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THE COLONEL.

and utter confusion. Water ran freely from the great eyes, and the big nostrils, so sensitive to every passing smell, were dead to every feeling, and rubbed themselves in the dirt to ease their numbness and lack of life. O'Dell was laid away in an empty bedroom with an open window some twelve feet above the ground. Below him, in a back garden covering three large lots, was the Colonel, fastened with a huge chain to a ponderous old kennel. The yard was surrounded by an eight foot wall of slabs. The cottage belonged to Bjornson, and was empty all the year round with the exception of about six weeks when the agitator brought his family over and passed his holiday between the cottage and an old schooner yacht which lay at anchor down the bay. The place was lonely and deserted, standing well above the villas on the slope behind the yacht club.

Meols intended coming over once each twelve hours to feed both man and dog, as no harm was intended, apart from that inflicted in the kidnaping. He believed that after he released the weakened prisoner on the night of the election he would have time to run over to Oakland and catch a train for a point from which he could tramp on foot to his ranch.

In the meantime, Rogey's partner, Little Dutch, was scouring the city for information, aided by reporters from "The Times." The car had been found standing at the ocean beach, but O'Dell, the Colonel, and the kid who brought the news had dropped out of life.

The mental or spiritual condition of the dog-for by now you are ready to concede that the Colonel has a soul, or what we mean by this strange term for want of positive knowledge as to its wondrous nature was deplorable. By some unknown process of canine divination, he knew that his beloved master was a prisoner in that room above him, and realized in a dumb, brutish way that his falling away from the straight paths of virtue was somehow the cause.

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By the time the angry O'Dell had chewed his gag to ribbons, the Colonel had rubbed his nose in the soft loam of the yard till it tingled and awakened in new life. He lifted his deep muzzle and sniffed the vagrant winds. Visions of meat cooking in a villa down the hillside brought him to his feet. Then came a pitiful little whine as he sensed his master rolling and tossing in the room above him. He sprang toward the wall, only to be jerked back abruptly on the end of the heavy wagon chain which held him. Rogey heard the dog at work, and having a small sound left in his throat, called to him. The low, hoarse cry made the Colonel's coat stand up in anger at his impotence. Once more he leaped, but was dragged down by the chain. Feeling his strength coming back, he began to drag the old kennel along with him. It was a monstrous, home-made affair, large enough for a hen-house. After a hard wrestle, the dog dragged the kennel under the wall of the house. Leaping on the top he tried the open window, but though the chain allowed him the limit of his height, he could barely put his muzzle over the sill. Rogey, getting stronger since he got rid of the offensive gag, called and encouraged the dog in his work, and again the St. Bernard whined miserably when he saw the helplessness of his position. Dropping down, he vainly tried his teeth in every foot of the chain. Coming to to end of it, he saw it fastened to the kennel by a staple, driven through a two by four upright, which formed one side of the door. Nosing and mouthing it for a considerable time, the dog at last seemed to hit upon a solution of the problem. Squatting before the door of the kennel, he set his keen teeth into the wood and began ripping it away, slender strip by strip around the staple. After half an hour's crunching the two by four was bit in half and the staple laid bare. Rising to his feet the Colonel gave a steady lurch on the chain, and it sprang free, dragging the staple on the end. With a growl of joy, he sprang once more

on the sloping roof of the kennel, but struggle as he would, he could not get more than his forepaws over the sill. O'Dell, feeling his difficulty, kept urging him to go: "Dutchy-HomeFetch!" he repeated insistently, and finally the dog tore himself away. With a bound from the top of the kennel he was over the wall and off with the massive chain rattling behind him.

Galloping toward the boat, for this was not the first time he had been in Tiburon, he halted before the windows of a cheap restaurant. Waiting patiently, he saw the door open and a laborer lounge into the street. Seeing his chance, he darted in, rose to the counter, seized a juicy steak and was gone, chain rattling after him. A chorus of yells rose on the still night air, but the St. Bernard, the steak and the chain, were well on their way to the boat, while a motley crowd gathered round the door of the restaurant.

The wharf-hand was raising the gangway on the last boat for the city when a big St. Bernard, dirty and wicked, with a T-bone steak dangling from his chops and three yards of wagon chain trailing behind him, rushed aboard. The wharf-hand raised a hue and cry, but all to no purpose. When the boat pulled into the landing at San Francisco, and the gangway was dropped, the first off was the Colonel. A crowd of spectators watched him rush from the Ferry Building. He went galloping for the street. Right under the Clock Tower was a noted character, Slim Delaney, standing by his four passenger car. Seeing the dog, and knowing of the trouble, he called to him. The Colonel stopped quickly, walked over, nosed his friend and jumped into the car. In two minutes he and Delaney were racing for The Deluge. Little Dutch was telling the story of the kidnaping over again, and bewailing the lack of clews as to the whereabouts of his two missing partners, when the Colonel tore in, followed by the chain and Delaney. The dog fawned all over Little Dutch, nearly knocking him down. Then he began to pull

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In a trice Little Dutch, Delaney and the Colonel, were on their way to the Ferry Building. Enquiries quickly got them the information that the dog had come off the Tiburon boat. Lying a few wharves lower down was O'Dell's own racer, "The Viper," a gasolene flyer with seats for six. In a few minutes she was speeding out over the bay.

But in the meantime, Meols, in the McMurty launch, had been over to feed his charges, and to his utter discomfiture found that the dog had made his escape. He decided on a bold move. With the aid of the engineer he carried the cursing and raging O'Dell down to the launch. Meols proposed keeping him afloat till the election was over. They could grub up at the dock during the quiet hours of the night, pull out and go cruising for the remainder of the time. His plan worked well. Peaceful little Tiburon slumbered under the autumn moon invading the beautiful slopes of Mount Tamalpais. It streamed over the distant sleeping city, and in its wondrous silver glow, hills, tall buildings and marble hotels became a vision like a city of the moon.

And Charlie Meols, Indian and farmer to the last drop of his mongrel blood, felt the spell and forgot his distasteful job. Dipping his hand over the low gunwale of the launch he caressed the warm, silver tide, let it filter through his uncouth fingers like endless cascades of bright new dollars, dreaming of the ranch his. hard-earned reward would buy, and the time when his adventures in the great city would seem like a child's dream.

The fierce vibrations of a racer called him back suddenly to the ugly realities. Looming up over his starboard quarter was a long, lean, wicked craft, half immersed in the rolling folds of gleaming blue, which she

ALONE.

threw off from her steady nose. Staring hard at him was a huge St. Bernard, his eyes aflame, his jaws distended, his feet balanced on the side of the cushioned seat. As they shot past, the dog set up a furious barking. The men in the racer saw the cause of the dog's excitement, recognized the launch, and went swirling away in a terrific curve, bending into the chase. Meols aroused himself, yelled into the ear of the engineer, and as the throttle was thrown wide open, the engines began to drum like a thing of living terror. But all to no purpose: the barking, half-drowned by the hubbub of the racer and the yelling of the men aboard, drew near. Already he could. see a powerful looking man steady himself, and hold a glittering revolver over his arm, crooked and level, as the back of a chair. Meols was anything but faint hearted. He had taken the job because he needed the money more than anything else in the world. In rapid succession he saw his anxious wife and children waiting for him in the cabin on the mountainside, their helplessness, their bitter struggle, if he should go under, and what he could do with the one thousand dollars he had received when he captured O'Dell.

As the Viper slowly drew up, he took a desperate and cunning resolu

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tion. He made his way to the stern of the boat. Bending over swiftly, he cut the cords from the arms and feet of Rogey, then lifting him in his strong arms, he yelled: "Swim-your friends are there." In a second, O'Dell was overboard. All was consternation on "The Viper," which nearly ran him down as the launch shot for the Oakland shore. O'Dell had barely struck the water when the Colonel jumped after him. Swimming rapidly, with eddies behind him, the dog caught O'Dell as he rose to the surface. Gripping his clothes near the waistline, he held his master above the tide with ease.

The heart of O'Dell was filled with a great joy. Cramped, hungry and exhausted, his chance of swimming was small, but here was the one thing in all the world he loved better than life, holding him securely above the waters of the bay.

In a few minutes "The Viper" had turned, and the man and dog were taken aboard. There are those who are willing to stake their lives that when Rogey put his arm about the wet and happy dog and cried like a broken-hearted schoolboy, that the dog cried, too, and tears of happiness stood in the long red haws of his brown, pathetic eyes, the signs of his canine aristocracy.

ALONE

She sat there silent in the busy square,
And gazed, a look of patient woe upon her face.
The crowds that passed, as shadows in a dream,
To her were silent. Light of other days.
Brought darkness and a future dim with tears.
A ray of light fell on a plashing fountain,

Then she smiled. The sunbeam faded, and the light
Which glorified the face, had passed and gone.

P. ST. GEORGE BISSELL, JR.

Ideal sketch of the proposed Rush San Francisco Trans-Bay Suspension Bridge of three stories, as it will look when constructed between Telegraph Hill, San Francisco, and the Oakland shore, nine and one-half miles distant, with its center resting on Yerba Buena Island.

[graphic]

Proposed Suspension Bridge

A

OVER SAN FRANCISCO BAY

By Lorin P. Crane

LIVERPOOL paper recently published an article describing Forth Bridge, Scotland, the most remarkable structure of its kind in the world.

The

writer said: "Although America is the 'land of big things,' it is comforting to know that the greatest feat in bridge engineering has been carried out on this side of the Atlantic."

America is the "land of big things," and the creative genius of a Californian has given birth to a project which, if carried to a successful undertaking, will give to California a bridge surpassing even Forth Bridge-a structure that will easily rank as one of the foremost engineering wonders of the world.

At this opportune time the United States Senate has passed a bill granting the right to construct a bridge over the bay, connecting the cities. and allowing extraordinary concessions in the use of government lands of Yerba Buena Island and the Presidio. The bill now awaits the concurrent action of the Lower House of Congress to become a law.

The presentation of this bridge by the inventor and builder, Mr. Allen C. Rush, shows a difference from all other enterprises heretofore presented in that no financial aid is asked of the bay cities for the enterprise; the only requests are for terminals and right of way thereto. However, the two bay cities, through the gift of their terminals, will own two-thirds of the bridge when completed. Upon these terminals, donated by Oakland and San Francisco, together with the franchise from the United States govern

ment, it is bonded and the construction bonds are issued on thirty years time, redeemable in part, or all, at the option of the giver, at any time after fifteen years, as it is expected the bridge from its own revenues will pay off all indebtedness within fifteen years after construction. It will require seven years to build.

About $11,000,000 is paid yearly to various companies and ferries for traffic crossing the bay. One corporation, alone, handles in and out of San Francisco over 450,000 cars in twelve months' business. The bridge should pay a dividend from the first, even though the cost were double the present estimate of $36,000,000. Therefore, it is easy to see why the projector has been able to secure the proper financial backing for this giant project.

The design of the bridge is unique. Each part has a substitute, so if any one part should give way, another takes its place in holding up the enormous structure. There are ten 20-inch flexible steel cables, having a tensile strength of 35,000 tons each, five of which would be sufficient to hold the structure. These cables are to be anchored in solid rock on Telegraph Hill, San Francisco, and Yerba Buena Island in the bay, and to an artificial anchor at the Oakland terminal. Hung to the ten great cables so anchored will be the steel structure of the bridge, having two stories, with a third to be completed later as the traffic of the bay demands. Each story will have four roadways, twenty-five feet wide and twenty-five feet high, besides two footways which project

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