North Carolina Newspapers

!??: THE MYSTERY ' ppp AIM W A USA A By CHARLOTTE IVI. BRAE ME. Of eo eeoo The house had been empty for some time, and had a. weird, forlorn aspect. The windows were broken, the railings rusted, and tall, rank weeds filled the garden. , Yet it was, to my mind, the prettiest house in the terrace. It was separated from the others and overloked a broad ex panse of green meadow land. We that is, my mother and I came to live in Western terrace some nine years before the story I have to relate opens. Western terrace Js the last row of houses in that pretty outskirt of London which I will call Surbiton. The beautiful, fertile country lay fair and smiling on either side of us; in the far distance we caught sl glimpse of a chain of blue "hills. The mea dows were green and studded with white and golden flowers. The Terrace is far from the city, far from all the haunts of men; there are no shops near it; no busy crowds ever pass by. The silence of the summer evenings is unbroken, save by the singing of the birds and the distant chiming of the church bells. When we first came to live here, the next house was empty. My mother often wondered that no one took it; but there were many ob jections; it was so far from all the shops; then it lay back, apart and - distant from all the other houses; there was, too, a grove of solemn, melancholy, pine trees near it, an '. on wintry nights the wind wailed and moaned there until it shook one's nerves. Still, I believe the real reason why no one cared to take it was that a dreadful murder had been committed there. In the silence and stillness of a dark night a deed had been committed in Mona House that cried up to high heaven for vengeance. We never cared to inquire about the particulars. It was some sad story t an unnappy marriage a few years of sullen resentment and gloomy misery-a, wild outburst of hot anger a fierce and cruel blow, followed by the stillness and hor rors of death. Perhaps, before telling my little story, I should introduce myself, in order that you may fully understand why I relate it. My mother, Mrs. Gresham, had been for some years a widow. I was her only child. My profession was that of a barrister and I am glad to say I stood fore most in the ranks. My mother had ar. ample fortune of her own and my father had bequeathed to me the savings of a long life. My mother loved the country; she could not endure the city. She must have fresh, pure air, large rooms, green fields. I was obliged to live somewhere near town. We found exactly what we wanted in Western Terrace. It was in the country, yet within an omnibus ride of the city. We had many friends, many acauain- i tances, but no relatives living. Few weeks passed 'without my mother giving a dance of an evening party. We had a constant succession of visitors, and altogether life in West ern Terrace was very gay and agree able. Strange to say, and unlike most mothers, mine wished me to marry. I had already reached the mature age of thirty-six, and had never yet been in love. I laughed at the no tion. I had seen pretty girls and beautiful women, but no face, as yet, charmed or haunted me. My mother continually made a point of inviting young and attractive girls to the house. It was all in vain; love to me was a stranger. It happened just at this time that I was confined to the house for a week or two, from the effects of a severe cold, and then it became to me a source of continual amusement to watch Mona House and the doings there. From a dull, dusty, dirty building it gradually changed into a bright, light, cheerful one, with freshly painted railings. It amused me to watch the arrival of large vans of furniture and other effects. We often speculated as to what our neigh bors would be like. Would they be old or young, dull or sociable? For , some time after all the arrange ments at the house had been com- pleted there was no sign of them. An elderly woman of respectable ap pearance took up her abode there. We saw no arrival or the usual fore runners of a family moving. Once I heard (late in the evening and quite dark) the sound of a carriage, driving slowly up to the next door. I could distinguish some slight con fused sounds, and in a few minutes it. drove away again. Three days afterwards I was walk ing home, when suddenly, at one of the upper windows of Mona House, I caught-sight of a face that I shall never forget. The fair, pale face of a lady, with the saddest expres sion in her dark eyes I ever beheld; a beautiful face, set in a frame of golden hair, with sweet, patient lips, that looked too grave and mournful to smile. ' - ' I cannot tell why the face affected me so keenly; it seemed like the realization of a want I had long felt like the completion of a dream. In that one moment it was photo grahed on my heart, and will be there till I die. All night long it haunted me; those sweet, sad eyes seemed ever looking Into mine. I longed to hear the voice that should come from those patient lips. I told e nF MdNA HflllSF. SSS. W A A A V A AAV V WA4 my mother that our new neighbors had arrived, and that one of them was a most fair and lovely lady. "It is strange," she remarked, "that I have neither seen nor heard anything of them." And as the days went on the fact grew more and more strange. We neither saw nor heard anything of them. I could not obtain another glimpse of the fair, sad face that haunted me. I am not ashamed to say how much I tried to do so. I lingered in the road and watched from the window, but there was no sign of it. Other things struck me as strange and mysterious. Whoever resided there whether the lady I had seen was alone or not, I could not tell; i. j . - uut no one ever canea. l never once saw friend or guest Or' visitor approach; that closed door. The post man never took letters to Mona House, j No one ever crossed the threshold; it was silent and solitary as a large tomb. Early in the morning I saw the old servant at work; but look when I would; whether in the bright, warm flush of morning or in the dewy evening, early or late, I could not see the pale, lovely, face I could never forget. Was she maid, widow, or wife? I could not tell. I might have lived a thousand miles from Mona House, and I should have known just as much of ; it as I did then. We won dered often whether any one else lived with the lady I had seen. Once again I saw her. It was early in ; the . morning. Unable to sleep, I had come out into the gar den to look for some favorite Sowers. She was in her own garden, leaning against the lattice-work that sepa rated our grounds from those of Mona House. She had gathered a few flowers, but during her fit of musing they had fallen from her hands. For full half an hour I stood under the flowering lilac trees, drinking'in the beauty of the pale drooping; girl, who neither moved nor stirred. Presently the old wom an came1 out and touched her gently on the arm. "Come in, Miss Clarice, and .ake some breakfast," she said. "You look tired to death. A long sleep will do you as much good as fresh air." ! Slowly and wearily the girl fol lowed the old servant into the ! house. "Why should she be worn and wan? Why should she be tired or wearied?.". I asked myself. "Whv should she have watched through the long noqrs of night? What shadow had r fallen upon , the young life? What was the mystery hanging over Mona House? iixcic wa& no guiit, sname or crime. I could have doubted any thing rather than the pale, sad face upon which the inorninsr sun had shone so lovingly. I asked my mother to make some advances towards our neighbor. She tried to do so but her efforts were all in vain. The lady seemed to shrink from observation, and only wished to avoid notice. At last we began to notice that a closed carriage stopped once a day at the door; a gentleman descended from it, and remained some few minutes in the house. For a long time I wondered who he could be; one day I saw him plainly, and re cognized, the celebrated physician, Dr. James. The mystery seamed now to be solved; j doubtless the lady was a great invalid thr.t accounted for her pale face and utter seclusion from all society. I told my mother of my discover, and she, always kind of sheart, resolved to do some thing to help and aid the young girl who seemed so utterly friend less. The next time she saw the old housekeeper, my mother stopped her and inquired after the health of her mistress. "My mistress is quite well," re plied the woman, taken by surprise and thrown off her guard. "I airi glad to bear it," said my mother. ; "I was afraid, irom Dr. James' frequent visits, she might be ill." - . Something seemed to come over the woman, like a start of recollec tion. "She is not well," she stammered, "but thbre is nothing serious the matter." There was a strange hesitation about the old servant that my mother .could not understand. "Can -I be useful to her in any way?" she asked again. '') - "No!"1 replied the wbman'abrupt ly; "she wants nothing but.quiet." My mother saw "there was. some thing constrained about her manner; she snotieed, alst- that, she seemed anxious to end Jfie conversation. From , that time the housekeeper' avoided; all chance uf meeting wfth any one from our house. ; But for tune favored me again. 1 A few evenings afterwards I was in the garden. vThe lady from Mona House stood, holding a heavy flower pot in hier hand. She was' trying to open the' door of the little conserva tory, i I cannot tell if a. small slate fell from the , house-roof, :or if some one passing along tho wall flung a stone; I saw only one thing; the heavy flower-pot was broken into a hundred pieces, and. the little white udnas mat neia it were fearfully -.-. JX T i tul uu "ruisea. in one moment I had leaped over m wau ana stood byher side. "Are you hurt?" I cried. I shall never forget the look she iurnea upon me; it was one of the most intense terror. "How did you come here?" she asked. "Who are you?" I never in mv life. like the wild fright in her eyes; her face was white and quivering. l am your next-door neighbor," icpiiea quicKiy; "trom my garden I saw the accident which happened, and came to help you." "I am not hurt," she said faintly. "You must be," was my reply, pointing to a large crimson stain on ner dress; 'see' how your hand is CUt. You look faint: sit Tiqt-o rest, while I tell your servant." 1 - v. auu No, she gasped, rather than spoite, wnne her feeble fingers clutched my arm, "no, no; do not enter the house." I bowed, and was turning away, when she said, gently: ' "You are very kind, and I thank you very much indeed. Pray do not think me rude or ungrateful." "It would be impossible to Imag- ine you eitner," I replied. "Let me at least bind up your hand. i saw ner give one quick, eaepr glance at the windows of the house, men witn tne trusting simplicity of a little child she laid that little white hand in mine. Nothing ever took me so long as that act of kindness did. It was like the realization of a bright dream to see that fair, sad face to iook into the sweet, shy eyes. I was obliged to finish at last, and then she gave me a grateful, gentle smiie. do not thank me," I cried, see- mg she was about to speak. "Will Then she determined upon leaving you grant me one favor? Will you her old home and going to some se allow me to call and see how your eluded, quiet spot, where no one who nand is to-morrow or in a few daysv time?" "Pray do not ask me." shP snirt in such1 evident terror I could not persist in the demand. Seeing my presence really dis- tressed , her, I went awav. bearing with me a passionate love of the fair, sad lace, haunted hv t.h mnaMi tone of that sweet voicp. Vy-f Ji J. . u.j ... . . xcu iciwams, in tninicing over tue interview, i was more at a loss than ever. What was the mystery? Why did she look so frightened? TTTl t - i . vvny am sne evidentlv drpari lpst should enter the house? What was concealed or going on there? My dear mother was moved to compassion when I related the in cident. "I shall certainly go in and see her," she said. "Poor young ladv! I cannot help thinking she suffers from a nervous disease." rni i mat evening when I returned home, she, my mother, had a strange taie to tell me. She looked pale and scared. "Paul," she said, when we were seated alone in the drawing-room, l nave had a great fri&ht to-rinv I have been to see our next-door neighbor." Before I had time to reply she continued: -'Yes, I have been to see her; but I shall never go again. There is something either very mysterious or very wrong going on there. The old servant sppttioh fa: V. IVjI 1 i nea wnen she met me. I asked to see her mistress. At first she said cue joung laay was engaged; then v uci uiiouess was not at uuine. vvnat alarmed me so much was that as I turned to leave the room, I heard a noise. T i j ,, .... x tauuut uescriDe it," continued mv mnfhor ctin1o;n I nitr.,:V r.rrj::r:.raa turnln heard Tnct qo t yzed by the aw?? , saw the TOnn J ! ft dlstinct1 saw tne joung lady herself cross the landing above the stairs. UUM Lilt: "It musinelv i replied, "ShA tstq cs .. , . the whnip or ;;i ;r!,1U:-!ne n,USe mother "ww "T V!rm.ea my caouu " nei mysterious seclusion? What could be the cause of that fearful sound?" Even as we sat, trying to solve the mystery oi Mona House, there came a violent ringing at the hall door. ."Who can be there?" said my mother. "It is eleven o'clock." Before I had time to reply the old servant from the next house hastilv e i- . . . entered the room, and went straight up to my mother. "Will you come in to see mv mis tress now, directly?" she said". "He is dying at last, and she is all alone." Who is dying?" asked mv be wildered mother; but the woman had gone out again, and we followed. In silence we entered Mona House and followed her up the broad stair case. We heard a srr n n err V. 1 i" v.jj.&)Cf nail- moaning sound. The old woman opened the door of a room, and we entered. I can never forget the sisrht. On a bed near the fire lay a most beau tiful boy; but at one glance we couid see he was not only an idiot, but. also dumb. A mass of short , lay on the pillow. His large, bright eyes wandered restlesslj. The beau tiful face was flushed, and the damp of death hung heavily on the broad, white brow. From his lipSv there came incessantly that moaning, half articulate sound that chilled ' one's very blood. By his side knelt the gentle lady I loved so well. She rose as we entered the room cxiu coming towards simply: us, said, 'You have been kind before; be j kind to me again. He is dyinj an4 I am all alone. I My mother Heaven bless her for it! clasped the slender, girlish fig ure in her arms, and kissed the v-hite face over and over again. ! Then we knelt by the side of the bed. Hour after hour passed, and no sound was heard, save the moaning of the poor dumb boy and the bitter sobs of his sister. The gray dawn of mornine: an- - peared before the struggle ended, and the beautiful face wore the pallor and stillness of death. Then, while tears rained down her face, Clarice Holte told her simple story. Her father had been a wealthy London merchant, who had made a large fortune entirely by his own skill and exertions. He died when Clarice was fourteen, and her littlfi brother a hahe in his mWlior's arms i - wvw w She told us of her mother's de spair, when the toy, who had the most beautiful face and soft golden curls, was declared to be utterly and hopelessly imbecile. From that time she withdrew herself entirely irom the world. She went no more into society; she shut herself up with her children, and devoted every moment, eveiy thought, every care of her life to ner Dy- Clarice villingly shared her solitude. When she was eight een her mother died. Then the real troubles of this life commenced for Clarice Holte. On the mother's death-bed she exacted from the young girl a promise that, while her brother lived, she would devote her life to him, even if it obliged her to forego all love and all haDDiness Clarice promised, and she kept her word nobly. To her great , alarm one or .two friends wished her to send the boy to a public asylum, saying he would be better cared for knew her could find her where- she could devote herself, as her mother had done' to tne unfortunate boy Her faithful old nurse discovered Lue "ouse western Terrace. It sulted them exactly, and in the sr'- lence of tlie niSht the poor idiot was brougllt home. It was a heavy bur ueu iU1 young snouioers to carrv The constant watching, both night and day, drove the bloom from the fair face, and imprinted there a look of dreamy sadness, pitiful to see. To add to her troubles, noor Her bert -began to 'droop; he pined after his dead mother, and could not be comforted. Dr. James still attended him, as he had done during his mother's life. Clarice llvpd in mn tinual dread, lest the kind but offi cious friends, who were so anxious to remove her brother from her care should discover her residence. Hence her terror when I suddenly ap peared in the garden. She believed herself discovered. For the same reason, she dreaded any one visiting or entering the house, fearing that, if her brother's Known, sne would ho deprived of - J C4 1LJ. J him. mi. , . ine mjsiery was solved at length. We helped Clarice we stood by "her wnen ner brother was iaid in the pretty cemetery near Surbiton. WTe soothed her sorrow,, and helped her to bear her grief. Gradually the shadow passed from the fair face, and the lips learned to smile. She looked . perfectly happy, one morning, when the jrolden sunbeam fel1 "Pon her, and we stood side by Slae at the altar. She looked per iCUl1 "ppy ior on tnat morning Clarice Holte became my wife. Good Literature To Mark the Old Trails. In Kansas an effort is being made uvo iu mai iv me uuuise oi tne Santa Fe trail- which is erhaPs most historic highway in the Union, tr, Poiif ,- in California n arriatv lint- formed to locate the route of "el ca- - v , wwviij uo it ll mine real," or kings mgnway, the road, used by the Franciscan mission- Tom Mexico who founded mis- 'm San Diego to San Fran Cisco more than a century ago. It is proposed to restore this road and make of it a wide boulevard for its whole length. The - project is thus practical as well as sentimental, a circumstance which augurs well for its success. Many historic trails remain to be marked, however, and the work will have to be- inaugurated soon if it is to be done at all. The wagon trails from the Missouri River to Salt Lake City on the south and to Fort Fetter man on the north will soon be oblit erated through disuse. The railroads have long ago taken all the traffic that once passsd over these trails. Nothing now remains to mark wjiere they once ran except an occasional deep-worn rut which tkr;3 has yet i'ailed to fiy up and the ruins of a "station" far away from any human habitation. For many miles no trace of many of the overland routes can be found, and history and tradition will often have to be relied upon to relocate them. Yet the task of picking up the old trails is not. at all impossible,, as is shown by the success which has at tended efforts to locate the old mili tary road over which General Brad dock marched from Virginia to death and defeat near old For Duquesne, now Pittsburg. Thanks to the exer tions of individual investigators, the route of practically the whole road is now defined, and hj who has leisure and inclination can follow it from its beginning to the very spot where George Washington and his "irregu lars" saved the broken remnant of the Braddock expedition from anni hilation. Chicago Chronicle. A NIGHT WITH THE WOLVES. From the wilds of Carp Lake, Michigan, comes an account of peri lous adventure with wolves, not un like those of our forefathers in pio neer days. On the afternoon of March 17 Mr. George Bigge, who lives at the Nonesuch Mine, twenty miles out of Ontonagon, was on his way home from that place with a load of supplies in a long uack. Nieht overtook him before he had covered more than half the distance. He con- tinued his journey, but between nine and ten o'clock was startled by the howling of wolves close at hand. 'He had no weapons, and urged his horse to a faster gait, but as the road is up a heavy grade, progress was slow at best. He had gone only a short distance farther when he noticed twenty-five or thirty wolves emerge from the brush into the roadway just behind him. On the front of his conveyance was a lantern with a reflector. Mr. Bigge seized this, and turned the strong light upon the wolves. It frightened them so that they slunk back into the 'shadows -of the woods, but soon became bolder, and began closing in again. He now realized that he was in a desperate plight. In the pung was a tin pail and a quantity of hay. Filling the pail with hay and setting it in the rear of the pung, he applied a match. The blaze cowed the ani- mals. -The fire "was kept burning brightly, and the team urged for- ward- ' For a time the wolves held back, But .they gradually came closer again, advancing along the .sides of the road. The supply of hay gave out. In desperation Mr. Bgge tore open a box of canned goods, arid commenced hurling cans at them with some effect, checking their pro- gress for the third time. The stock of cans was soon ex- hausted, however, and once more tn nmviing pacic closed ujp behind. The man was now, in despair; but immediately an opening in the for- est showed ahead, and as the pant- ing horses drew into it, the wolves dropped back. The place was an abandoned mine property where several of the build- mgs were still standing. Lashine the horses on, Mr. Bigge reached one of these old structures and se- . i.urea ins team inside it, but was w 1Mvc me iiung ana robes to the pursuing pack. In this old shed, which Iuckilv had a door that mnin i.rv k,.,.;j he nasserl the m'p-ht TClHl t wulu IJC uouitiiueu. Toward morning the wolves left v uitu jjlio uuiocs. tne place, but not until they had torn the robes to shreds and trod den the snow down hard all round the old shed. Youth's Companion FEARLESS SWIMMERS. Ill the Ti'ator tha U ciiiic tiifv cu-e auie to swim nice por- iioca. Any autnor or Hawaiian Yesterdays" gives a reminiscence of the courage of the natives: r . Our party had arrived in Hilo Jt cvi c wie an seated upon the platform of a hi ir rionhlo ranno I , : .me, ttouuic n um me scnooner which lay out in the harbor. a tllvnno- u, . , , -xi& uauves imeu me oeacn , waiting to welcome their returning teachers. Just as we were entering the surf that rolled upon the sandy shore," through some accident the canoes suddenly filled and sank, leaving us an biding nair submerged in the shallow water. With a loud roar of "Auwe!" (oh and alas!) the as- sembled crowd rushed as one man into the waves and bore us safely to land. i On one occasion, about the same date, a coasting vessel was. upset in a violent squall betweei the islands of Hawaii and Maui. Although the nearest land was twenty miles dis- tant, the native crew and passengers boldly struck out to swim ashore, and several of them did come safe to land after a night and day in the deeP- Among the survivors of the wreck was a poor woman who for several hours swam with her husband upon her back; but the poor man died of cold and fatigue, and had to be aban- doned at last before the coast was reached. AX ALPINE MISADVENTURE. The story of the first serious acci dent to a climber in the New Zealand Alps, told in the Times to-day, is one of the most thrilling and astonishing that the records of. Alpine misadven ture can show." It begins with a bumping fall of the solitary climber, Mr. R. S. Low, down an icy couloir, which recalls Mr. AVhymper's famous solitary tumble on the Matterhorn with in this case, the additional cir cumstance of an abysmal bergschruhd waiting to engulf the climber at the bottom of the slide, unless he manages to pull himself up somehow. He does, and lies for hours half-conscious with a badly dislocated ankle, a lacerated knee and minor wounds. Then he drags himself, in this condition, and without an ice-axe, down this fearful .,vi. iiaimiidiis arts -.0 oigua ui numan beings Kt absolutely fearless. As soon as they nightfall he came upon a little settle can walk, little babies are taken to ment, but would not accept the prof bathe in the sea, and in a very short fered hospitality until some of th couloir, that would have been no child's play, probably, to a properly equipped party. He then crawls on hands and knees, dragging his knapsack after him at the end of a rope, for two days to the Bivouac Rock, six miles away, 'crossing hideous 'moraine and badly crevassed glacier all the way, and has to wait at the rock six days for rescue, with only day's supply of food to last out the whole ten days. It is marvel lous that .a jiian should have survived all this, and non-cli rubers will have more vivid ideas than ever as to the joys of mountaineering. But moun tains are much the same in Svyit.pr land and at the Antipodes, and the old, old moral as to the folly of climbing alone is almost too obvious to be men tioned. Pall Mall Gazette. FIGHTING FOR LIFE. The professional "faster" who goes without food for four or five weeks, who is carefully watched and tended, and whose progress is chronicled by the daiJy Papers, is but a trifler in the experience of starvation com- Pared with the castaway fisherman of the Grand Banks. The New York Sun Prints an account which includes several adventures that make the Performances of Dr. Tanner read like cniId's Play. It seems almost incred- ible tftat a scantily clad man could live f or twenty-nine days on a barren rock without food or drink, blistered by tne nt sun in the daytime and benumbed by the night's cold. Yet a Newfoundland fisherman went through such an ordeal, and lives to tel1 the tale. In 1904 two trawlers remained adrift for eleven days, with only a small jug of water to afford them subsistence. When found they were lying insensible on the bottom of the dory, Terrible as the sufferings of these fishermenare in summer they are far outclassed by the miseries of these wuo SO astray in winter. Two dory mates were caught in a jnidwinter snowstorm 100 miles off Newfound- land a few years ago. They lost sight of their vessel in the blizzard, and tried to row to land, one toiling at the oars while the other bailed out the boat. WThen night came they made a drag or sea anchor of trawl kegs, While thus engaged Blackburn's mlt- tens were washed overboard, and with naked hands his plight was des- perate. But he gallantly held on The next day his comrade iia,.o.V and the third morning froze to death- Blackburn, taking the mitts and socks from tlfe dead man, tried -to cover his own hands, which 'were now positively frozen into the shape oF the grip on the oars so that h- could not straighten them. Days passed and he toiled on with- out food or drink. On the evenin- of the fifth dav he .J! and moored his boat at a deserted fishing wharf. His work was not over for h e had promised to Hvo v. burial on shor3 companion a Satisfvinr . . . y eating I ii coil SHOW. K aphnn i . . . ' . . . lciy on a neap i nets mi mernr tho - hands nreventi gony of his morning he found that the dorv had sunk with the body fetill in it. With great difficulty he hauled the boat on the rocks and got the bodv up0n the wharf above. Then getting into the dory once more he rowed all dav ' sleep. The nevt -CAUIS KlffnS Ot h MTV. a vi , "n naa set out to bury his dead UUUiPamon ers and toes v0t . & mau nas since won fame as a daring mariner, hav- twice crossed the Atlantic alone in a dorv 1i'qc.; V' King a cruise of seaDoara from Boston to - Orleans without anv romo? ' ".J. 1 ESCAPED DEATH BY MIRACLE. Patrick Stewart, of West pmiov phia, lives to tell the storv of miraculously escaped death despite the fact that he was buried beneaih "i-y ions of dirt and stone fror 9-30 a- m. until 11 o'clock when h was rescued by a grouD of labors )m le Stewart says that a man named Michael Kennedy was preparin- a blast in a auarrv nOQt. a j Jf... i ucuuuu street . and Wyoming avenue, anrf i nited the dynamite fuse he warned Stewart of his danger, but before he CQuld leave the place the explosion took Place. He was standing under a hiSh embankment and the concus- sion loosened the mountain of a ill ' and stone. . Fortunately Stewart fell- into a hoIe in the ground, and wne ered with a large stone " nlm the opportunity to breathethe embankment of dirt coverino- L fully three or four feet The ih. ers who removed the dirt in double' quick time were surprised at not finding a dead man, and hurried Stewart to the hospital. Philadel phia Record. GIRL KILLS CINNAMON BEAR. ; Miss Bertha Jones, a recent arrival m the Entiat Valley, is said to have celebrated her coming by shooting and killing a 1000 pound cinnamon bear, one of the largest ever seen in -that section. Miss Jones, who lives in Walla Walla, went to "Entiat to join her brother, who is prospecting Muddy Creek. Last Friday morning, her brother being absent, Miss Jones left camp for a few minutes for water On her return she found a bear in side the tent investigating and bolt ing everything eatable in sight. A .3030 rifle was close. at hand. Miss Jones killed the intruder at the first shot. Spokane Chronic!.