The Young Folks.
^    Lost in the Desert j||
By William Wallace. Jr.
George Franklyn bad gout? to visit
his untlu and auat, who lived in
Southern California, not far from the
(rest d.serl in whose very heart was
sproadiug the Salton Sea.
Whcu George left bis home, in one
of the Eastern states. the tempera-
ture there was below zero. It was in
the month of February, sad a heavy
enow lay all over the ground. George
was dressed for that sort of weather,
and when he arrived at El Fubo, Tex.,
en route to Southern California, he finjPn,
was obliged to put his overcoat out of know."
sight, its very preeeoce almost suffo-
cating him. The next morning, on
rising from his berth, ha dispensed
with some af his heavier garments
when dressing, for he had now come
into a salubrious climate where the
Northerner sometimes finds even Feb-
ruary too warm for comfort.
But George did not feel uncomfort-
able yet. The first suggestion of too
much heat for comfort in winter
to make some geological study. He
was deeply interested in that science
and wished very much to take advant-
age of this visit to the West to furth-
er his knowledge.
“I'll tell you what you may do,” said
hia uncle, who was foud of his bright
young nephew? You may take a
mule tomorrow and ride over beyoud
that low range of mountains. It s n
good day’s Journey to go and return
You'll have to start before breukfaat
and eat a snack as you travel. Path-
never wait on meala, you
And the indulgent uncle
laughed merrily. “We'll make a reg-
ular Westerner of you before we let
you return to civilization again."
“Nothing would suit me better,” de-
clared George. “Is the desert Juot
beyond those mountains, uncle?”
“One desert is, yes,” answered his
uncle. “Truth is, there are sy, many
deserts |u this part of Califoruia that
one is lost for names for them. The
geological name for that desert is to
clothing was at Yuma, Arlz., that In-; i»e seen on some of the maps, but most
tercstlng town that lies below sea lev- of them iguore its existence since it
el, and whose houses have double belongs to a chain of greater ones,
roofs to protect the inhabitants frojn Dut it is about as treacherous a one as
the tropical sun which comes down so a maa can joge ,llH way ,n And j.jj
fiercely during nine months of the advise you to follow my instructions
year. There hs found a June day In
winter, bright sun and soft, warm
sands stretching all around. At Yuma
tha train crossed the Colorado river,
that uncontrollable stream which has
broken through its banks and la fill-
ing up the great Salton Desert basin,
making of It a sea.
George left the train at Yuma and
walked about the station, buying a
string of beads from a Yuma Indinu
squaw, who, with a number of her
tribe, was squatted on a blanket In
front of the railway atatlon ottering
her wares for sale.
to the letter or—you might never
show up to have another meal with
ue.”
“I’ll follow your advice, than,”
laughed George. “I’m too fond of liv-
ing to take great ehances of losing
my life. Aunt Mary may put my name
in the pot for supper, for I’ll not re-
main out all night I like sleeping in
• bed,”
The next morning George was up be-
fore the suq and nut with his uncle at
the corrall helping to feed the entitle
and horses. Then Old Trusty, u tr.ulo
uaed to the mountain road, waB sad-
infancy. He also examined some of
the rock formations and the soil.
Then, getting iuto the saddle again,
he went on towards the “mystery,” as
he called the desert. The aun shone
from straight above his head when he
entered the edge of the waste of sat'd
to the east of the mountains. Drawing
Old Trusty to a halt. George sat
breathless, looking about him. Withia
that area called tha desert uot one
sign of life of any kind was visible.
Sand, reflecting the beat—such heat us
George had never before felt—was
spread like a death pall over every
inch of the ground that lay In the lit-
tle secluded valley. One time it had
been a small sea; centuries of l.eat
had dried It up.
George's uncle had warned him
against advancing more than a quar-
ter of a mile into the desert waste,
lint the trouble that followed was not
due to George's disobedience to hie
uncle, but to tlie fact that there was
no way of measuring distance on t:.at
flat, gleaming surface. George rode on
and on Into the trackless sand, leav-
ing no tracks behind him. What ho
supposed to be about a quarter of g
mile was. In fact, over a mile. Hav-
ing gone that distance, he drew Old
Trusty’s rein and dismounted. The
mule was glad of the rest and stood
with bowed bead, sleeping. Being
vsry wrarin and thirsty, George decid-
ed to refresh himself with some food
and water. He sat down in the shade
tt Qeorgt’s undo. The sun was oet-
Uag In their faces, and George, thirsty,
hungry, exhausted from the bent and
Mewtng sand, smiled wearily, but
gladly:
“No more of the desert for in-."
Old Trusty. I don't know how >ou feel
about It, but I guess you've uo love
for such an Inferno. Come, can you
limber up your legs a bit livelier and
get u« home in time for supper? i feel
that I could drink a barrel of cold wa-
ter and lie In a tut* full of it all night,
i 4s for you. Trust y. I'm afraid you'll
drink the well dry.”
4nd Old Trustv said never a word
Ip reply, but quickened his gait as If
understanding the wishes of bis young
master.
• ♦    fiUCCEM IN LlFK.    •
I *    - •
♦    Extracts from Thsodsre Nneee- ♦
♦    vslt's Book in “To* Square Doe’.*' ♦
*♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
From the very beginning our peo-
ple have markedly combined practical
capacity for affairs with power of de-
votion to an Ideal. The lack of either
quality would have reader* l t?le pos-
session of the other of small value.
Meie ability to achieve success in
things concerning the l>ody would not
have atoned for the failure to live the
life of high endeavor, and on the oth-
er hand, without a foundation of those
qualities which bring material pros-
perity there would be nothing on
which the higher life could be built
Tho men of the revolution would
have failed If they had not possessed
alike devotion to liberty and ability
(once liberty bad been achieved) to
show common sense and self restraint
In Its use.
«
The men of the great civil war
would have failed had they not pen-
sessed the business capacity which de-
veloped and orgnnlzed these resources
In addition to the atern resolution to
expand these resources a* freely as
they expended their blood In further-
ance of the great cause for which their
hearts leuped.
Mrs. De Style—Your husband seems
to be n pessimist
Mrs. Malaprop—Oh! no. He's an oc-
ulist
Hn sat down In the shade of the main auu proceeded to eat
minutes George was again on died for George to make his start to
In 10
the train going westward through the
Tuma Desert As they sped along
the desert. As he passed the kitchen
door the Japanese cook was waiting
through sand and sand George became j for him. He held a small canvas bag
the mystery I tied with a cord so looped that It
'deeply impressed with
and silence of the desert and longed
to go about in It In the distance,
both to the right and left were dim
mountains, at times almost lost in the
purple haze that denoted great dis-
tance. On top these mountains gleam
of the mule and proceeded to eat. Old
Trusty did not seem to mind the heat
or -absence of water. George's uncle
had said that he was like a camel—
could go an Indefinite time without
wnter. He had been known to go two
days without a drop and had suffered
no bad results from it, either.
As George was preparing to mount
again there came a sudden breeze
across the desert. Then George snw
a regular sandstorm in progress just
across the valley. It was thickening
and spreading rapidly—coming his
way. He sprang into the saddle and
] gave Old Trusty the reins, for his uu-
| cle had warned him of these desert
j squalls, as he termed the sand-storms.
But hardly had he got Into the sad-
dle when the wind-full of sand—was
about him. making it impossible for
him to bold his eyes open. It cut his
face and neck and blinded Old Trusty,
who stopped, head down.
“On. on. Old Trusty” urged Georgs,
kicking the mule’s sides. So, without
opening his eyes Old Trusty went on,
finding it almost impossible to walk
in such a storm.
i Then it was that a terrible fear
seized Oeorgt. He could not see any
distance ahead of him and could open
•his eyes only for an instant at a time.
He felt that they had turned in the
wrong direction, but he thought it
wiser to allow Old Trusty to take his
way according to his animal instinct.
The heat was that of a furnace and
George had frequent recourse to his
Jug of water. He had drunk about half
of it when he decided that It was ex-
tremely rruel for him to take it ell
and not so much as dampen the burn-
ing nostrils of the patient old mule.
Cause for Gratitude.
"Does hs really love her?”
“How can bo kolp it—she
fused him six times.”
baa ro-
could bs hung over the pommel of the Draw{ng jn the rein he sprang to the
saddle. This bag contained a goodly
supply of food and drink.
Waving a farewell to hia unde and
tho cook—the other members of the
family were not up yet—George struck
in tha tropical sunshine, a1 off at a Jog-trot toward the nearby
•d snow
problem Georgs could not solve.
"Why,” he asked himself, "If the
mountain topi are nearer to the burn-
ing sun than are the valleys, do they
keep so cold?” But the question re-
mained unanswered.
As they pushed on into the desert
the heat became much greater. It made
George think of an August day during
a drouth in his own state. Then he
fell to thinking how it was that very
moment at home. Doubtless a blis-
sard was in progress, snow blowing
and piling everywhere in great drifts,
while here was he, less than 2,000
miles from home, riding under a trop-
ical sun through great wastes of sand
and endless sand.
It was evening when George reached
Us little town where his unele met
him at the station. But his Journey
was aot yet eaded. He stayed with
bis nade at a hotel that night, and
early In tha morning they sat out for
a 10-mile drive aver dry, sandy roads.
Ms uncle had a fruit reach right on
the edge of a deaert, his orchards be-
lag fed by maaas of Irrigation.
During Ua plaaaaat rids George ex-
mountains that walled the desert from
view. After riding for half an hour he
decided It was breakfast time, and un-
tying the bag took out two thick slices
of bread and butter and a liberal piece
of cold beef. In the bag was a gallon-
jug of water, from which George re-
freshed himself after his meal. "Not
quite so full of flavor as coffee, but
more wholesome,” he said to himself
as he corked trie Jug and dropped It
again Into the bag.
He .had had full Instructions from
his uncle as to tha route he was to
follow. There was a wagon road all
the way to the valley, that lay like a
dried-up lake between two low moun-
tain ranges, a valley that, from heat
and lack of moisture, was a desert
about 10 miles long and seven to eight
wide. Old Trusty knew the trail and
went ambling along through the pass
between two walls of mountains, a
pan that waa full of vegetable life and
picturesque rocks. Enough melted
snow found Its way Into this little
canyon to bring Into life the 7sgeta-
| tlon that grew there. George d'a-
' mounted and gathered some of the
ground, poured the remaining con-
tents of the Jug into his hat and put It
under Old Trusty’s nose. The suffer-
ing animal took the draught at one
gulp, and opened his bloodshot eyes
long enough to look his thanks to
George.
After a long time—seeming much
longer to George than it really was—
Old Trusty stumbled over 'some rocks
aud dead tree branches. Hope shot
thru Ueorge'8 heart. He sprang from
Old Trusty’s back and examined the,
ground. Yes, they were at the edge of
the desert. And now he could see
ahead of him. The mountains rose
close by. And there—directly in their
path—was the road leading into the
canyon thru which they had coine at
noonday.
“Dear Old Trusty!” said George,
embracing the mule with a feeling of
’ intense joy. "You, dear old fellow,
brought me safe from the desert. I
would have gone in an opposite dlrec-
Still at It-
Helen—Fred told me It was a ques-
tion of my acceptance or his death by
suicide.
Grace—And you accepted him? You
cruel creature!
It la thla combination of quallttee
that has made our people succeed.
Other peoples have been as devoted if>
liberty, and yet. because of lack of
hard headed common tense and a#
ability to show restraint and subor-
dinate individual passlona for the gen-
eral good, hnvs failed so signally in
the struggle of life as to become a by-
word among the nations. Yet ether
peoples, again, have possessed all pos-
sible thrift and business capacity, but
have been trampled underfoot or have
played a sordid and ignoble part in the
world because their business capacity
was unaccompanied by nay of lift to-
ward nobler things which mark* a
great and genarous nation. The atern
but Juat rule of Judgment for humanity
la that each nation shall be known by
lta frutta. and If there are no fruita,
if the nation baa failed. It matters but
little whether It has felled through
meanness of soul or through lack of
robustness of character. We muni
judge a nation by the net result of Its
life and activity. And so wo moot
Jqdge the pollclea of thoae who at any
time control the deat Inlet of a nation.
*
There waa no patent device for to-
curing victory by force of arena forty
years ago, and there In no patent do
vice for necurlng victory for the
forcen of rlghteouanaaa In eivil life
now. In each caae the all Important
factor waa and la the character of the
Individual man.
I    *
There are very different kind* of
■uccesB. There la the auccesa which
brings with It the seared aeul—the
' success which Is achieved by wolfish
greed and vulpine cunning—the luc-
res* which makes honest men uneasy
or Indignant in Its presence. Then
there Is the other kind of success—
the success which comes as the re-
ward of keen Insight, of sagacity, of
resolution, of address, combined with
unflinching rectitude of behavior, pub-
lic and private. The first kind of suc-
cess may In a sense—and a poor sense
at that—benefit the individual, but it
is always and necessarily a curae to
the community, whereas the man who
wins the second kind as an Incident
of its winning hecomee a beneficiary
to the whole commonwealth.
Knew They Were False.
Miss Oldglrl—I’d like to go shopping
with you, but the dentist Is going to
tion had I followed my own ideas of i Ax my teeth this afternoon and it will
the compass. But we'll not tarry here I take him at least an hour,
te congratulate ourselves. No telling
|rtss#4 his wlah te go late the desert | leaves from a palm tree still In lta
what this mfstery might take a notion
to do. We will get on the other side
of the mountain—it’s healthier for us.”
* At the end of two hours Georgs
and Old Trusty emerged from the can-
yon, faces homeward set In the dis-
tance they could see a tiny speck on
the greet level land, the ranch house
Miss Caustique—That will be time
enough. You can go shopping with
me while he's fixing them.
Bills—Whet makes you think that I
am eharltable in saying that Smith Is
a level headed man?
Wills—It Is a nice way af saying
that his head Is fist.
Long Sermons.
Mark Twain tells this story, the
moral of which you may supply your-
self; ‘i wont to chiircri one time and
was so Impressed by what the preach-
er told me about the poor heathen
that l was ready to give up a hundred
dollars of my own mon»v and even po
out and borrow more to send to the
heathen. But the minirtnr preached
too long, and my enthusiasm began to
drop about $2T> a drop till there was
nothing left for the poor heathen, and
by the time he was through and the
collection was taken up 1 stole 10
cents off the plate.
Casper Whitney Is called upon by
rival explorers to make good his
claim of having explored the headwat-
ers of the Orinoco rive*. twenty-five
day’s Journey by canoe beyond the lim-
its of Humhold’s farthest po:‘nt, and
hs promises to “make go»4.”