."

When the operator informed him that San Pasqual was on the line, Mr.
Hennage went into a sound-proof booth and told a lie. He informed the
agent at San Pasqual that he was the Bakersfield representative of the
Associated Press, and demanded the latest information regarding the
hunt for the Garlock bandit. He was informed that there was no news.

"I gotta get some news" he bellowed into the receiver. "What's the
exact loss o' your company?"

"Twenty-one hundred eighty-three forty."

"Serves you right. How about the passengers? Got their names an'
addresses an' the amounts they lost?"

"No, but the express messenger has and he's in town. Hold the line a
minute and I'll go call him."

So Mr. Hennage waited. Five minutes later, when he hung up, he had
secured the information and made careful note of it, after which he
sought an arm-chair in the hotel window, planted his feet on the window
sill and gave himself up to reflection. He was occupied thus when T.
Morgan Carey came out of the barber shop, and seeing Mr. Hennage, came
over and sat down beside him. Mr. Hennage decided that the financier
must have something on his mind, and he was not wrong.

"Mr. Hennage" said Carey unctuously, "I have been thinking over the
proposition which you made me coming up from San Pasqual this
afternoon, and if you still feel inclined to act as intermediary in
this unfortunate affair, I will submit a proposition. Mr. McGraw may
retain the fifteen hundred dollars which he stole from me, and I will
agree to give him, say, five thousand more, through you, for a
relinquishment to me of a water right which he has filed upon in the
Sierra overlooking Owens valley. There is also another matter of which
McGraw has cognizance, and he must agree to drop that too. His money
will be delivered to you, for delivery to him. In return, I will agree
to be absent when his case comes to trial, should he be captured. I
will agree not to recognize him."

"But suppose he refuses this programme, Mr. Carey. Then what?"

"In that event, my dear Mr. Hennage" replied Carey coldly, "you may
tell him from me that I will spend a hundred thousand dollars to run
him down. I will have this state combed by Pinkertons, and when I land
Mr. Robert McGraw I'll land him high and dry and it will be too late
for him to make _me_ a proposition then. I have the power and the
money necessary to get him--and I know how."

"Well, what a long tail our cat's developing!" drawled Mr. Hennage.
"Carey, you give me a pain where I never knew it to ache me before.
Now, you just sit still while I submit _you_ a little proposition.
An' remember I ain't pleadin' with you to accept it. No, indeed. I'm
just a-orderin' you to. Bob McGraw can't prove that he didn't rob that
stage, but a child could make a monkey out o' you on the witness stand.
Talked to him once an' recognized his voice, eh? Pooh! Met him once an'
recognized him masked. Rats! I happen to know, Carey, that you didn't
recognize the stage robber _until after the messenger returned to the
stage with his hat an' showed you his name on the sweat-band._ Then
you remembered, because the wish was father to the thought, an' you
wanted the boy in jail. Now, looky here. I happen to be mighty heavily
interested in this here water right you're plannin' to blackmail McGraw
out of. But you ain't got nothin' on me, an' you can't buy me out for a
million dollars, an' you ain't got money enough--there ain't money
enough in the world--to make me double-cross Bob McGraw just because
he's a outlaw from justice."

He tapped Carey on the knee with his fat forefinger. "I'm playin' look-
out on this game, an' it's hands off for you. You can't make a bet. You
don't get that water right an' you won't get the land; if Bob McGraw
ain't on hand to sue for his rights, by the Nine Gods o' War, I'll sue
for him, an' I'll put up the money, an' I'll match you an' your gang
for your shoe-strings, and you're whipped to a frazzle, an' get that
into your head--understand? You're figurin' now on gettin' them
applications approved, eh? Well, you just cut it out. If them
applications are approved before I'm ready to have 'em approved, you
know what I'll do to you, Carey. I'll cut your heart out. Don't you
figure for a minute that there ain't somebody protectin' that boy's
bet. You scatter his chips an' see what happens to you. Understand? You
try upsettin' the Hennage apple-cart one o' these bright days, an'
there'll be a rush order for a new tombstone. The motto o' the Hennage
family has allers been 'Hands Off Or Take The Consequences.' Of course,
if you insist, you can go to it with your private detectives, but you
won't get far. You're up against a double-jointed play, Carey. Look out
for snags."

T. Morgan Carey stared hard at Harley P. Hennage while the worst man in
San Pasqual was delivering his ultimatum. He continued to stare when
Mr. Hennage had finished, smiling, for to Carey that golden smile was
more deadly than a scowl. Carey knew too well the kind of eyes that
were gazing into his; they were the eyes of an honest man, and by the
cut of Mr. Hennage's jaw Carey knew that here was a man who would "stay
put."

Mr. Hennage laughed boldly, as he realized on what a slender foundation
his gigantic bluff was resting, and what an impression his words had
made upon Carey. The latter pulled himself together and favored the
gambler with a wintry grin.

"Kinder game little pup, after all" thought Mr. Hennage. "He thinks
he's licked, but he's goin' to bluff it out to the finish. I believe if
this feller was on the level I'd like him. He's no slouch at whatever
he tackles, you bet."