ful household commodity for the purpose of carrying home your molasses, vinegar or liquid refreshments.

"I am not, as you probably anticipate, going to produce rabbits or guinea pigs from the interior of this jug, nor do I intend to grow roses or palm trees from its mouth. Those tricks, gentlemen, are too trivial and childish to perform before such intelligent judges as yourselves, but, on the contrary, this trick is one that will hold you all spellbound for hours afterwards, and furnish a theme of conversation for years to come. Now, to begin, will one of you gentlemen please name a color? Any color?"

"Red," says Si Mingle.

"Red she is," says Hawkins, and tipping up the demijohn he filled the first glass. The color was bright red.

"Now, somebody else name a color," says he.

"Blue," says Bill Etts.

Mr. Hawkins filled the next glass; the color was as blue as a June sky.

"Next," says he, and filled the third glass. This one was green. And so he kept it up until the whole six glasses were filled, each with a different color: red, blue, green, white, black and yellow.

"And now," says he, "before passing around the hat, I will produce one more great phenomenon from the jug the spellbinder of the whole performance."

He got a lot of whiskey glasses out of the trunk and passed them around, two to each of us, and placed two on the table.

"Now, gentlemen," says he, "if you will please hold up the glasses you have in your left hands we will proceed with the first half of the trick."

He picked up the demijohn and went to the end of the row of chairs on which we were sitting. Josh Curtis, who was on the end, held up his glass and Mr. Hawkins filled it. from the demijohn; this time it was water. He moved along to the next man, warbling merrily:

"Pure spring water, gentlemen, drawn right from the_cool recesses of old mother Earth. Taste it, feel of it, and convince yourselves."

When he reached the end of the line, he filled one of the glasses on the table and then returned to Josh Curtis's end.

"Now, then," says he, "hold up the glasses in your right hands."

We did so, and he went through the crowd again.

"Pure corn whiskey," says he. "Right from the moonshine stills of old Arkansas! This is none of your cheap, adulterated stuff, gentlemen, but the pure, bona fide article, guaranteed in every particular. Feel it, smell it, and, if not convinced, taste it; only just wait a minute and I'll join you."

He turned to the table to fill the one remaining glass. He tipped up the demijohn, but nothing came out of it.

"Hello," says he, in a surprised tone. "Blessed if the old jug hasn't run dry at last. She never went back on me like this before, but I don't get beat out of my drink by an empty jug. Will some one please lend me a handkerchief?"

Josh handed over his.

"Now we'll have a little trick that wasn't down on the bills. I'll show you gentlemen how to produce liquid refreshments without the aid of moisture. First I take this empty glass in my left hand, then I place the handkerchief over it, so, then I take my little wand and make the magic pass-observe me closely, gentlemen, and, presto! my glass is filled!" says he, snatching away the handkerchief; and blessed if it wasn't full to the brim.

"And now," says he, picking up his glass of water, "we'll drink a toast to the prosperous and growing little city of Windy Gulch, after which I will pass around the hat, and you will drop into it whatever small pittance you consider justifiable for the entertainment derived from my humble efforts. Drink hearty, gentlemen."

We all drank hearty. Afterwards we wished we hadn't.

"I low how that theah is right good whiskey, but she ain't moonshine," remarked Zeke Stowe, who hailed from Georgia.

"You bet she is," answered Mr. Hawkins. "I ought to know; I made it myself."

He gathered up the glasses and then started at John's end to pass the hat. I remember reaching for my pocket, but if my hand ever got there I didn't know it. Inside of four minutes after the thirty

five male inhabitants of Windy Gulch had "drank hearty," we were all asleep.

We were still slumbering peacefully when Chuck Richards and a passenger arrived, next morning, on the Dogtown stage. Chuck says he had to boot us for a solid quarter hour before he could get so much as a grunt out, and it was a good half hour more before it began to dawn on us that we had been doped.

Our pockets were all turned wrong side out, and subsequent investigation showed that the conjurer had gone through the camp systematically and cleaned her out completely. There wasn't so much as a two-bit piece left in the whole diggings.

Si

"He said that last stunt would hold us spellbound for hours," remarked Mingle.

We all agreed with him that it had. Well, there was one large chunk of angry passion loose in Windy Gulch that morning. Billy Knox declared that the air assumed a pale blue tint, owing to the vigor and abundance of the profanity that was floating around in it. Inside of an hour everybody who could get a horse had started on a diligent and earnest search for the conjurer, and some of 'em even went afoot, so anxious were they to come in personal contact with Mr. Hawkins again.

a

There were just six of us left in camp, including Chuck and the passenger, whose name was Grant. He was mining engineer, bound for Chinipas, to take charge of some mines there. The two of 'em decided to stay over a few hours, so as to be in at the doings in case the boys caught up with Hawkins.

"Oh, well," says Grant, as we were standing up against Billy's bar, trying to draw some comfort out of a bottle, "you fellows ain't so hard hit as you might be. These diggings look pretty prosperous, and you can no doubt take as much out of them as you have lost, and more, too." We explained to him how the diggings had played out.

"Is that so?" says he, surprised. "It's kind o' curious that such rich diggings as these should play out like that. Suppose we go over and take a look at them."

We all went down in a bunch and showed him our little narrow stretch of shore.

"Didn't any of you fellows try to find out where the source of all this gold was?" he asked. "You must have known that it didn't grow here; that it must have washed down from somewhere."

He took a squint up and down the creek and then looked hard at the east wall of the gulch.

"That rock looks as though it might hold something," says he, going over and examining it closely. He took a small hammer from his pocket and chipped off a few pieces of the rock, which he examined under a microscope.

"I can't just say what it is," he said, "but it looks like it might amount to something. Let's go back and I'll make a little assay of this rock."

We went back to Billy's and Grant got out a little assay outfit he had with him, and went to work. At the end of an hour he handed us the result.

"That rock wall looks to me to be one solid chunk of low grade, free milling ore," says he, "running about eight to ten dollars to the ton, gold. You've got a good thing, boys, and on the long run it'll pay you better than the placer diggings did."

"What good is it going to do us?" I asked. "We ain't got any way of getting the gold out."

"What you fellows need is a stamp mill," says Grant. "You get hold of a good ten-stamp mill and stick it down there on that creek and you'll make money."

"Yes, but how are we going to get it?" I asked. "It takes money to buy stamp mills, and there ain't a dollar in this whole outfit.”

"You ought to get credit on the strength of that rock. Most any of the big companies would stand you off for a mill if you could prove to them that you can make good."

"Yes, but how about getting the mill here and setting it up? That's going to take a lot of money will the companies stand for that, too?"

"I am afraid not, but-Say, I know where you can get just the thing you need. The Lone Cactus mines are about played out; I was in there the other day and they told me that there wasn't enough rock in sight to keep the mill going for another month, and they are getting

ready to shut down. I was talking with the man who owns the stamp mill, and he told me that he'd be glad to sell out cheap for cash. Said he'd take eight thousand, and the plant's worth double that amount just as she stands. If you fellows could get hold of it you'd have just what you need."

"How are we going to do it?" I asked again. "Didn't I tell

you we were all busted?" "You might stand him off. You could take out enough gold to pay for the thing in one month after you get it set up and running. I can give you a letter, telling him what you have here, and as he knows me I shouldn't be surprised if he'd do business with you."

Along toward night the boys began to come in, and by nine o'clock they were all back. None of them had found any trace of Hawkins.

We held a meeting at Billy's, to talk over the stamp mill proposition, and it finally ended with Si Mingle and I being delegated to go over to Lone Cactus and negotiate with the owner.

"And now," says the voice, "we will drink a toast to the prosperous and growing little city of Lone Cactus, after which I will pass around the hat. Drink hearty, gentlemen."

"That's Hawkins," whispered Si.

"It sure is," I answered.

We stole up to the window and looked in. The innocent and unsuspecting cit

We started early next morning, on horseback. It's a good seventy-five mile ride to Lone Cactus, and it was close to ten o'clock that night when we pulled into the town. We hitched our horses under a shed and started off in search of the hotel. There was just one light in sight in the whole town, and we headed for that.

"Looks like folks turned in early here," remarked Si.

"It does that," I answered. "Every shanty's as dark and silent as a tomb. That light ahead must be a saloon,"

We were within fifty feet of it when Si suddenly grabbed my arm. "Hush," says he.

Out through the open door was wafted the sound of a man's voice. It seemed to us that we'd heard it before.

OF THE ROCK."

izens of Lone Cactus were sitting in a half circle around the room, and Haw-. kins was bustling about, gathering up the glasses, and warbling his little song and dance for all he was worth. Before he was ready to pass the hat his audience had begun to nod, and a minute later they commenced to roll out of their chairs onto the floor, in deep slumber.

"Now's our chance," I whispered, pulling old General Jackson out of the hol

ster.

We stepped softly to the door. Hawkins was so busy going through the bunch that he didn't notice us until I spoke.

"Why, hello, Sport," says I, covering him with my gun. "Busy?"

He jumped 'most out of his shoes; the

suddenness of it must have shook his nerve some. His ruddy complexion turned to pale green and his hand flew to his hip pocket.

"No you don't," says I. "Put them hands right up over your head and keep 'em there, or I'll show you a little trick of how to let lamplight through the body of a man without the aid of an X ray."

He showed he wasn't anxious to try the trick, by complying with my.command. Then Si went in and got his gun and roped him down to a chair.

The first thing I did was to smash that demijohn with the butt of my gun. The inside of it was made up of a dozen compartments, and on the bottom of the jug were a lot of little buttons. By pressing one of these you released a valve to the compartment with which that particular button was connected, and whatever color was in that compartment would flow out. It was a clever contraption, and I don't wonder that it fooled us all.

Then we turned our attention to the trunk. Down in one corner we found a sack of gold dust and nuggets that weighed all of twenty pounds, and in

another corner we uncovered a roll of bills as big as a piano leg, and another bag full of silver coins.

"There seems to be money in this business," says I, turning to Hawkins.

"Are you through with me?" he demanded.

"Why, yes; I guess we are."

"Then why don't you let me go? You've got the money, what more do you want?"

"Not a thing; but perhaps these sleeping beauties will want to interview you when they wake up. Guess we'll let you stay right where you are till they come out of it.

"And what do you think?" I asked, turning to Si, who'd been sorting over the boodle. "Have we got enough there to buy that stamp mill?"

"I reckon we have, and enough to move her to Windy Gulch and set her up, in the bargain."

"In which case," says I, "you just take that swag and store it in our saddle bags, while I wake up these dreamers and open negotiations for the purchase of it.”

Trrier

ALLOONING is not yet as common here as it is abroad and particularly in France, but it looks as if it soon would be. Mr. J. C. McCoy of New York, an ardent balloonist, and with the means to gratify his taste, said to the writer: "In Paris you go out for a balloon spin about as you do for a motor spin here."

The process of making ready, filling with gas, and finally starting a monster balloon is one of considerable interest, and with more details and adjust ment than seem likely to the casual eye. First, of course, there must be some way of filling the bag with gas. Either hydrogen, generated with iron or zinc and sulphuric acid, or coal gas, from a gas tank, is used. Hydrogen of course, is the lightest gas which can be produced in

quantity, and even it is rather expensive. But its lifting power is greatly superior to coal gas, and is used, therefore, on small balloons more than coal gas. Coal gas, however, is a very satisfactory medium, and not at all expensive where it can readily be obtained. In the pictures illustrating this story-taken of a balloon ascent made in Washington-the gas was secured from the local gas company, and pumped direct from a specially laid

main into the balloon.

The balloon unrolled and laid out on the ground, the first thing to do is to provide it with a means of taking in the gas. This is done by fastening to the hole in the bottom a double ring of wood, by means of which a cloth tube two feet in diameter is attached, forming the neck of the balloon. To this the cloth feeder is secured, which runs to the main. A