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Ask a doctor
Methods Taken to Keep Same Belly Button?
Doctor Answers (8)
Methods to Keep Same Belly Button in Tummy Tuck
The belly button is usually removed from its place on the skin that is discarded, and the belly button is relocated on the new skin flap that is pulled down.
Los Angeles Plastic Surgeon
5.0 out of 5 stars 140 reviews
I Have a Seroma After Tummy Tuck
I am not sure that the other surgeons and I are answering the question you mean to ask, but...
By the standard techniques, you do keep the same navel, as it is left in place during the surgery. The lower skin from the abdomen is removed, the upper skin stretched to fit, and the skin over the navel is incised, and the original navel is sutured in place. Same navel, albeit with a new scar.
If you mean keeping the navel with no scar, that can be done is a limited number of patients who have loose skin the lower abdomen only, and a so-called mini-TT can be performed. Occasionally, the entire navel can be lifted and lowered a bit if there is just a small amount of laxity in the upper abdomen.
Thanks for your question, best wishes.
Seattle Plastic Surgeon
4.5 out of 5 stars 26 reviews
Belly button after tummy tuck.
All the other responses sum up the preservation of the native belly button well. I agree that the smaller the incision the better the result.
I also suggest removing a conical shape of fat from the surrounding area that gives a more natural curve inward giving a natural and attractive result. Many surgeons do not do this and the belly button looks like a button on a flat board. Ask to see photos of the surgeon's work so you have a better idea.
Good luck.
Fort Wayne Plastic Surgeon
5.0 out of 5 stars 6 reviews
How do you keep the same belly button during a tummy tuck?
There are a number of techniques available. In a traditional tummy tuck, your original belly button is released from the skin and left attached at the stalk to the underlying abdominal wall. Once the excess skin and fat are excised, the original belly button is brought out through a new opening in the skin (there are even different techniques for how this opening is made). This leaves a scar around the belly button.
In a mini tummy tuck, a belly button scar can often be avoided if the skin and fat excised is kept below the level of the belly button.
Thank you for your question.
Toronto Plastic Surgeon
5.0 out of 5 stars 1 review
Belly Button or Umbilicus with tummy tuck surgery
During a tummy tuck surgery the original belly button or umbilical stalk is kept and it is brought out and reconnected to the skin of the abdomen after the reduandant portion is removed.
Web reference:
Beverly Hills Plastic Surgeon
4.5 out of 5 stars 23 reviews
Belly button
When a tummy tuck is done, your original belly button is preserved and then brought through the abdominal skin at the end of the procedure. So it's you real belly button, but it has a scar around it. The size of the belly button can be altered with the surgery, however. I tend to make them a little on the smaller side. I think they look better and it is easier to enlarge a belly button that came out too small than reduce one that is too big.
San Diego Plastic Surgeon
5.0 out of 5 stars 6 reviews
Keep Same Belly Button during Tummy Tuck?
Thank you for the question.
During the routine tummy tuck operation, the patient's own belly button is used to achieve the final result.
The appearance of the umbilicus after tummy tuck surgery is of critical importance to most patients. Essentially, it is the only scar visible when patients are wearing undergarments or swimming suits. It can be a telltale sign of a patient who has had abdominoplasty operation. As much as possible, it is best to keep the belly button relatively small, oval shaped, and attempt to hide the resulting scar.
I hope this helps.
Web reference:
San Diego Plastic Surgeon
5.0 out of 5 stars 605 reviews
Tummy Tuck Belly Button
Hi Rometria,
In the typical tummy tuck procedure, you always keep your belly button:
• The belly button (umbilicus) is attached by a "stalk" between the muscles underneath the skin. During surgery, the belly button on its stalk is saved while the rest of the excess lower tummy skin/fat is removed.
• At the end of the procedure, a new hole is made in the remaining tummy skin and the belly button is sewn in place. That's why there is a scar around the belly button after TT.
Thanks for your question!
Knoxville Plastic Surgeon
4.5 out of 5 stars 3 reviews
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What's the difference between a .22 long rifle and a .22 short rifle?
Hey how do i loosen the wheels on my skateboard they don't turn that well, it's a new skateboard.?
All of the answers listed here are correct but in choosing your ammunition you should also consider the type of weapon you are using. Alot of .22 caliber ammunition is not appropriate for certain types of guns. If you try to shoot shorts in an automatic your weapon may not cycle because the short does not produce the pressure required to breach the bolt. You also should be careful shooting certain CCI ammo because alot of older guns do not need such a hot load and can be damaged by the pressure these rounds produce. If your gun accepts .22 long rife ammo I would suggest using Remington High Velocity rounds. They are plenty powerful and function in any .22LR without any concerns.
Where is the best place to buy hunting and fishing supplies in the florida panhandle area?
bout 400 muzzle foot lbs. its about half as strong and shorter than the long.
What is a good way to learn how to skateboard?
There is no such thing as a .22 short rifle.
The common varieties are short, long, and long rifle. The difference is the length of the brass casing.
What is your favorite brand of bow.?
the long and short refer to the length of the cartridge.
Is it okay to leave bullets in the magazine when the weapon is stored?
Muzzle velocity and accuracy in the long rifle. Longer bore accelerates the bullet more and is spinning more when it leaves the bore.
Anyone know good spots to fish River Mayenne France?
the bullet
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The .22 short and .22 long refers to the bullet length. The long has more gun powder, thus it's a bit more powerful than the .22 short.
Who else has this happend to this year?
Some guns will accept .22 short, long, or long rifle ammunition. If you have one of these guns your choice of ammo will depend on how far away your target is. Also, any of these may be the most acurate for your gun, you will have to try each to see what works best for you.
What is skeet shooting? How does it differ from other types of shooting?
If I was going to plink I would use the shorts, I Iwas going to hunt I would use the long rifles.
How do you use heelys?
"Long Rifle," and "Short" (not 'short rifle') define a type of cartridge. The .22 caliber is available in .22 Long Rifle, .22 Long, and .22 Short. All three can be shot out of a rifle chambered for the .22 Long Rifle cartridge. I've only seen pistols chambered for the .22 Short only; one of the tiny Beretta pocket pistols and some revolvers. I've never seen a rifle chambered only for the .22 Short.
The difference is in the cartridge description. The 'Long Rifle' round is the longest of the three (not to be confused with the .22 Magnum, NOT interchangeable with the other .22s). The 'Long' is longer than the 'Short,' but shorter than the 'Long Rifle.' The 'Short' is the shortest of the .22 caliber line-up AND the least 'powerful.' All will kill.
Happy New Year!
What is the range of a .22 CB Cap?
.22 short chambers a shorter body shell with less powder.
If I went out in the woods, dressed up as a deer durring deer hunting season.?
the bullet is the same the long has more powder in it
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Free Games Online
Action Games
Bowmaster Prelude Walkthrough
Bowmaster Prelude Walkthrough
Game FAQ created by Kyndryd
Not necessarily a walkthrough, but some things for people who have not played the game.
There are 30 'levels' to the game.
Ironicaly there are 30 spaces for upgrades even though only 19 are available.
Of those 19: 13 are upgrades to your bow and arrow and 6 are for your army.
I personally went for all of the arrow upgrades first, then went for the military - its entirely up to you.
If you want to have some fun - use the combo of Fire and Bomb arrow on the enemy castle and destroy it.
Each Bomb hit also knocks off some of the castle that, with some creative aimimng, will also damage the troops going by :-)
AND/OR - use the enemy castle to 'bank shot' you "wave" arrows. The wave arrows won't damage the castle but instead get reflected down onto enemy troops :-)
Especially those that like to hide in front of or directly behind the castle - like archers and priests.
ENEMIES: there are spoilers here, so if you want to be suprised; bypass this part.
The enemy has the same troops you do, only a 'tad' bit stronger.
The enemy also has access to DRAGONS.
Yep... dragons. 4 different kinds.
The first you meet is the Grey Dragon.
The weakest of the 4 can be handled by either the Flack or normal arrow.
Next is the Blue, This guy fires Ice arrows that are just like yours. And like yours, they do NO damage to castles or towers. The Flack and normal arrow will damage it, but this guy is a bit tougher than the Grey. A single FIRE arrow will take him down.
Next is the Red. This guy shoots FIRE arrows and, like yours, can indeed harm the castle and tower. The Flak arrow has little or NO effect. The normal arrow will harm it; but it too is tougher than the Grey. A single ICE arrow will take it down.
Next is the GREEN dragon. This guy is also tougher than the Grey and shoots green circles of poison that damage troops AND tower/castle. Flak and normal arrow will damage it but a single FIRE arrow can take it down.
All dragons will eventually 'hover' in front of your shots to protect the enemy troops down below. I've seen them take direct hits from wave arrows which they just shrug off and the wave will continue to the grudn from where it hit the dragon . And comically enough, even the Meteor and Comet have hit them which they also shrug off. You would think any of these would take them down - but no. Only the ones I mentioned will take them down in one shot. It seems all others will do some damage, but multiple shots are required to take them down.
The last level, 30, has a HUGE AXE-WIELDING TROLL.
Yep.. he's big... and slow... and has MASSIVE hit points.
Wave shots will do "minor" damage but there are two times when it is vulnerable to being shot. Any other time - they bounce right off.
The first is when it raises it's arms to strike a blow. Aim for the neck or arm region and you do some 'decent' damage. I recommend the FIRE arrow. Save yu bomb arrow for the second area.
Second area: After striking a blow, which does HUGE amounts of damage to towers/castle, it takes the helmet off and wipes its brow. AS SOON AS IT DOES THIS - fire WHATEVER YOU CAN at it. The Bomb arrow is really good since it will knock the thing off its feet onto the ground. Once on the ground hit it with whatever you can.
Don't forget about the enemy troops though - or the Dragons.. or the red and Bluw Warrior. Yes... you get ALL of that and the Troll.
I have yet to kill the thing.
I won by shear luck with some horse riders that were able to go in, snatch the flag and return.
Final score for me: 26,264.
Kill the troops or steal the flag.
IF the terrain is flat, or with very few hills, I will attempt to flag capture. Otherwise it is a waste of troops, but that is just my opinion.
There WILL be times when it is necessary to leave your home castle. Type D for this and A or D .
There will be some weird curve hill that none of your shots will reach and yu now some archer/priest/catapult will hide behind it. So it requires you to go out and hunt them like the pigs they are.
Some levels will also have intermittent towers. You can occupy those - and I heartily recommend doing so (QUICKLY).
The closer you are - the more accurate your shots and you're protected.
Have fun woirking on that carpal tunnel while playing this highly addictive game :-)
Hope this helps.
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The NeverEnding Story (song)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jump to: navigation, search
"NeverEnding Story"
Single by Limahl
from the album Don't Suppose
B-side "Ivory Tower" or Instrumental version
Released 1984
Format 7" single, 12" maxi
Recorded January 1984
Genre Synthpop, New Wave
Length 3:31
Label EMI
Writer(s) Giorgio Moroder, Keith Forsey
Producer(s) Giorgio Moroder
Limahl singles chronology
"Too Much Trouble"
"NeverEnding Story"
"Tar Beach"
"The NeverEnding Story" (titled "The NeverEnding Story (L'histoire sans fin)" in the French version) is the title song from the English version of the 1984 film The NeverEnding Story. It was performed by Limahl. Limahl released two versions of the song, one in English and one in French. The English version featured vocals by Beth Anderson, and the French version featured vocals by Ann Calvert. It was a success in many countries, reaching No. 1 Norway and Sweden, No. 2 in Austria, Germany and Italy, No. 4 in the UK and No. 6 in the US Billboard Adult Contemporary chart.
Original version[edit]
Background and writing[edit]
The song was composed by Giorgio Moroder with lyrics by Keith Forsey, although it (and other electronic pop elements of the soundtrack) is not present in the German version of the film, which features Klaus Doldinger's score exclusively.
Beth Anderson recorded her lyrics in America separately from Limahl's.[1] Anderson does not appear in the music video; frequent Limahl backup singer Mandy Newton lip syncs Anderson's lyrics.
As a reference to the film and its title, the song has no distinctive beginning, nor an end. While many songs fade out, NeverEnding Story not only fades out, but also fades in, thus making it "never ending".
Cover versions[edit]
The English theme song has been covered by Echo Image, The Birthday Massacre, Creamy, Dragonland, Miu Sakamoto and New Found Glory. Italian DJ Mauro Farina a.k.a. DJ Speedo and DJ AC-DC remixed the song at 175 bpm and released it on the 2003 happy hardcore compilation album Speed SFX.[2] Creamy's version was further remixed for the 2005 dance compilation album Dancemania Covers 01.[3]
For The NeverEnding Story II the song was performed by Joe Milner during the closing credits. This version was a guitar driven song and is now considered to be a rarity. German techno group Scooter covered the song on their 2007 album Jumping All Over the World.[citation needed]
J-pop group E-Girls covered a Japanese version of the song in 2013. It debuted in the second place of the Oricon weekly singles chart, selling 40,055 copies.[citation needed]
Track listings[edit]
7" single
1. "The NeverEnding Story"
2. "Ivory Tower" by Giorgio Moroder
7" single
1. "The NeverEnding Story" (club mix) - 6:09
2. "The NeverEnding Story" (instrumental version) - 5:28
12" maxi
1. "The NeverEnding Story" (12" mix) - 5:17
2. "The NeverEnding Story" (7" mix) - 3:30
3. "Ivory Tower" (12" mix) (instrumental) by Giorgio Moroder - 5:54
iTunes single
1. "The NeverEnding Story" (12" mix) - 5:20
2. "The NeverEnding Story" (Giorgio 7" mix) - 3:31
3. "The NeverEnding Story" (Rusty 7" mix) - 3:54
4. "The NeverEnding Story" (12" dance mix) - 6:08
5. "The NeverEnding Story" (12" dub mix) - 5:27
6. "Ivory Tower" by Giorgio Moroder - 3:08
7. "Ivory Tower" (12" mix) by Giorgio Moroder - 5:55
Official Mixes[edit]
• "The NeverEnding Story" (7" Mix) - 3:30
• "The NeverEnding Story" (12" Mix) - 5:17
• "The NeverEnding Story" (Club Mix) - 6:09
• "The NeverEnding Story" (Extended Mix) - 8:14
• "The NeverEnding Story" (Instrumental Version) - 5:28
Country Certification Date Sales certified
UK[4] Silver December 1, 1984 200,000
Chart (1984–1985) Peak
Austrian Singles Chart[5] 2
Canada Adult Contemporary (RPM)[6] 3
French SNEP Singles Chart[5] 71
German Singles Chart[7] 2
Irish Singles Chart[8] 4
Italian FIMI Singles Chart[9] 2
Japanese Oricon Weekly Singles Chart 5
Japanese Oricon International Singles Chart 1
New Zealand Singles Chart[10] 28
Norwegian Singles Chart[10] 1
Spain (AFYVE)[11] 1
Swedish Singles Chart[5] 1
Swiss Singles Chart[5] 3
UK Singles Chart[12] 4
U.S. Billboard Hot 100[13] 17
U.S. Billboard Hot Adult Contemporary Tracks[13] 6
U.S. Billboard Hot Dance Club Play[13] 10
U.S. Billboard Hot Dance Music/Maxi-Singles Sales[13] 23
End of year chart (1984) Position
Austrian Singles Chart[14] 11
1 "The NeverEnding Story"/"L'Histoire Sans Fin"
Preceded by
Swedish Singles Chart number-one single
23 November 1984 – 7 December 1984
Succeeded by
"Forever Young" by Alphaville
Norwegian VG-lista Singles Chart number-one single
26 November 1984 – 7 January 1985
Succeeded by
"Do They Know It's Christmas?" by Band Aid
Preceded by
"Easy Lover" by Philip Bailey and Phil Collins
Japanese Oricon International Weekly Singles Chart number-one single
18 March 1985 – 15 April 1985
Succeeded by
"We Are the World" by USA for Africa
1. ^ "'NeverEnding Story' Release Info". Retrieved June 17, 2010. (dead)
2. ^ Discogs, Speed SFX
3. ^ Discogs, Dancemania Covers 01
4. ^ UK certifications (Retrieved 3 September 2008)
5. ^ a b c d "NeverEnding Story", various singles charts (Retrieved 24 February 2008)
6. ^ [1]
7. ^ German Singles Chart (Retrieved 1 September 2008)
8. ^ Irish Singles Chart (Retrieved 24 February 2008)
9. ^ Italian Singles Chart (Retrieved 12 September 2008)
10. ^ a b "Limahl - The Never Ending Story (song)". Retrieved July 15, 2010.
12. ^ UK Singles Chart (Retrieved 1 September 2008)
13. ^ a b c d Billboard (Retrieved 1 September 2008)
14. ^ 1984 Austrian Singles Chart (Retrieved 1 September 2008)
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Garlic melt
Garlic melt
NZ Woman's Weekly 22/12/2009
Ratings: 5.0 / 5 FROM 2
The garlic bread at the Funky Fish! Cafe at Bayleys Beach in Northland is hugely popular with the locals and so simple for you to make at home!
(You can click on ingredients to see more related recipes)
1. Split bread in half horizontally.
2. Heat 2 tablespoons of oil and gently cook chopped onion, garlic, rosemary and thyme for 5 mins. Add remaining oil along with parsley and remove from heat. Set aside to cool and to allow flavours to infuse into the oil.
3. Place bread on an oven tray with the cut side down and lightly toast the outside under the grill.
4. Brush the garlic and herb oil all over the inside of the bread and then top with grated cheese. Grill until cheese is melted and bubbling all over.
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Sony's QX Lens Cameras Gets a Funny Tablet MountS
Sony's QX100 and QX10 "lens cameras" are a weird experiment in trying to build a consumer imaging technology built around smartphones, such that it might replace the dying point-and-shoot. And it might even be working!
According to Sony, it's moving units of the QX cameras, so the company just added a new larger mount that'll let you stick them onto your tablet. As you can see in the image above, it looks unspeakably silly, but that doesn't mean it's not going to be useful, or more importantly, that people aren't going to use it. I honestly didn't think people would use the QX cameras at all, and I've been proven wrong in the short term at least. So far, the mount has only been announced for Japan. We'll have to wait and see if it shows up stateside. [Sony via Xperia Blog via Engadget]
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BlackBerry 10 essentials: What you need to know | ZDNet
BlackBerry 10 essentials: What you need to know
Summary: The launch of RIM's new BlackBerry 10 handsets and operating system is just around the corner; here's what you need to know.
The introduction of Blackberry 10 is crucial to RIM's ability to compete with Android and iOS devices as well as woo back enterprise customers.
BlackBerry 10 app screen
BlackBerry 10 is a major departure for RIM, and a fresh start.
(Credit: Ben Woods)
What's so important about BlackBerry 10?
RIM has lost ground to Android devices and Apple's all-conquering iPhone on the consumer side, and as IT departments are no longer making the call about which smartphones make it into the enterprise (thanks to the rise of bring your own device) RIM has seen its vice-like grip on the business market greatly loosened, too. BlackBerry 10 is RIM's chance to prove it is still relevant.
What's new about BlackBerry 10?
BlackBerry 10 is RIM's newest operating system, and unlike previous generations of BlackBerry OS it is based on a Unix-like platform called QNX. It features an all-new UI and home screen with live tiles more akin to Windows Phone 8 than BlackBerry 7.
RIM's new UI is based around concepts it calls Hub, Peek and Flow.
Hub is a persistent all-in-one inbox, and rather than being an app, it works at OS level, meaning it's always accessible, whatever you are doing.
"Peek" is how you access this inbox without navigating away from the main app you are using. As well as peeking at emails and messages, you can also take a quick look at social-networking updates from sites such as Twitter and Facebook, and RIM will be making the notifications bar API available to developers.
Flow is the name RIM has given to the one-handed swipe access it has given to various features in the OS, including the Hub.
But isn't the selection of apps a bit limited on BlackBerry phones?
In recent history that's been the case, but realising the importance of an active ecosystem and how far it had fallen behind rivals like Google and Apple's app stores, RIM has been actively trying to entice developers to start building for the platform ahead of launch, as well as making their existing apps available on the new platform.
Around 70,000 apps available on the BlackBerry app store at launch, and if BlackBerry 10 does well, more will follow.
To this end, RIM holds BlackBerry Jam developer events around the world; more recently it has staged several "port-a-thons" to maximise the number of apps in the store when the devices launch. This seems to have had the desired effect, with thousands of new apps approved for submission after each event.
RIM also makes it easy for lots of Android apps to be made compatible with BlackBerry 10 using its "app player" — essentially a small software "container" in which developers can place their apps to make it work on the platform.
Thorsten Heins, the chief executive of RIM, has said that there will be around 70,000 apps available on the BlackBerry app store at launch, and if BlackBerry 10 does well, more will follow as developers get on board.
What about the handsets: Touchscreens or keyboards?
RIM looks set to release a touchscreen and a phone with a hardware keyboard, the Z10 and the X10, respectively, according to leaks.
Last year, RIM said its first handsets would likely be all touchscreen, but to allay loyal BlackBerry customers' fears, Heins said it will be introducing models with its trademark QWERTY keyboards.
BB10 keyboard
BlackBerry 10's keyboard with predictive text gets smarter as you use it.
(Credit: Ben Woods)
However, even for RIM's handsets that don't have a physical keyboard it has paid particular attention to its on-screen counterpart. For example, it has a smart word-prediction system that learns the words you use most often, partly by scanning your messages and emails.
In addition to this, it has an invisible virtual second keyboard underneath the one on-screen. RIM has done this so it learns where on the screen you hit particular keys and adjusts over time to ensure it enters the word you intended.
Will I be able to get one on my network?
RIM will be going big on this launch, so expect the company to make the handsets as widely available as possible, as quickly as possible.
All the major operators in the US and the UK (globally, more than 100) have pledged to support the new platform, so there should be no shortage of handsets. A stock shortage at launch is not a situation RIM wants to create, considering the launch has already been twice delayed.
Will I have to relearn everything I do on my BlackBerry?
It's a different experience, but in a good way. Gone are those icons of old while there's also a lot more social-networking integration in the OS, saving you time for some oft-repeated tasks like checking your notifications.
But that's not to say it's all different: There are still the same familiar features, whether your company uses BlackBerry Enterprise Server (BES) or not, like secure email and BlackBerry Messenger (BBM).
It's different in the way that you navigate it, more than anything, thanks to the introduction of Hub, Peek, and Flow.
My company gave me my phone, what's the Balance thing?
Balance actually isn't new, but RIM's going to be making a bit more noise about it when BlackBerry 10 arrives.
BB10's a different experience, but in a good way. Gone are those icons of old while there's also a lot more social-networking integration.
Balance is short for work/life balance — it's RIM's way of allowing corporate customers to keep their documents and communications secure and separate from the personal photos, apps, and documents of the employee using the phone.
RIM's management tools will give companies complete control over this "work" section and what functions are permitted. For example, entering BlackBerry World (nee, "BlackBerry App World") in the Work mode will give a list of apps that have been approved for installation and use by your company. If, however, your friendly IT manager doesn't think that Facebook is a business essential, you can still install it in the "personal" side of your phone.
That's not to say you can't access personal apps and information from the Work section; you just can't share information between them. So, for example, if you wanted to copy some text from a work email and paste it into the Facebook application on the personal side of your phone, you wouldn't be able to.
So will RIM be doing a tablet too?
It would be hard to see RIM re-launching its handsets using a platform that's based around its tablet operating system (which is where QNX came in) and then not introduce a new tablet to use it, but it is at least possible.
To date, RIM has launched a few minor updates to what is essentially the same PlayBook tablet it introduced back in September 2010, and among the new models was a 4G LTE variant. However, the original PlayBook was poorly executed in parts and failed to appeal in a big way to business or consumer users due to some strange decisions, such as omitting a native email client at launch.
So when is all this going to happen?
BlackBerry 10 is set to launch on 30 January. Best-case scenario for RIM is that BlackBerry 10 reignites consumer and enterprise interest in the brand. Worst case, RIM sets out its strategy and the world just shrugs and carries on as normal, at which point we may see RIM set its sights on new horizons.
Topics: BlackBerry, Apps, Mobility, Smartphones
Ben Woods
About Ben Woods
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• For those interested
Here is a pretty positive review of the BB10 UI
• What were they paid?
That site rarely posts independent reviews, I wouldn't trust too much of what they say.
All you need to know, is Blackberry it irreverent in 2013.
Mark Str
• And likewise
"All you need to know, is Blackberry it irreverent in 2013." - Mark Str
You must be the village idiot to make such a statement without supporting facts. You're irrelevant period.
You're the village idiot who flunked grade 7 essay class because you never understood the structure of a valid argument.
Joe Buck
• What a moron
This guy doesn't know anything that happens outside of his FB feed. BB irrelevant? Are you fking daft? Do you have any idea how much of the world uses BB, particularly due to data prices? BB is far from irrelevant... except to you, all you need is to check in on foursquare at your friendly neighbourhood sh!thole bar and press like on Molson Brewing Company...
What a tool.
İl Ke
• might be more interesting
to assume he didn't make a typo and really did mean irreVeRent, as in not worshiping at the alters of Apple, Google or MSFT.
• Wait a minute.
So we shouldn't trust a website that has actually used a BB10,
Instead we should trust you, a nobody from the Internet Forums?
Yeah, whatever.
• Re: That site rarely posts independent reviews
Au contraire, the fact that they have managed to get on the PR department shitlists of several major corporations suggests that their reviews might be a little TOO independent for some people's tastes...
• Physical keyboard (or lack thereof)
Hi find it hard to reconcile Heins' comment that physical keyboards are one of the company's strengths, and the fact that their initial line up of BB10 devices won't include a model with a physical keyboard. If that's your strength, a key differentiator from most of your competitors, and a highly valued feature for your core user base, why would you not make sure your new platform (which needs to be good to save you from demise) incorporates and celebrates it?!
• Where are you getting your facts from?
You come off as a troll because RIM has mentioned on numerous occasions that BB10 WILL be launching with a full touch device AND a qwerty touch device. Did you do any research before you made a heavily misinformed post like this? A simple 10-20 second google search could have prevented you from coming off as a total troll.
To be clear: RIM wants to have the best TOUCHSCREEN QWERTY as well since they already have the best PHYSICAL QWERTY.
• Blind
Oh and these facts are stated right in the article....
"RIM's first handsets will likely be all touchscreen; at least, that's what the company was saying in the middle of 2012, but to allay loyal BlackBerry customers' fears, Heins has already said it will be introducing models with its trademark QWERTY keyboards.
• Innacurate
Your statement on the 4G LTE Playbook is inaccurate. The original wifi playbook did not have native email, but always had browser access to mail. The original software was upgraded several times to include the native calendar, mail and contact programs well ahead of the 4GLTE launch. RIM has near 80 million Blackberry users waiting for this new platform.
The Blackberry 10 X10 with full QWERTY keyboard is launching on January 30, 2013 as well as the full touch Z10.
• Laughing...
@pfcsystems: Really... it was updated several time to include those standard apps.? I laugh at people like you who continue to defend RIM even after getting burned over and over again. I bought the PB when it was first released. The 2 boneheaded co-CEO's promised those apps within a few months. It took RIM over a year... remember?
The new handsets are over a year behind. This is a company who is simply not capable of executing a strategy and then lies to their customers with promises they cannot keep. I personally am done with RIM. They are getting what they deserve.
• Even More Truth
The original Playbook had e-mail and a caledar that work perfectly. They're just bridged from a Blackberry phone. If you loaded all your e-mail sources into your phone they were all on the Palbook through the bridge and could be answered, forwarded etc. What all the whiners talk about is they wanted it to work like a ToyPad. The first upgrade added the native e-mail and calender that I hardly ever use. Oh did I mention that it came with full MS Office compatiblity already loaded. No "APLICATIONS" indeed. Oh no, no ToyBook little kids games!
• great
Great article Ben, nice to read something other than RIM bashing. So many comments I read from most articles clearly come from people who can't shake the current BB phones out of they're heads, this phone is totally new. I would have also mentioned that BB Messanger will also have voice & video chat along with screen sharing
• RIM Bashing
Most RIM basher are people who are:
A - Trying to catch bottom when RIM was in a down trend and got burned
B - Idiots who went long at $134 and sold at $6.10. Now they angry for now going long when RIM reversed the trend so the only to validate their action is to make other believes RIM won't make it.
Joe Buck
• could be
It usually isn't customary for so many to bashthe underdog, especially when they're down, so that could be at least a partially valid point. I never thought of that
• RIM bashing
I don't really understand a dogmatic loyalty to one OS over another. If one serves you well, buy in to it. If you see one that you think would serve you better, make a move. I can understand why people do not like to see a player become too dominant (as it can limit choices and innovation), but to want to see the "underdog" fail really is hard to understand.
• BYOD is a FAD
BYOD is a fad that will go away as soon as the new BB10 phones come out. Why would I want to pay for a phone that I can get my boss to supply me with if it is has just as good a User Experience as all of the others?
Why would my boss want to pay more to support multiple handsets and OSes?
Susan Antony
• it's not a fad. you are simply misinformed.
Heh, you're living in the past. It's far from a fad. A simple company like FIXMO (www.fixmo.com) has basically ripped off PineCone // Good Tech, but did it properly, and have already brought in BYOD software to the White House, US Navy, and more. With the Samsung Galaxy & iPhones receiving US Government clearance for administrative // military use, the BB hold on that segment will sadly diminish greatly.
Furthermore, there's no "multiple OS" support issues, as this is all handled very easily by the sandbox app.
İl Ke
• Container - dumb terminal
Having used Good Technology for 2 years I'd say 80% of employees hate it. It's great to secure data and keep it separated. It's bad because all the slick native functionality is shut off. Users want to use corporate data in all this Apps - which goes against all reasons you deploy a secure container.
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How to Expedite a Passport to Volunteer for Haiti?
1. 0
Does anyone know if there is a way to speed up the passport process so nurses can get on a team to get to Haiti?
And how long do you think they will be needing medical personnel in the coming months? I would like to help but I have to get the vax and passport.
2. Get the Hottest Nursing Topics Straight to Your Inbox!
3. 1 Comments so far...
4. 0
Hi. I just got my passport expedited at my local post office. You will have to pay a fee for this, plus express mail. It cost me 189 dollars. I was told I'll have mine in 2 wks, but the postmaster stated that they typically come back sooner than that; they just "have to say 2 wks". Hope this helps.
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388 F2d 525 United States v. Della Rocca
388 F.2d 525
UNITED STATES of America, Appellee,
Arthur DELLA ROCCA, Defendant-Appellant.
No. 129.
No. 130.
Docket 31565.
Docket 31566.
United States Court of Appeals Second Circuit.
Argued October 20, 1967.
Decided January 19, 1968.
Judgment Vacated April 29, 1968.
See 88 S.Ct. 1443.
Jerome Lewis, New York City (Thomas R. Newman, New York City, on the brief), for appellant.
Douglas S. Liebhafsky, Asst. U. S. Atty. (Robert M. Morgenthau, U. S. Atty., for the Southern Dist. of New York and Pierre N. Leval, Asst. U. S. Atty., on the brief), for appellee.
Before WATERMAN, MOORE and HAYS, Circuit Judges.
HAYS, Circuit Judge:
This is an appeal from a judgment of conviction entered upon a jury verdict finding appellant guilty on four counts of two indictments: (1) transferring a firearm without paying the required tax in violation of 26 U.S.C. § 5811, (2) transferring a firearm without a written order from his transferee in violation of 26 U.S.C. § 5814, (3) possessing a firearm upon which tax had not been paid in violation of 26 U.S.C. § 5851 and (4) conspiring to violate 26 U.S.C. §§ 5814 and 5821. He was given a suspended sentence of eighteen months on each count and was fined five hundred dollars on the first count. We affirm the judgment.
The government's evidence tended to show that appellant and his former employer, Nicholas Ellner, met an informer known as "Frenchy" and undercover agents McVeigh and Kales on a Manhattan street corner on the evening of December 17, 1959. Appellant told agent Kales that he could get him anything he might need including flame throwers, bazookas, submachine guns, and fighter planes. He then produced a submachine gun which was inoperable because the barrel was plugged up with a weld and offered to sell the gun to the agents for $400. The agents demurred, saying that Ellner had promised an operable gun for $200 and started to leave. Appellant stopped them and after some discussion agreed to produce an operable gun later that evening. When he did so, he was arrested.
Appellant asserts that the provisions of the National Firearms Act under which he was convicted are unconstitutional in that they compel him to admit possession of a submachine gun, which is a felony under New York law.1 It may be that under the Fifth Amendment a state cannot prosecute on the basis of evidence which the defendant was required by federal law to disclose. See Murphy v. Waterfront Commission, 378 U.S. 52, 79, 84 S.Ct. 1594, 12 L.Ed.2d 678 (1964). However the mere danger that a state might institute such a prosecution cannot be used to excuse compliance with federal statutes which constitute the supreme law of the land. U.S.Const. art. VI, cl. 2.
Appellant also argues that he was denied his Sixth Amendment right to a speedy trial. He was arrested on December 17, 1959, but was not indicted until May 16, 1961,2 and was not tried until March 20, 1967. Although he was represented by counsel at least as early as one month after his arrest, appellant did not move for a prompt trial until April, 1966. It is conceded that none of the delay after April, 1966 is attributable to the government. Appellant may not now complain of the delay prior to that date because he failed to demand an earlier trial. See United States v. Lustman, 258 F.2d 475, 478 (2d Cir.), cert. denied, 358 U.S. 880, 79 S.Ct. 118, 3 L.Ed.2d 109 (1958); United States v. Maxwell, 383 F.2d 437 (2d Cir. 1967) and cases cited therein at p. 441, footnote 2.
The trial court permitted the government to introduce into evidence portions of appellant's testimony given at a hearing on the suppression of the submachine gun. Appellant asserts that this ruling was error because it held in effect that by choosing to assert his Fourth Amendment rights appellant waived his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination. He points out that the prejudice in this case is particularly great since the judge at the suppression hearing permitted the government, over counsel's objection, to indulge in very broad cross-examination.
It may well be that an accused's testimony at a suppression hearing is not generally admissible against him at trial.3 However appellant here cannot take advantage of such a rule if it exists. In the first place, the trial judge permitted the government to introduce only certain designated portions of the suppression hearing testimony. Second, almost all of the questions and answers which were introduced related to facts about which counsel in his opening statement had said appellant would testify at the trial, and appellant did so testify. Finally, no objection was raised to the single question and answer which could conceivably be held to be prejudicial to appellant. In light of the fact that counsel made successful objection to another question only one page earlier in the trial transcript, we hold that the alleged error has not been preserved for appeal. See United States v. Indiviglio, 352 F.2d 276 (2d Cir. 1965) (en banc), cert. denied, 383 U.S. 907, 86 S.Ct. 887, 15 L.Ed.2d 663 (1966).
Finally, appellant argues that the trial judge should have directed his acquittal on the ground that the evidence established entrapment as a matter of law. On the contrary, there was substantial conflict in the testimony as to appellant's predisposition to commit the crime. The question was for the jury and was submitted to them under proper instructions.
The registration provision of the National Firearms Act, 26 U.S.C. § 5841, has been held unconstitutional. See Dugan v. United States, 341 F.2d 85 (7th Cir. 1965); Russell v. United States, 306 F. 2d 402 (9th Cir. 1962). See also Lovelace v. United States, 357 F.2d 306 (5th Cir. 1966)
The Supreme Court, in Haynes v. United States, 372 F.2d 651 (5th Cir.), cert. granted, 388 U.S. 908, 87 S.Ct. 2130, 18 L.Ed.2d 1347 (1967), will consider this term the constitutionality of the possession section, 26 U.S.C. § 5851, where the charge is possession of a gun which has not been registered under § 5841. In the present case appellant was charged not with possession of an unregistered gun but with possession of a gun upon which the tax required by § 5821 had not been paid.
A second indictment, which added the conspiracy count, was filed on January 7, 1963
This issue is currently before the Supreme Court in United States v. Garrett, 371 F.2d 296 (7th Cir. 1966), cert. granted sub nom. Simmons v. United States, 388 U.S. 906, 87 S.Ct. 2108, 18 L.Ed.2d 1345 (1967)
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Reviewing the Giants' second half
Justin Edmonds
I don't remember what the first two months of the season were like. There were a bunch of walk-offs and crazy come-from-behind wins. Everyone expected the Giants to be good. Like, by default. When you thought about the Giants, you thought about a team that was winning, even though the pitching was awful. Just imagine what would happen when the pitching came around!
Then there was darkness. Now we're here. And it's time to look at the stories we'd be obsessed with if the first half didn't exist. First, the raw stats:
1 Hunter Pence 2nd Half .923 262 11 45 .325 .393 .530
2 Brandon Belt 2nd Half .910 224 6 24 .330 .395 .515
3 Angel Pagan 2nd Half .840 83 1 4 .307 .373 .467
4 Pablo Sandoval 2nd Half .792 240 4 33 .288 .363 .429
5 Juan Perez 2nd Half .740 34 0 3 .290 .353 .387
6 Hector Sanchez 2nd Half .740 90 3 16 .274 .311 .429
7 Brett Pill 2nd Half .687 57 2 9 .259 .298 .389
8 Gregor Blanco 2nd Half .650 186 2 11 .248 .333 .317
9 Marco Scutaro 2nd Half .648 191 0 9 .262 .339 .310
10 Buster Posey 2nd Half .627 207 2 16 .242 .319 .308
11 Joaquin Arias 2nd Half .624 117 1 9 .261 .267 .357
12 Brandon Crawford 2nd Half .623 190 4 13 .218 .284 .339
13 Andres Torres 2nd Half .557 59 0 1 .226 .293 .264
14 Roger Kieschnick 2nd Half .533 93 0 5 .207 .301 .232
15 Tony Abreu 2nd Half .455 57 0 2 .185 .214 .241
16 Jeff Francoeur 2nd Half .428 59 0 4 .190 .203 .224
Rk Player Split G ERA IP HR BB SO
1 Jean Machi 2nd Half 21 1.27 21.1 0 7 21
2 Santiago Casilla 2nd Half 32 2.33 27.0 1 11 21
3 Matt Cain 2nd Half 10 2.34 65.1 5 15 51
4 Madison Bumgarner 2nd Half 12 2.36 76.1 3 28 77
5 Sergio Romo 2nd Half 24 2.38 22.2 3 5 19
6 Yusmeiro Petit 2nd Half 7 2.84 44.1 2 11 45
7 Guillermo Moscoso 2nd Half 12 4.21 25.2 4 17 27
8 Chad Gaudin 2nd Half 6 4.36 33.0 2 17 33
9 Tim Lincecum 2nd Half 12 4.72 74.1 11 26 62
10 Ryan Vogelsong 2nd Half 9 4.73 51.1 4 16 24
11 Barry Zito 2nd Half 9 10.22 24.2 8 13 17
There has to be one of those names or numbers that surprises you. There were several that got me. Like, wait, wait, wait, Jeff Francoeur was on the Giants? Who thought that was a good idea? Man, I sure hope someone blogged about that because I don't remember it at all.
Here are some headlines that you would have read if the first half didn't exist:
"Matt Cain is good, and it would be awful if he weren't, but the good news is that we don't have to worry about that now"
Phew. Just imagine the kind of panic there would be if he fell down the Lincecum hole.
"Brandon Crawford is bad"
With the bat. But whereas last year his defense was the best I've ever seen from a Giants shortstop, this year he's just been really, really good. The defensive stats agree somehow, too. That isn't to say he's never again going to be the player who was robbed of a Gold Glove last year. Or that he's not a valuable player, because he is. Just pointing it out.
And if he had that start to the season, there would be grumblin'.
"Wait, Jean Machi is the Giants' best reliever now?"
Weird. He has several different kinds of split-fingered fastballs. There's the hanging split, the rolling split, the tumbling split, the knuckling split ... but he's getting hitters out somehow. He's been super since coming back from Fresno. Now I feel bad about making fun of him on Twitter.
"The Marco Scutaro deal: already a disaster"
Shoot. I thought he'd be good this year and then decline next year. You can't look at those numbers without putting them in the proper context (mallet fingers, bad backs), but, still, he hasn't been the same player
The thing about these second-half stats is that they're based on the All-Star Break, which was, like, a week ago. It's not a true split down the middle. As such, the second half is just 200 at-bats. Posey's fine.
What? He's fine. Batting average on balls in play. Bad luck. He's tired. He caught an entire month extra last year, you know? BABIP. He's fine. HE'S FINE. EVEN THOUGH HE'S PROBABLY UPSET AT SOMETHING LINCECUM DID.
"The Giants are going to pay Hunter Pence like Jayson Werth, dammit"
They still might! I really have no idea what the market is for Pence, but I'm glad he snuck in some stretches of mediocrity and awfulness to temper those second-half numbers. Because right now, he kind of looks like the best player in the world, as if other hitters are weird for not using his mechanics.
"Man, Barry Zito, jeez, c'mon"
I think I used that exact one in several first-half articles. It just wasn't Zito's several years, you know? Everyone's had one of those days, right? Well, this just wasn't one of Zito's several years.
Except for a ten-day stretch last October.
Didn't think I'd dust off those Blu-rays so soon, but you know ...
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Next: Separate Compilation Up: Programs with Several Previous: Organisation of Data
Compiling Multi-File Programs
This process is rather more involved than compiling a single file program. Imagine a program in three files prog.c, containing main(), func1.c and func2.c. The simplest method of compilation (to produce a runnable file called a.out) would be
cc prog.c func1.c func2.c
If we wanted to call the runnable file prog we would have to type
cc prog.c func1.c func2.c -o prog
In these examples, each of the .c files is compiled, and then they are automatically linked together using a program called the loader ld.
January 1995
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[soa-pmc] PMC approval needed for committer vote for Roman Smirnov
soa PMC Members,
This automatically generated message marks the completion of voting for
Roman Smirnov's Committer status on the soa.bpmn2-modeler project. As a PMC
portal page:
Roman Smirnov was nominated by Robert Brodt as follows:
Roman is active in the BPM community, currently focused on BAM and
reporting for the Activiti runtime at Camunda. He has contributed two
patches to the BPMN2 Modeler project, and consulted on several other
Vote summary: 4/0/0 with 3 not voting
+1 Robert Brodt
+1 Andreas Drobisch
+1 Brian Fitzpatrick
? Ahti Kitsik
? Ivar Meikas
+1 Tihomir Surdilovic
? Kris Verlaenen
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Take the 2-minute tour ×
I've spoken with HP representatives a little bit, but I would like to get some real-world feedback.
I need a few servers and have pretty much settled on HP. I'm curious about the differences between the 100 and 300 series, aside from the basic differences in configurations and warranty.
I can configure something like a D180 to have similar specifications as a D380, including redundant fans and power and warranty, and they price out similarly. From what I've read the 100 series has a lower build quality than the 300, and that's something that I'm not going to find in a spec sheet.
If you've worked with models in each line, what are your opinions?
share|improve this question
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2 Answers
up vote 4 down vote accepted
The DL180 only has 12 DIMM slots, the DL380 has 18 and has much more capable NICs, 6 PCIe slots, more sensors and MUCH better iLO.
I have to say that there's a reason the DL380 has been the best selling 2U server globally for about 4 years running, it's just one of those things in life that just does a 95% good job of 95% of the things you want. You can always find specific machines that are a tiny bit better than a 380 for certain things but they're just a great work-horse machine and I don't regret a one of those I've bought over the years (and we have hundreds of them around the place).
share|improve this answer
The improved iLO in the 380 makes a big difference. I have used and supported both 100- and 300-series servers, and if I am given the choice I always go with the 300 series. They do seem to be built better (just an opinion) and are typically more expandable than their 100-series counterparts. 100-series machines seem to be the entry level/budget machines, and the 300-series are the HP flagship products. – bta Feb 22 '10 at 19:17
totally agree with you, in particular the 380 G6 (oh which I has a small hand in the design in fact) is spectacularly expandable for its size. – Chopper3 Feb 22 '10 at 22:11
add comment
Ive worked with both model lines and a company I previously worked for had a client that built motherboards for HP. As far as the actual build quality of the server, I don't know about that, I do know that between the different series of HP servers the internal components are manufactured the same and built for HP the same, just using different models of parts. I can tell you from years of experience there is not much difference, aside from the obvious spec differences. The hardware is basically the same, aside from some older chip sets etc. I can tell you they both will survive about a 8ft drop and turn on and continue to serve mail to your organization, that's from personal experience. I was never personally a fan of HP's hardware until I actually started using HP servers. They are all really well built and in comparison to other big name companies that make servers and desktops etc, HP is my personal choice over the other options.
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Phineas and Ferb: The Movie - Across the 2nd Dimension
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This full length feature film from the animated series Phineas and Ferb follows the titular heroes on an inter-dimensional adventure, as they follow Dr. Doofenschmirtz through his Ortherdimensionator - and into a bizarro world where Dr. Read More
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Ph.D. Comprehensive exam practice problems, Round 1
In May, I will be taking the qualifying exams for my Ph.D.. Over the next few weeks, I will be posting practice problems and my solutions to them. Until the end of February, I will be reviewing linear algebra, single variable real analysis, complex analysis and multivariable calculus. In March and April, I will be focusing on algebra, geometry and topology.
Here are three problems to start.
Problem: Suppose that {A} is an {n \times n} real matrix with {n} distinct real eigenvalues. Show that {A} can be written in the form {\sum_{j=1}^n \lambda_j I_j} where each {\lambda_j} is a real number and the {I_j} are {n\times n} real matrices with {\sum_{j=1}^n I_j = I}, and {I_jI_l = 0} if {j \neq l}. Give a {2 \times 2} real matrix {A} for which such a decomposition is not possible and justify your answer.
Solution: for each {j}, let {E_j} denote the matrix with a {1} on the entry {(j,j)} and zeroes everywhere else. Then {\sum_j E_j = I} and {E_jE_l= 0} when {j\neq l}. Since {A} has {n} distinct real eigenvalues {\lambda_1, \dots, \lambda_n}, it is diagonalizable over {\mathbf R}, so there is a real matrix {P} such that {P^{-1}AP = D}, where {D=\mathrm{diag}(\lambda_1, \dots, \lambda_n) = \sum_j \lambda_j E_j }. Let {I_j = PE_jP^{-1}}. Then
\displaystyle \sum_j \lambda_j I_j = P\left(\sum_j \lambda_j E_j\right) P^{-1} = PDP^{-1} = A.
Moreover, for {j \neq l} we have {I_jI_l = PE_jE_lP^{-1} = 0}.
For the second part, notice that if the matrix {A} is decomposed in the manner described above, the numbers {\lambda_j} are necessarily eigenvalues of {A}. Indeed, multiplying the equality {\sum I_j = I} by {I_l} and using that {I_lI_j = 0} when {l \neq j}, we find that {I_l^2=I_l}. Hence, let {v \in \mathbf R^n} be any nonzero vector. Since {\sum_j I_j v = v}, at least one of the terms in the sum is nonzero, say {I_l v \neq 0}. Then
\displaystyle AI_lv = \sum_j \lambda_j I_j I_lv = \lambda_l I_l^2v = \lambda_l I_lv,
and therefore {I_lv} is an eigenvector of {A} with eigenvalue {\lambda_l}. Thus, it is impossible for the matrix {A} to have such a decomposition if, say, it has no real eigenvalues, for example
\displaystyle A=\left(\begin{array}{ll} 0 & -1 \\ 1 & 0 \end{array}\right).
Continue reading
A divisibility identity for Euler’s totient function
In this note I will give a Galois-theoretic proof that for a prime {p} and positive integer {n},
\displaystyle n \mid \frac{\varphi(p^n-1)}{\varphi(p-1)}.
I’d love to see a more elementary proof if you can come up with one.
First we need the following:
Lemma 1 Let {Z_n} be the cyclic group with {n} elements. Let {m} be a positive divisor of {n}, and consider {Z_m} as a subgroup of {Z_n}. Then the number of automorphisms of {Z_n} which fix {Z_m} pointwise is equal to {\varphi(n)/\varphi(m)} (which, in particular, is an integer).
Proof of the Lemma: Note that any automorphism of {Z_n} fixes {Z_m}, though not necessarily pointwise: indeed {Z_n} has a unique subgroup of order {m}, and thus any automorphism of {Z_n} must take this subgroup to itself. Thus we have a group homomorphism {\text{Aut}(Z_n) \rightarrow \text{Aut}(Z_m)} which is easily seen to be surjective; its kernel is precisely the subgroup consisting of those automorphisms of {Z_n} which fix {Z_m} pointwise. The statement follows by comparing orders. {\square}
Now to prove the initial claim, consider the field extension {\mathbf{F}_{p^n}/\mathbf{F}_p}. Basic Galois theory tells that this is a Galois extension of degree {n}. Consider the canonical homomorphism
\psi: \displaystyle \text{Gal}(\mathbf{F}_{p^n}/\mathbf{F}_p) \rightarrow \text{Aut}(\mathbf{F}_{p^n}^\times)
which restricts an {\mathbf{F}_p}-automorphism {\sigma} to the group of units of {\mathbf{F}_{p^n}}. Clearly it is an injective homomorphism since {\sigma} is completely determined by where it sends the units. Moreover for any {\sigma \in \text{Gal}(\mathbf{F}_{p^n}/\mathbf{F}_p)}, \psi(\sigma) lies in the subgroup of {\mathbf{F}_{p^n}^\times} of those automorphisms fixing pointwise the cyclic subgroup {\mathbf{F}_{p}^\times} of order {p-1}, because the Galois group consists of \mathbf{F}_p-homomorphisms. By the lemma the subgroup of these automorphisms has order {\frac{\varphi(p^n-1)}{\varphi(p-1)}}, whereas {\text{Gal}(\mathbf{F}_{p^n}/\mathbf{F}_p)} has order {n}. This does it.
Burnside’s lemma and Bell numbers
In this post I am going to show that {B_n}, the {n}th Bell number, is larger than {n^n/n!}.
Our main tool will be Burnside’s lemma, which states that if a finite group {G} acts on a finite set {S}, the average number of fixed points of the elements of {G} is equal to the number of orbits of the action of {G} on {S}:
\displaystyle |G\backslash S|=\frac{1}{|G|}\sum_{g \in G}|\text{Fix }g|,
where {\text{Fix }g} is the set of fixed points of {g}.
We let {S_n}, the symmetric group on {n} letters, act on {\{1,2,\dots,n\}^n} component-wise. The elements of {[n]=\{1,2,\dots,n\}^n} are {n}-tuples consisting of integers between {1} and {n}. Now you may easily convince yourself that it is possible to send a tuple {(a_1, \dots, a_n)} to a tuple {(b_1, \dots, b_n)} if and only if whenever {a_i=a_j}, we also have {b_i=b_j}, and vice versa. In other words we view each {n}-tuple {(a_1, \dots, a_n)} as a function {\sigma: [n] \rightarrow [n]}; its fibres partition {[n]}, and composition with a permutation preserves the fibres of {\sigma}. It is immediate that {\sigma} and {\sigma'} are in the same orbit of {S_n} if and only if they have the same collection of fibres. For instance, (1,1,2) can be sent to (3,3,1) by the cycle (1\: 3\: 2) but there is no way to send (1,1,2) to (1,2,3), because any permutation will send (1,1,2) to a 3-tuple of the form (\bullet,\bullet,\circ).
Thus {S_n} has {B_n} orbits on {\{1,2,\dots,n\}^n}. On the other hand since our permutations act component-wise, we have
\displaystyle \text{Fix }_{[n]^n}g \cong (\text{Fix }_{[n]}g)^n,
i.e. the fixed points of {g} acting on {[n]^n} are the tuples {(a_1, \dots, a_n)} consisting of fixed points of {g} acting on {[n]}. Therefore, by Burnside’s lemma, we have
\displaystyle \frac{1}{n!}\sum_{g\in S_n} (\text{Fix }g)^n = B_n.
In fact the same argument shows that for any m\geq n, we have
\displaystyle \frac{1}{m!}\sum_{g\in S_m} (\text{Fix }g)^n = B_n.
In particular, the identity of {S_n} fixes all of {[n]}, so we have
\displaystyle \frac{n^n}{n!} \leq B_n.
In fact, by using the fact that a permutation of {[n]} consists of a subset of {[n]} (the subset of fixed points), and a derangement of the remaining elements, we easily obtain the formula
\displaystyle B_n = \frac{1}{n!}\sum_{i=0}^n {n \choose i} !(n-i) i^n
where {!n} is the number of derangements of a set of {n} elements.
The Problem of Misaddressed Letters
I have decided to switch the focus of this blog. Instead of expository write-ups, I will be posting mostly tidbits of fun mathematics, possibly without relation to one another.
In this post, I want to talk about the problem of derangements, fist considered by Niclaus Bernoulli (1687-1759), solved by him and, later, independently by Euler. If I write letters to {100} different friends, and send the letters randomly among them, what is the probability that none of my friends will receive the letter personally addressed to them? Since there are {100!} different ways of sending the letters, this probability equals {!100/100!}, where {!100} denotes the number of ways of rearranging {100} objects in such a way that no object is left in the same position. Such a permutation is called a derangement.
How can we calculate {!100}? First, note that any permutation of {n} objects fixes certain elements, and deranges the others. The number of permutations of {n} fixing exactly {k} elements is equal to
\displaystyle {n \choose k} !(n-k).
Therefore, the total number of permutations is
\displaystyle n! = \sum_{k=0}^n{n \choose k} !(n-k).
In the language of species, we can say that the species of permutations is the product of the species of derangements and of the identity species.
In the language of generating functions, this translates to
\displaystyle \frac{1}{1-x} = e^x D(x)
where {D(x)= \sum_{n=0}^\infty !n \frac{x^n}{n!}}.
\displaystyle D(x)=\frac{e^{-x}}{1-x}
and from this we read off the formula
\displaystyle !n = \sum_{k=0}^n {n \choose k}(-1)^k (n-k)!.
In fact, rearranging this shows that
\displaystyle \frac{!n}{n!} = \sum_{k=0}^n \frac{(-1)^k}{k!},
which is simply the truncated Taylor series for {e^{-x}}, evaluated at {1}. Hence we see that
\displaystyle \frac{!n}{n!} - e^{-1} \rightarrow 0.
But even more is true: using Taylor’s remainder formula, we see that for all {n>0},
\displaystyle \left |\frac{!n}{n!} - e^{-1} \right | < \frac{1}{(n+1)!}.
Hence, in fact, {!n} is the nearest integer to {n!/e}, for all {n}.
Furthermore, as a consequence of the identity {\frac{1}{1-x} = 1+\frac{x}{1-x}}, we see that {!n} satisfies the recurrence relation
\displaystyle !n = n\times !(n-1) + (-1)^n.
Note that this is the same recurrence as satisfied by {n!}, with an extra {(-1)^n} term.
The derangement numbers appear in certain integrals. For instance, for {n\geq 0},
\displaystyle \int_1^e (\log u)^n \mathrm{d}u = (-1)^n(e!n-n!).
This gives another proof that {!n - n!e^{-1} \rightarrow 0} (and that it oscillates around {0}), since clearly the integral is positive and converges to {0}. It also gives a continuation of the function {!n} to complex values.
Elliptic functions, part II
This post is a continuation of my previous post about elliptic functions.
We showed that the {\wp} function which is {\Omega}-invariant satisfies the differential equation
\displaystyle f'(z)^2=4f(z)^3-g_2f(z)-g_3.
where the constants g_n are given in terms of
\displaystyle \sum_{\omega \in \Omega^*}\frac{1}{\omega^{2n}}
We did this by neutralizing the only pole of {\wp'(z)^2} on {E=\mathbb{C}/\Omega}, by adding to {\wp'(z)^2} a suitable polynomial in {\wp(z)}.
Thus we can use the functions {\wp(z), \wp'(z)} to parametrize the curve
\displaystyle y^2=4x_3-g_2x-g_3
in {\mathbb{C}^2}. In fact we’re really parametrizing the projective curve
\displaystyle \tilde E = V(Y^2Z-4X^3-g_2XZ^2-g_3Z^3)
in {\mathbb{P}^2(\mathbb{C})} by using the map
\displaystyle \Psi : E \rightarrow \tilde E
\displaystyle z \mod \Omega \mapsto \begin{cases} (\wp(z), \wp'(z), 1) & \text{if }(z \mod \Omega) \neq 0 \\ (0,0,1) & \text{otherwise.}\end{cases}
What we’re doing is exactly analogous to the parametrization of a conic using trigonometric functions.
With a bit more work, we can see that the field of elliptic functions with respect to {\Omega} is precisely the abstract field {\mathbb{C}(x,y)}, subject to the relation {y^2=4x^3-g_2x-g_3} (i.e. the quotient field of {\mathbb{C}[x,y]/(y^2-4x^3-g_2x-g_3)}). This means that for each {\Omega}-elliptic function {f}, we can construct a rational function of {\wp} and {\wp'} which has the same poles and zeroes, and thus express {f} as a rational function in {\wp} and {\wp'}.
Now since {\mathbb{C}} is algebraically closed, we can factor our equation as
\displaystyle \wp'(z)^2=\wp(z)^3-g_2\wp(z)-g_3=(\wp(z)-e_1)(\wp(z)-e_2)(\wp(z)-e_3)
for suitable values of {e_i}. It’s easy to see from this equation that {e_i=\wp(c_i)}, where {c_i} runs over the zeroes of {\wp'(z)}. Counted with multiplicities, there are {3} points where {\wp'(z)} vanishes, since {\wp(z)} of degree {3} as a cover of {\mathbb{P}^1(\mathbb{C})}. Using the fact that {\wp'(z)} is an odd function and periodic with respect to {\Gamma}, we can see that {\wp'(z)} vanishes at the symmetry points of the fundamental paralellogram having coordinates
\displaystyle \frac{\omega_1}{2}, \frac{\omega_2}{2}, \frac{\omega_1+\omega_2}{2}.
Thus we have
\displaystyle (e_1, e_2, e_3)=\left(\wp\left(\frac{\omega_1}{2}\right), \wp\left(\frac{\omega_2}{2}\right), \wp\left(\frac{\omega_1+\omega_2}{2}\right)\right).
Moreover, these three values are distinct. Indeed, it’s easy to see that each one is taken with multiplicity two by construction (i.e. each is a double zero of {\wp'(z)}), and since {\wp} takes each value exactly twice, no two of them can be equal. To see that these points are double points, notice that the derivative of {\wp(z)-\wp(\omega_1/2)} vanishes at {\omega_1/2}, so the point {\frac{\omega_1}{2}} is a double point. This implies that the discriminant of {f(x)=(x-e_1)(x-e_2)(x-e_3)} does not vanish, which implies after a quick check that the curve {\tilde E}, which is the locus of zeroes of {Y^2Z-4X^3-g_2XZ^2-g_3Z^3} in the projective plane, is actually a nonsingular curve. (From now on we’ll call both {\tilde E}, {E} curves.)
So we have two curves: {E} is defined in an analytic way, because its function field is constructed as a subfield of the field of meromorphic functions on {\mathbb{C}}. On the other hand, the curve {E} is an algebraic curve.
In fact, the curves {E} and {\tilde E} are exactly the same in every respect, as it turns out. This means that the curve {\tilde E} can be made into a group, since the curve {\mathbb{C}/\Omega} is naturally a group (it’s just the torus group). Of couse, the magical thing that happens is that the group law on {\tilde E} has a beautiful geometric interpretation, and that it’s given by rational functions on {\tilde E}.
Let’s compare again with trigonometric functions. Consider the locus {S} of {x^2+y^2=1} in {\mathbb{C}^2}. We know how to add points on the (usual) circle by adding angles. We can prove by elementary geometry, or using the series definitions of trigonometric functions, the formula
\displaystyle (x,y)+(x',y')=(xx'-yy', xy'+x'y),
which shows that the group structure on {S} is given by rational (polynomial!) functions. What is amazing is that the group structure is compatible with the {(\sin t, \cos t)} parametrization of {S} – in fact, the group law becomes a pair of “addition theorems”: one for {\sin} and one for {\cos}.
For the rest of this post, I will assume that the reader is familiar with the simple geometric interpretation of the group law on an elliptic curve. For an easy description, see the wikipedia page.
So it is easy to “discover” the addition theorem for {\wp} if we take the group law on {\tilde E} for granted. By a simple calculation, we obtain that, for {z \neq Z},
\displaystyle \wp(z+Z)+\wp(z)+\wp(Z) = \left(\frac{\wp'(z)-\wp'(Z)}{\wp(z)-\wp(Z)}\right)^2.
For example, to get the formula for {\wp'(z+Z)}, we find the {y}-coordinate of the point
\displaystyle (\wp(z), \wp'(z))+(\wp(Z), \wp'(Z))
using the geometric law. To ease notation a bit, let
\displaystyle P=(x_1, y_1)=(\wp(z), \wp'(z))
\displaystyle Q=(x_2, y_2) = (\wp(Z), \wp'(Z))
\displaystyle P*Q=(x_3, y_3)
Now the line passing through {P} and {Q} (assuming they are distinct, so {z} and {Z} are distinct points) is {y-y_1=\lambda(x-x_1)}, where {\lambda = (y_1-y_2)/(x_1-x_2)}. We substitute this value of {x=\lambda^{-1}(y-y_1)+x_1} in the equation {y^2=4x^3-g_3x-g_2} and we get the cubic in {y}
\displaystyle \lambda^3y^2=4(y-y_1-\lambda x_1)^3-g_2\lambda^2(y-y_1-\lambda x_1) - g_3\lambda^3.
Which is, after dividing by {4} and rearranging terms,
\displaystyle y^3-y^2(\lambda^3-3(y_1+\lambda x_1))-\dots =0
Now we already know two roots of this cubic; they are the {y}-coordinates of {P} and {Q}, by construction. Thus, by inspecting the coefficient of {y^2} in this cubic, which is {-(y_1+y_2+y_3)}, we see that
\displaystyle (y_1+y_2+y_3)=3(y_1+\lambda x_1)-\lambda^3
and hence, by the definition of addition on the elliptic curve {E:\ y^2=4x^3-g_2x-g_3} and by the (still unjustified) assumption that the group structure is compatible with the coordinates {(\wp, \wp')}, that the function {\wp'} satisfies the addition theorem
\displaystyle -\wp'(z+Z)=3\left(\wp'(z)+\wp(z)\frac{\wp'(z)-\wp'(Z)}{\wp(z)-\wp(Z)}\right)-\left(\frac{\wp'(z)-\wp'(Z)}{\wp(z)-\wp(Z)}\right)^3
\displaystyle =3\frac{\wp'(z)\wp(Z)-\wp'(Z)\wp(z)}{\wp(z)-\wp(Z)}-\left(\frac{\wp'(z)-\wp'(Z)}{\wp(z)-\wp(Z)}\right)^3
As expected, this expression is symmetric in {z} and {Z}. The doubling formula, i.e. the case {z=Z}, is obtained by taking the limit as {z \rightarrow Z} in the addition theorem.
Of course, none of this is justified because we haven’t explained why the coordinates {(\wp, \wp')} should be compatible with the group structure. In fact, it makes much more sense to think of the group structure on the elliptic curve as a consequence of the addition theorems. So, to understand why the group structure really is what it is, we have to understand where these addition theorems really come from.
Recall from complex analysis that, for a function {f} meromorphic on a domain {D}, the integral
\displaystyle \int_{\delta D} \frac{df}{f}
equals {2\pi i (Z-P)}, where {Z} and {P} denote the number of zeroes and poles of {f} on {D}, each taken with appropriate multiplicity.
By multiplying the differential {df/f} by a function {g} holomorphic on {D}, we obtain a weighted sum over the zeroes and poles of {f}. More precisely,
\displaystyle \frac{1}{2\pi i}\int_{\delta D} g\frac{df}{f} = \sum_{s \in D} g(z) - \sum_{p \in D}g(p)
where {s} and {p} run over the zeroes and poles of {f} in {D}, respectively. In particular, taking {g(z)=z}, we see that
\displaystyle \frac{1}{2\pi i} \int_{\delta D} z\frac{f'(z)dz}{f(z)} = \sum_{z \in D}v_z(f) z
where {v_p(f)} denotes the order of {f} at {z}, i.e. the greatest integer {n} such that {(z-p)^{-n}f(z)} is holomorphic at {z}.
Now if {f} is an elliptic function, and we take for {D} a fundamental parallelogram, we see immediately using the periodicity of {f}, that {\frac{1}{2\pi i} \int_{\delta D}z\frac{f'(z)dz}{f(z)}} equals a {\mathbb{Z}}-linear combination of elements of {\Omega}. Thus we see that , for an elliptic function {f},
\displaystyle \sum_{z \in \mathbb{C}/\Omega}v_z(f) z \equiv 0 \mod \Omega.
In particular, if {f} is an elliptic function of order {3}, then we can determine the position of any zero of {f} from knowledge of the position of the other two; the zeroes are always {z}, {Z}, and {-z-Z} (mod {\Omega}).
Now apply this to the elliptic function
\displaystyle F(u)=\wp'(u)-\wp'(z)=\lambda (\wp(u)-\wp(z)),
which is of order {3}. By construction, it has zeroes at {u=z} and at {u=Z}; thus its third zero is at {u=-z-Z}. This means precisely that the line passing through {(\wp(z), \wp'(z))} and {(\wp(Z), \wp'(Z))} also passes through {(\wp(-z-Z), \wp'(-z-Z)) = (\wp(z+Z), -\wp'(z+Z))}. Of course, these three points lie on the cubic {y^2=4x^3-g_2x-g_3}. This explains precisely where the group law comes from. It also shows why we must reflect the third point of intersection of the line through {P} and {Q} across the {x}-axis.
All of this discussion can be carried out in a quite abstract setting using the Riemann-Roch theorem, which allows us to endow any smooth, genus {1} algebraic variety having at least one point with a group structure, as above. It follows from the general construction that the group structure on an elliptic curve {E} is isomorphic to {\mbox{Pic}_0(E)}, the degree {0} Picard group of {E}.
In a future series of posts, I will discuss the similarities between the theory of number fields and the theory of elliptic curves, which lead to the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture.
Elliptic functions, Part I
Elliptic functions were discovered in the {19^{th}} century, but their first appearance in hidden guise goes back to Fagano and Euler, who proved “addition theorems” for elliptic integrals which amount to addition theorems for elliptic functions. Elliptic functions were the bread and butter of many generations of mathematicians; their study gave birth to the theory of Riemann surfaces and, eventually, to modern complex geometry.
An elliptic function {f} is a meromorphic function on {\mathbb{C}} which has two {\mathbb{R}}-linearly independent periods {\omega_1} and {\omega_2}. Thus {f} is invariant under the action of the lattice group {\Omega = \omega_1{\mathbb Z}\oplus \omega_2{\mathbb Z}}. (Of course, there are many possible choices of {\omega_1} and {\omega_2}.) This means that we can factor {f} through the projection {\mathbb{C}\rightarrow \mathbb{C}/\Omega}. With the complex structure inherited from {\mathbb{C}}, the topological space {E_\Omega = \mathbb{C}/\Omega} is a compact Riemann surface which has the shape of a torus.
We can identify {E_\Omega} with the points of a suitably chosen parallelogram. The parallelogram having {0}, {\omega_1} and {\omega_2} as vertices is called a fundamental parallelogram. We include only a specified half of its boundary (for example, only the edges {0\omega_1} and {0\omega_2}) so as to make sure that no two points are congruent {\mod \Omega}. Of course, {E_\Omega} is simply obtained by “pasting” opposite sides of this parallelogram together. We will call any fundamental parallelogram {E}. (Thus, as a topological space, {E_\Omega} is a quotient of {E}, obtained by pasting opposite sides together.) There are many other choice for E_\Omega; as many as there are {\mathbb{Z}}-bases for {\Gamma}.
So, all that we have merely noted so far is the basic fact that there exists a natural identification of the family of all {\Omega}-invariant meromorphic functions on {\mathbb{C}} with the family of all meromorphic functions on {\mathbb{C}/\Omega}.
So now we want to build elliptic functions. The way to build a function invariant under the action of some group is to average out this action. For example, suppose {G} is a finite group acting on some set {S} and that we are given a function {f:S\rightarrow \mathbb{C}}. We can build the function {F:S \rightarrow \mathbb{C}} by {F(s)=\sum_{g \in G}f(g \cdot s)}, which is invariant under {G}. Of course, if {G} is infinite, we may hope to replace the finite sum by an appropriately converging series.
So Weierstrass’s idea was just that. Let {G=\Omega}, and let {f(z)=\frac{1}{z^{3}}}. The series
\displaystyle f(z)=\sum_{\omega \in \Omega}\frac{1}{(z-\omega)^3}
is easily seen to converge absolutely and uniformly on every compact set not containing a point of {\Omega}. Since each summand is a meromorphic function of {z}, so is {f(z)}.
It is easy to see from the series expansion that the function {f} has a triple pole at every lattice point with zero residue. Moreover, {f(z)} is odd, since {-\Omega = \Omega} and {z^3} is odd. Thus we have produced a non-trivial elliptic function of order {3} (the order, or the degree, of an elliptic function {f} is the number of its poles inside any period parallelogram; or, if you prefer, it is the degree of {f} considered as a ramified covering {E_\Omega \rightarrow \mathbb{CP}^1}).
Now for every {z \notin \Gamma}, the function {f(u)-1/u^3} can be integrated from {0} to {z} along a path not passing through any point of {\Gamma}. Since the residue of {f} at each pole is {0}, the value of the integral is independent of path. By the uniform convergence of the series defining {f} along the integration path, we obtain a new function of {z},
\displaystyle P(z)=\int_0^z (f(u)-1/u^3)du = \frac{-1}{2}\sum_{\omega \in \Omega^*} \left(\frac{1}{(z-\omega)^2}-\frac{1}{\omega^2}\right),
which is meromorphic, and has a double pole with zero residue at every point of {\Omega^*=\Omega - \{0\}}. The function {\wp(z)=-2P(z)+2u^{-2}} is the Weierstrass {\wp}-function associated to {\Omega} (we may sometimes write it {\wp_\Omega} to emphasize the dependence of {\wp} on {\Omega}). It is given by the series
which also converges absolutely and uniformly on every compact set disjoint from {\Omega}. Notice that to integrate from {0}, we had to remove the pole at {0}, integrate, and then put the pole back. It is not immediately obvious that {\wp} should be elliptic. However, since {f} is odd and elliptic, we have, for example, {f(\omega_1(\frac{1}{2}+t))=f(\omega_1(\frac{-1}{2}+t))=-f(\omega_1(\frac{1}{2}-t))}. This shows that integrating {f} along the side {\omega_1} of the fundamental period parallelogram gives {0}; by generalizing this observation, we can see that {P(z)} is elliptic.
It would be criminal to continue without mentioning that we have only been generalizing the theory of trigonometric functions (and, as we shall see, of their associated curves, the conics). Recall that Euler gave us the product formula for {\sin z}:
Taking the logarithmic derivative, we obtain the “partial fraction” expansion
\displaystyle \pi \cot \pi z = \frac{1}{z} + \sum_{n=1}^\infty \frac{-2z}{n^2\pi^2}\frac{n^2\pi^2}{n^2\pi^2-z^2}=\frac{1}{z}+\sum_{n=1}^\infty \frac{1}{\pi n-z}-\frac{1}{\pi n+z}.
(Euler used this formula to give the value of {\zeta(2n)}, by expanding further each term in this formula, and comparing the resulting series with the Taylor series for {\pi \cot \pi z}.) But this function is not quite yet analogous to the {\wp} function, because it’s an odd function. Applying {-\frac{d}{dz}} yields
\displaystyle \pi^2 \csc^\pi z = \frac{1}{z^2}+\sum_{n=1}^\infty \frac{1}{(z+\pi n)^2}+\frac{1}{(z-\pi n)^2}
which really is analogous to the {\wp} function. So we see that the {\wp} function degenerates to {\csc^2} as one of its periods becomes {0}.
Now let’s make some general observations about any elliptic function {f}. First, note that {f} must have finitely many poles in any period parallelogram, since the closure of the period parallelogram is compact, and {f} is meromorphic. Second, note that the sum of the residues of {f} at its poles in a period parallelogram is {0}. Indeed, integrating around the boundary and using the periodicity of {f}, we see that integrals along opposite sides cancel each other. (We have to avoid poles on the boundary if there are some. By the periodicity of {f}, the poles on the boundary come in pairs with equal residue, and by going around them in small semi-circles in such a way that the contributions of the residues cancel each other out, we save the situation. So we’re integrating on a jigsaw puzzle piece with which we can tile the plane, basically.) This observation may remind you of the theorem which states that the sum of the residues of a meromorphic differential on {\mathbb{CP}^1} is {0}. This fact holds on all compact Riemann surfaces.
As a consequence of the fact that the residues sum to {0}, we see that an elliptic function cannot have a single simple pole. This is almost true also on {\mathbb{CP}^1}. For example, {f(z)=1/z} has a single simple pole. The sum of its residues is not {0}, but the differential {\frac{dz}{z}}, however, has two poles with residues {1} and {-1}; indeed, let {w=\frac{1}{z}}; then {\frac{dz}{z}=-\frac{dw}{w}}, so that {\frac{dz}{z}} also has a pole at {w=0}, with residue {-1}. Residues are really a property of differentials and not of functions.
Moreover, a non-constant elliptic function {f} must have at least one pole inside any fundamental parallelogram. Indeed, if {f} is analytic (and hence continuous) on the closure {\overline{E}} of a fundamental parallelogram {E}, the image {f(\overline{E})} is compact, since {\overline{E}} is compact; but since {f(\overline{E})=f(\mathbb{C})}, Liouville’s theorem implies that {f} is constant.
This observation, while very simple, is the basic tool in proofs of relations among elliptic functions.
Let’s expand the series for {\wp} a bit further. We have
\displaystyle \frac{1}{(z-\omega)^2}-\frac{1}{\omega^2} = \frac{1}{\omega^2} \left(\frac{1}{(z/\omega-1)^2}-1 \right)=\sum_{n=1}^\infty (n+1)\omega^{-n-2}z^{n}
\displaystyle = \frac{1}{z^2}+\sum_{n=1}^\infty (n+1)e_{n} z^{n} = \frac{1}{z^2}+2e_1z+3e_2z^2+\dots
where {e_{n} = \sum_{\omega \in \Omega^*}\omega^{-n-2}}. Notice that {e_n=0} for {n} odd, since {-\Omega = \Omega} (or alternatively, since {\wp} is an even function). Thus we have
\displaystyle \wp(z)=\frac{1}{z^2} + 3e_2z^2 + 5e_4z^4+\dots
As functions of {\Gamma}, the values {e_4, e_6, \dots, } are very interesting in their own right (they’re the fundamental examples of modular forms); I will talk about them in a later post.
So now that we have the Laurent expansion for {\wp (z)} around {0}, we can hope to discover a relationship between {\wp(z)} and {\wp'(z)}. We have
\displaystyle \wp'(z)=\frac{-2}{z^3}+6e_2z+20e_4z^3+\dots
and hence the function {\wp'(z)^2-4\wp(z)^3} has a pole of order {< 6} at {0}, since the terms in {z^{-6}} cancel out. We can write explicitly:
\displaystyle \wp'(z)^2-4\wp(z)^3 = \left(\frac{-24e_2}{z^2}-{80e_4}+\dots \right)-4\left(\frac{9e_2}{z^2}+15e_4+\dots\right)
\displaystyle =\frac{-60e_2}{z^2}-140e_4+\dots
where each occurence of “{\dots}” represents some analytic function which vanishes at {0}. Hence, by adding {60e_2\wp(z)} and {140e_4} to this series, we cancel the {z^{-2}} term and the constant term, and we see that the function {\wp'(z)^2-4\wp(z)^3+60e_2\wp(z)+140e_4} is analytic at {0} and vanishes there. Moreover, it is an elliptic function with respect to {\Omega}, since the same is true of {\wp'} and {\wp}. Also, it can only have poles at the points of {\Omega}, since the same is true of {\wp'} and {\wp}. But it has no pole at {0}; hence it has no pole at all. Hence it must be constantly equal to {0}. So we have proved that the {\wp} function satisfies the second-order non-linear differential equation
in terms of the constants (depending on {\Omega})
\displaystyle g_2=60\sum_{\omega \in \Omega^*}\frac{1}{\omega^4},
\displaystyle g_3=140\sum_{\omega \in \Omega^*}\frac{1}{\omega^6}.
We will discuss the great significance of this differential equation in a future post.
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How does the press love the “Clintons=Drama For No-Drama Obama” storyline? Others have tried to count the ways.
This morning, Fox News’s Fox & Friends ran a segment headlined “Nemeses Neutralized?” discussing President-Elect Obama’s likely selection of Sen. Clinton as secretary of state and how this would mean (alas) one “former rival” being brought into the fold. Harmony? Teamwork?
Not so fast. Sometimes, “neutralizing” one “nemesis” can also mean exacerbating another existing rivalry. And Fox News’s Steve Doocey found that silver lining! If Obama names Clinton secretary of state, he will be offering her the job that Gov. Bill Richardson (that primary-era Clinton frenemy) “really wanted.”
Liz Cox Barrett is a writer at CJR.
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The Bloodwarders are an elite fighting force of blood elves loyal to Prince Kael'thas (with one major exception). Their greatest numbers are within Kael's seat of power within Tempest Keep. They are led by Commander Sarannis in the Botanica. However, Bloodwarder troops are found within the Mechanar and the Eye as well. A handful of other blood elven forces in Outland have troops among their number known as Bloodwarders. In these situations, the Bloodwarders are usually blood knights clad in heavy crimson armor and wielding swords and spears. Those Bloodwarders found beyond Tempest Keep are counted among the Sunfury, Eclipsion, and Firewing groups of blood elves. Of all the Bloodwarders, the Eclipsion are the only group that are disloyal to Kael'thas, and have instead cast their lot with the Illidari.
Note Edit
Usage often implies it might be the name of a group loyal to Kael, while other uses suggest that it might be a title among a few groups.
Bloodwarder (Title)Edit
Bloodwarders (Organization)Edit
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Stop Eating Meat to Lose Weight?
Should you stop eating meat to Lose Weight? It depends on how you approach it. You can eat a healthy vegetarian diet that can help you to lose weight. However, simply giving up meat will not by itself make you lose weight. Some people, in fact, when they give up meat end up eating more carbohydrates, which can have the opposite effect.
Meats are High in Fats
Meat and animal products are generally high in protein and saturated fats. Saturated fats were, for a time, considered unhealthy and a cause of many diseases. They were also blamed for obesity. Now, however, they are gradually being recognized by many nutritionists as necessary, if derived from high quality sources (such as organic or natural animal products). Eating a diet with a moderate amount of saturated fats will not make you fat.
The worst things you can eat if you are trying to lose weight are foods that are high in sugar, low quality carbohydrates and trans fats. Low quality carbs are those made with processed white flour. When you buy or make foods like bread or pasta, look for whole grains, preferably organic. Avoid refined white sugar. Also avoid foods made with hydrogenated oils and trans fats.
Stop Eating Meat to Lose Weight?
Stop Eating Meat
Stop Eating Meat – Become a Vegetarian?
The decision to eat a vegetarian diet and stop eating meat or not is a personal one. The fact is, you can lose weight as a vegetarian or as a meat-eater. Or you can gain weight on either diet. There are good arguments for becoming a vegetarian. One is ethical, which is something you have to decide for yourself. Another has to do with the unnatural way most meat is produced today. This, however, can be avoided by buying organic meats and animal products (though these are more expensive).
Losing weight is probably not a good reason to become a vegetarian. If you are overweight and a meat-eater, it is probably not meat that is making you fat. It is more the overall number of calories you are consuming, the amount of sugar, carbs and unhealthy fats. There is also, of course, the amount of physical activity you are getting, which is at least as important as your diet.
One reason why a vegetarian diet and stop eating meat may appear to be good for losing weight is that it is often part of a general effort at eating a healthier diet.
Stop Eating Meat is Healthier Anyway
There is nothing wrong with this, and I am certainly not trying to discourage anyone from becoming a vegetarian, only saying that it is probably not a decisive factor by itself when it comes to losing weight. For example, many people start eating more fruits and vegetables when they become vegetarian, which is healthy. You can, however, eat more fruits and vegetables without becoming a vegetarian. The choice is yours.
If you are trying to lose weight, the bottom line is to eat a healthy diet (whether it includes meat or not), to reduce your intake of unhealthy foods, and to increase the amount of activity you get. Stop eating meat and you can in fact get a lot healthier.
1. says
3- Niacin. Are you currently minimizing your calorie intake.
It is often a 100% natural merchandise that contains Glucomannan as its active ingredient.
2. D says
Humans are omnivores. End of story. Whether or not you choose to eat meat is a personal preference. It is not vital to our survival, but it is not necessarily detrimental to our health either. Our bodies all require certain nutrients that can be obtained from both plant and animal sources. By the same token, consuming too much of certain nutrients can be harmful. If you choose to eat meat, most of your meat consumption should be from lean meats, and red meat should only be eaten in moderation. You will also need to consume fruits and vegetables in order to get nutrients and fibers that are not found in meat. If you choose not to eat meat, you will need to consume foods like nuts and beans to substitute the fats and proteins you would normally get from eating meat. This is not rocket science; as with everything else, moderation and balance are keys. Regular exercise is also a vital component to any healthy lifestyle. Remember, if you don’t use it, you lose it. Regardless of whether you eat meat or not, you should avoid fried, refined and processed foods as much as possible. Avoid trans fats and empty carbs. Avoid things like hydrogenated oils and high fructose corn syrup.
As for the ethical arguments against eating meat, some animals eat other animals. Like it or not, human beings are animals. We can eat other animals just as we can be eaten by other animals. However, I would agree that factory farming is a terrible practice and that all meat eaters should strive to eat only “organic” / free range animals; if not for ethical reasons, then for health reasons. Eating an animal that has lived a healthy, active life is going to be far tastier and healther than eating one that spent its entire life in a cage. It’s kinder to the animal and it’s the way they were meant to live. You can argue that it’s unnatural for humans to be vegetarians, but just the same it is unnatural for us to consume animals that have been “grown” in a factory. By instinct we are hunter / gatherers, not farmers and livestock breeders.
• Herbs says
Humans may in fact be “omnivores”. That is, an animal CAPABLE of digesting both plants and meat.. However, it seems to me that humans are much closer to a plant-eating animal than any carnivorous animal like a bear or a cat.
Let’s be honest here, not even the fastest human could chase down an animal and rip the flesh from its body without tools/weapons. Our early African ancestors probably had a plant-based diet. The only meat they could have possibly acquired without adequate tools/weapons would be meat scavenged from carnivores, and even that would be difficult considering all the vicious pack-hunter animals present in Africa.
My point here is that while humans may be capable of digesting meat, they are naturally ill-equipped for obtaining it. Humans lack the natural tools commonly found in carnivorous animals.
3. ty says
Everyone body is different that’s why some diet pills work for some and some don’t. Same way with this issue. We can’t tell someone how to be or what they should do. Our own opinion is just something helpful for those who need help. For those leaving disrespectful comments the topic is not “was not raised with respect for others ”
I just became a vegetarian, I just cut meat out only. Its been 2 months and I’ve lost 7 pounds ( I’m small already) but it gave me more energy. I’ve always had digestive issues ( not able to breakdown process foods) but I have less issues now. It’s you’re choice, body, and never change because someone criticized the situation.
4. Meanoboy says
The key category in the discussion of human diet is omnivores, which are defined as generalized feeders, with neither carnivore nor herbivore specializations for acquiring or processing food, and who are capable of consuming and do consume both animal protein and vegetation. They are basically *opportunistic* feeders (survive by eating what is available) with more generalized anatomical and physiological traits, especially the dentition (teeth). All the available evidence indicates that the natural human diet is omnivorous and would include meat. We are not, however, required to consume animal protein. We have a choice.
Fermenting Vats
Nearly all plant eaters have fermenting vats (enlarged chambers where foods sits and microbes attack it). Ruminants like cattle and deer have forward sacs derived from remodeled esophagus and stomach. Horses, rhinos, and colobine monkeys have posterior, hindgut sacs. Humans have no such specializations.
Although evidence on the structure and function of human hands and jaws, behavior, and evolutionary history also either support an omnivorous diet or fail to support strict vegetarianism, the best evidence comes from our teeth.
The short canines in humans are a functional consequence of the enlarged cranium and associated reduction of the size of the jaws. In primates, canines function as both defense weapons and visual threat devices. Interestingly, the primates with the largest canines (gorillas and gelada baboons) both have basically vegetarian diets. In archeological sites, broken human molars are most often confused with broken premolars and molars of pigs, a classic omnivore. On the other hand, some herbivores have well-developed incisors that are often mistaken for those of human teeth when found in archeological excavations.
Salivary Glands
These indicate we could be omnivores. Saliva and urine data vary, depending on diet, not taxonomic group.
Intestinal absorption is a surface area, not linear problem. Dogs (which are carnivores) have intestinal specializations more characteristic of omnivores than carnivores such as cats. The relative number of crypts and cell types is a better indication of diet than simple length. We are intermediate between the two groups.
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Who Is Dumber, Joe Biden or Barack Obama?
Most people would immediately say “Joe Biden.” But I am not at all sure that is correct. There is much to be said on the subject, but for the moment let’s just note that Obama has matched one of Biden’s most famous moments of stupidity, when Biden declaimed on the “three-letter word: J-O-B-S.” Here is Obama with his own moment of pre-first grade innumeracy:
Maybe such blunders are insignificant. Then again, maybe they aren’t. If you can’t count to four, or keep track of the difference between 50 and 57 states, maybe that helps to explain why you don’t understand the significance of a $16 trillion debt. In a world where numbers are all just a fog, what’s the difference?
Recommend this Power Line article to your Facebook friends.
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Switched Digital Video Now TiVo-Friendly
Okay, we'll be the first to admit it. The new Cisco Tuning Adapter isn't the most glamorous new product out there, but the STA1520 will certainly make TiVo owners quite happy. Kinda like how a fuzzy old bathrobe ain't exactly sexy, but it does serve a purpose.
The STA1520, along with a similar device from Motorola is a tuning adapter that's necessary if you want to record Switched Digital Video (SDV) on your TiVo. In fact, it's needed for most third-party cable boxes and DVRs. What exactly is SDV, and why should you care?
Tivo_logo_lg_rgb Cable operators have been struggling with trying to cram HD content into their current pipeline. SDV lets them preserve the quality of HD, while reducing the needed bandwidth. How? Simple. At any given time, they assume that there will be unwatched channels. Seriously, how many homes are tuned into C-SPAN at any one time? SDV is a kind of on-demand idea. A channel isn't sent out until someone wants to watch it. The cable company saves bandwidth because they're only sending out channels that people need. No need to supply every channel all the time if no one is watching.
Because the signal is different, the use of SDV had made many CableCard devices such as TiVo and some Digital Cable Ready TV's incompatible with SDV channels.
The new Tuning Adapters from Cisco and Motorola lets your TiVo work seamlessly with SDV. The switching time between channels isn't lightening fast, but it's still better than tossing out your TiVo. Sexy? No. Functional? You betcha. -Leslie Shapiro
via Engadget
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Finding Home
Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from both Harry Potter and Avengers…
The general idea of the first two chapters are similar to that of criesofthefallen's Taking Chances. Check out their story if you have time; it's pretty good.
Chapter 1 – To Begin Anew
The war had left the Wizarding World in pieces and its seventeen-year-old Saviour even more so. The only difference was that one had, slowly but surely, been rebuilt; the other had not.
After the war, Harry had quietly packed his things and found a small flat in Muggle London to move into. Polite but firm, he had turned down offer after offer to dinner parties and social gatherings, brushed off his friends' attempts to cajole him out of the niche he had made for himself, and generally ignored the goings-on in the magical community he had once called home.
And gradually, the time between visits from people he knew became longer and longer, and Harry found that he didn't really mind. The war had taken something from him and he knew instinctively that he would never get it back. He much preferred being alone now, and his friends stopping by usually just resulted in frustrated defeat for them and a migraine for him.
It wasn't as if Harry was idle though. He had enough money in his vaults to live comfortably for at least another century or so without lifting a finger but he had never been one to sit around doing nothing. With the Elder Wand now in his possession (quite literally as both the wand and the resurrection stone had returned to him after he had thrown them away and had bonded with his magical core soon after, leaving him with the ability to perform wandless magic. He hadn't let himself so much as think about the resurrection stone; a part of him wanted to test his ability with it, but another, larger, part of him knew that messing with the dead was bad news all around.), magic no longer proved difficult for him, so he had turned to other branches of study instead.
He had always been good at math so he had started there. He had picked up physics, which had eventually led to other fields in the subject. Aero physics and quantum physics had interested him and he had spent many hours holed up in his flat going through book after book. But he couldn't very well enter either field; they were both too much in the spotlight, and being noticed again was the last thing he wanted. So he had finally turned to mechanics instead. He made friends with the owner of a garage in London, who, upon realizing that Harry wasn't from a rival business and was simply interested in auto mechanics, invited him in for a tour. The tour turned into lunch breaks in which Harry would bring lunch, and West, the garage owner, would teach him about the practical aspect of fixing a vehicle.
And just like that, time went by, day after day, month after month, year after year, until one day, Harry could walk into the repair shop and customers would greet him on sight, asking his advice and paying him to fix their cars. He knew West's wife, Sienna, and the man's two children called him Uncle Harry. The garage had become more of a home than perhaps even Hogwarts had ever been. Harry had found that he liked working in the quiet haven it provided, and West had practically adopted him as a younger brother after a few months, bullying him into eating and making sure he got back to his flat for some rest when he discovered Harry's unhealthy habits in both areas. They ran the garage together now, with West insisting Harry get half the income when Harry had tried to refuse.
It was peaceful and normal and Harry found himself content and even happy at times. But fate and luck had always hated him, so it would stand to reason that the simple life he had made for himself would never last.
"You need to leave."
Harry paused in his work before rolling out from under the car he had been working on to look up at West's gruff features. Nothing fazed him much anymore and this was no different. Keeping his features blank, he waited for West to continue, ignoring the tightness in his chest at the older man's words.
West heaved a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. "Look Harry, I love having you here, you know I do, but you can't stay here," The man glanced to the side at the open garage doors before frowning down at him. "You must have noticed: it's been ten years but you haven't aged a day."
Harry stilled, tensing even as his fight-or-flight instinct flared to life. West must have caught it because his frown turned into an outright glare.
"If I had a problem with whatever's affecting you, I would've chucked you out five years ago," West snapped harshly. "I know shit's happened in your life, kid; I can see it in your eyes, but I didn't press when you first came and I'm not going to press now. But some of the customers are talking. Not the usual regulars; they know how to keep their mouths shut and turn a blind eye, but the jackasses pissing money who come here a few times a year; they've gotten suspicious. Sooner or later, they'll be asking questions and calling scientists and doctors, and next thing you know, you'll be sold off to the highest bidder and locked up in some government facility like a lab rat. I don't like it any more than you do but you need to leave."
Harry listened to West's long tirade, letting his head fall back as the mechanic finished. He knew, of course, that he had become something of an immortal. Seven and a half years ago when he had woken up one day and wondered why he didn't own a shaver, his life had taken a downturn. West had been out of town visiting family and, not having known Harry long enough yet to trust him completely with the garage, had closed it up for the six months he would be out of town. Harry had spent that time alternately staring at the mirror and tearing through all the magical books in every single library he could get into. None of it had been remotely useful until, at the end of the six months, desperate and not a little bit scared (because there had never been a time when he had ever thought living forever would be a good idea), he had taken a knife to his wrists, watching with clinically morbid fascination as the world dissolved around him.
And then he had met Death itself, nondescript and not really the terrifying image most people associated with it, and it had kindly explained to him exactly what it meant to be Master of Death. He could get hurt and he could even die, but he would always come back because one of Death's duties was to keep its master alive. It had been vague when Harry had all but begged it to tell him he would live out a normal, albeit extended lifespan like everyone else. There were rules and consequences, Death had told him, but hadn't said much more than that before sending him back.
Harry had woken up to four white walls and West's face looming over him, furious and worried in equal measure. Apparently, the mechanic had returned early and had decided to stop by Harry's place to ask him to dinner with his family again. It had been midday and he had found it strange that the curtains had been closed and at least three weeks' worth of newspapers had been piled up on his doorstep, so, after calling Harry on both his home phone and cell and getting no answer, he had forced the door open and found him bleeding out in the bathroom.
West had yelled himself hoarse after Harry had finally managed to stay awake long enough to listen, a disgusted 'how stupid do you think I am' look on his face when Harry had tried to reassure him that he wasn't really suicidal and he wouldn't do it again. The day Harry had gotten out of the hospital, he had found Sienna parked out front with a warm smile and an adamant glint in her eyes. Half an hour later, he had found a new home in his boss's guest bedroom, all his belongings in the closet and his flat's keys turned back in to his former landlord.
West had watched him like a hawk for a year and a half before finally easing up, but he had stubbornly turned down Harry's offer to move out and Danny and Janey had cried when they had heard that their Uncle Harry wanted to leave, so Harry had sighed and agreed to stay.
As for the issue of being Master of Death, there hadn't been much Harry could do about his newfound immortality but it was obvious he wasn't going to be leaving the land of the living anytime soon so he had put it out of his mind, not wanting to upset the family that had taken him in.
When his friends had found out (seven months later) that he had moved in with Muggles, their reactions ranged from confused to downright scandalized. They had pulled all their cards; Ginny still waiting for him (but Harry had gotten over that years ago), his education at Hogwarts (he didn't really need it anymore), the Wizarding World needing him (as far as Harry was concerned, offing Voldemort at seventeen for them had been more than enough), etc. Harry had ignored them all, and when Hermione had tried to force him to leave by throwing up a fuss and accusing him of being irresponsible and selfish while West and his family had been home, Harry had had it out with her right there on the front lawn. It had ended with the witch leaving, temper high, and Harry tired and drained. Neither had spoken to the other ever since.
To his relief and gratitude, neither West nor Sienna had pressed him about it, carrying on as if they hadn't seen their houseguest threaten an unknown woman for threatening them (though West had asked what Obliviate meant, to which Harry had given an honest answer, curious about the reaction he would get. West had blinked, shrugged and then pointed him at the nearest car that needed to be fixed and that was that.)
"Okay," Harry found himself saying now, rising to his feet. "I'll go pack my things."
Before he could take more than a few steps, West's hand had come down on his shoulder.
"I don't mean right at this moment," West said irritably. "At least wait until the kids get home from school. And I don't care where you go; just make sure you've got a phone and an address. I expect calls and letters every week."
Harry stopped and stared out of the garage for a long moment, contemplating his next words.
"I don't age," He finally said. "This doesn't bother you?"
West shrugged. "I should think it bothers you more."
Harry gave him a long measured stare. "...You're really strange."
The mechanic snorted and led the way back into the house. "You're one to talk, midget. Now get in here; Sienna has lunch ready."
In the end, Harry had cracked open a map, transfigured a pen into a dart, and hoped for the best. West had face-palmed when he found out his method.
"What if you had picked a place well-known for serial killers or something?" He had demanded.
Harry had shrugged. "New York probably has its fair share but I'll manage."
West had thrown his hands in the air and helped him get his things together, not even blinking as he gathered some of the quills Harry had forgotten in a side drawer years ago.
Seven hours and several tearful goodbyes later, Harry was on a plane heading for New York. If he had known just what was in store for him, he probably would've reconsidered his choice to move to this particular city.
Six months later, Harry was settled in Manhattan and had opened a business of his own. Once word got around that his garage, though smaller than most, had a very talented, albeit young mechanic running it, vehicles of all kinds came rolling in. Apparently, car accidents were the norm in New York City. The fact that he didn't charge very much for assembling parts and/or repairing them either was just a bonus.
It was a decent life though Harry found it slightly odd in the first few weeks when he turned to say something to West only to find himself alone. But he adjusted and remembered to write, not quite able to help the smile on his face when he was bombarded with dozens of letters in the first month.
It was nearing the end of the ninth month when autumn kicked in and Harry woke to a chill in the air and the telltale hiss of an overheated engine outside his house. When he peered out his window, he saw a worried-looking woman in a white shirt and formal skirt and two men with rolled-up sleeves bending over the hood of a sleek black unmistakable Audi R8.
Almost as if he had sensed him, one of the men glanced up and caught Harry's gaze. To his surprise, the man flashed a rakish grin, waved at Harry's currently closed garage, and made a pleading gesture, complete with puppy-dog eyes that actually didn't look completely ridiculous on him considering the fact that the man looked to be in his mid-thirties. Harry couldn't quite hold back a snort as he moved away from the window, eyeing his bed for a moment before grabbing his work clothes. Technically, he didn't open for another two hours, but once he was up, there really was no point in going back to bed. He might as well start the day by doing what he did best.
Of course, Harry had no idea that his life would change quite drastically in his decision to help one Tony Stark.
Finished! First work on this site. Hope it's a good start.
Chapter Text
There might be a bit of confusion on the timeline for this fic so I'll clear it up here. This story takes place several months before Loki arrives and it will be AU so the storyline won't completely follow the Avengers movie.
The general idea of the first two chapters are similar to that of criesofthefallen's Taking Chances (on fanfiction). Check out their story if you have time; it's pretty good.
Chapter 2 – To Be A Friend
"Tony, we're going to be late."
Tony waved a hand to clear the smoke, trying to get a good look at the damage. "Yeah, don't I know it," He grumbled before pinning his driver with a long-suffering look. "Stevens, I pay you to get me to conferences on time, not to get us halfway there."
He expertly ignored Pepper's look of disapproval as well as his driver's mumbled apologies and frowned at his engine instead. If he had the proper tools for it, he could try to fix it himself, but he wasn't exactly in the habit of carrying around an entire toolkit in the back of his Audi.
A movement flickered in his peripheral vision and he glanced up, eyebrows rising when he caught sight of a pair of green eyes staring back at him. He shot a quick look at the sign above the large garage on the right – Marauders' Den: Auto Assembly and Repair – and grinned hopefully back at the man in the window. The garage was closed at the moment but surely no one would turn him away in a time of need.
Tony scowled petulantly when the man disappeared from sight without acknowledgement, but brightened again when the overhead garage door smoothly slid up a few minutes later. Bounding forward, he greeted the man that stepped outside, hand already extended.
"Good morning!" Tony shook the man's hand, hiding his surprise when he realized just how young he looked. The mechanic was almost a full head shorter than he was too. "Tony Stark, pleasure to meet you!"
The black-haired man – or teen, really – blinked back, looking bemused. "Harry Potter," He returned with a British accent. "Likewise. What seems to be the problem?"
Harry moved away, eyes focused on the steam pouring out of the hood. Tony had a feeling Harry already knew the problem and kept quiet instead, observing him curiously.
"Overheated engine," Harry muttered absently. "Blown head gasket; I'll have to replace that. How soon do you need this fixed up?"
"Soon as possible would be great," Tony glanced at his watch. It was seven-twenty. "We're in a bit of a hurry. Conference meeting at eight-thirty and we're still half an hour away." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But if it's replacing the gasket, you'll need at least a few hours to repair it. Damn."
Tony expected Harry to nod in agreement but the mechanic only peered at the engine again before enquiring, "How important is this meeting?"
"Lose-a-few-million-dollars-if-we're-not-there important," Tony sighed.
Pepper jumped in, shooting a stern frown at Tony. "Do you have some way of patching it up just until we get there?"
Harry shook his head. "No, the gasket's completely crushed," He paused and then turned to make his way back into his garage.
"Here," He grabbed a set of keys off one of the hooks and tossed them at Tony before pointing at a velocity red Mazda3 parked inside his garage. "Take that. Return it in one piece after your conference and I'll have your car ready by the time you get back."
Tony gaped at him, staring wide-eyed from the keys in his hands to the Mazda in the garage. A small part of his brain was trying to figure out how he could've missed seeing the Mazda in the first place. "Wait, you're just gonna lend us your car? We just met!"
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, so return it without getting it scratched," He cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you were in a hurry?"
Tony gauged the mechanic's expression and found nothing but honesty there. He shook his head in disbelief but gestured for Pepper and Stevens to get in the Mazda. Pepper thanked Harry warmly before sliding into the passenger's seat. Tony approached the mechanic and did the same.
"Thanks," He said, opening the door on the driver's side. "We'll go for a round of drinks after this. To show my appreciation," He added with a smirk when Harry made to protest. Ducking into the car effectively cut off the rest of Harry's objections.
"That was lucky," Pepper said as Tony pulled back on the road, feeling a rush of delight when he realized just how smoothly the Mazda could run. The speed was amazing and the engine literally made no noise at all.
"Yeah," Tony agreed, increasing the acceleration. "How much do you think I'd have to pay him to convince him to come work for me?"
Pepper rolled her eyes. "Really, Tony? He's already lent us a car. Don't harass him in return."
"I'm not going to harass him," Tony protested. "It's just a business proposition."
Pepper shook her head. "I don't think he'd agree. He seems comfortable where he is."
"You just wait," Tony said confidently. "Everyone wants to work for Stark Industries and, more importantly, me."
Pepper refrained from slapping him upside the head. Judging by the lack of reaction when Tony had introduced himself, she had a sneaking suspicion that Harry didn't even know who Tony Stark was.
Which was a good thing, she mused. Harry didn't seem like the type to be tempted by money and if Tony wasn't too much of a bastard to the mechanic, the arrogant idiot might just gain an actual friend.
Fixing the Audi was easy enough, and mornings were always slower than afternoons on Saturdays, which left Harry some time to think. He knew who Tony Stark was, of course; half the world probably knew. Harry had been surprised when he had dug into New York's history and come up with actual superheroes in this day and age. It wasn't something he expected and he made sure to look into everything he could find on them. He had come up with Iron Man, Captain America, and even zones of destruction where whispers of someone called the Hulk was rumoured to have passed through.
But Harry had never expected to actually meet any one of them, especially someone as high up in the American hierarchy as Tony Stark. A billionaire industrialist and inventor, he would've thought that his modest garage would be the last place someone like Stark would show up at.
The spark of magic Harry had placed in his Mazda thrummed against his own magic and he looked up to see his car in the distance.
"Great car!" were Stark's first words as he pulled up in front of the garage without so much as a whisper from the breaks. "I don't know how you did it. Not even my cars run like this."
Harry shrugged and caught the keys Stark tossed back at him. "I'm good at what I do," He replied vaguely before waving at the Audi parked neatly in his driveway. "It's good to go. Where are the other two?"
Stark waved a dismissive hand as he hurried over to his car. "They hitched a ride with someone else while I drove back here and is my engine quieter or what?"
Stark had started his car and was listening intently to the low growl it produced. Harry nodded. "I had time so I thought I'd give it a tune-up. I hope you don't mind. I couldn't resist. I've never worked with an Audi R8 before."
"Mind? Are you kidding?" Stark asked incredulously. "I'd like to bring all my cars over here. Oh, which brings us to a very important question I've been meaning to ask you since this morning."
Harry arched an eyebrow when Stark paused dramatically.
"How would you like to come work for me?"
Harry blinked and replied without missing a beat. "No thanks."
Stark looked taken aback. "Why not? You do know I run Stark Industries, right? And just name your price; I can pay-"
"I earn enough on my own, Mr. Stark," Harry interrupted, feeling slightly annoyed. "I neither want nor need any more money."
The usual playful careless look on Stark's face abruptly sharpened into something more intent, as if he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle, and Harry wondered why he would choose to hide this side of him behind his usual facade.
"Are you sure?" Stark pressed, though Harry had a feeling that he was simply carrying on the conversation now. "You'd have state-of-the-art parts to work with, and more Audi R8s than you'd know what to do with."
"I'm sure," Harry said, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. "Thanks for the offer though."
Stark nodded thoughtfully before the teasing glint reappeared in his eyes. "Don't call me 'Mr. Stark'. It sounds ridiculous. Tony is fine."
Harry shrugged again. He didn't want to seem too friendly. He hadn't come to New York to make friends and seeing how he would have to leave either at a moment's notice or in around five years' time, or both, it was better to simply keep to himself.
"Stark then," He said as a compromise and ignored Stark's loud complaint.
"So how much do I owe you?" Stark asked after it was clear Harry wasn't going to indulge him.
"Six hundred dollars," Harry replied and Stark almost dropped his wallet.
"What?" He exclaimed dubiously. "Replacing a head gasket on an average car alone costs seven hundred, much less mine, and you gave it a tune-up."
"Tune-up's free because I didn't ask first," Harry explained. "And I don't charge much. I already upped the price for your car. Usually, I'd charge four hundred for replacing a head gasket."
Stark eyed him as if he was wondering just how crazy Harry was. "Are you sure? I mean money's no problem for me-"
"And money's no problem for me either," Harry said firmly. "Now pay and leave. I still have a Honda to finish tuning by the end of the day."
Stark handed over the money without further prompting but he made no move to leave. "So what kind of Honda are you working on?"
"An Insight," Harry answered warily.
"Great! I've worked on one before. I'll give you a hand."
And before Harry could say anything else, Stark strolled past him into the garage, whistling cheerfully as he rolled up his sleeves.
Harry stared for a full five seconds before heaving a resigned sigh. He had expected Tony Stark to be arrogant and he had heard of the man's reputation as a playboy, but he had not expected the billionaire to be very hard to get rid of.
Over the next few months, Harry found out just how difficult it was to remove Tony Stark from his home. The billionaire literally came over at anytime he wanted. The first time his doorbell rang at three in the morning on a Sunday was a month after Harry met Stark. He had been all for kicking the man off his doorstep but the dark bags under his eyes and the frazzled air Stark brought with him was enough for Harry to allow his uninvited guest a chance to explain.
The CEOs of other companies had come for a business party held at Stark Industries, Stark had explained, and some of the guests hadn't left until only an hour ago. The place was a mess and he couldn't stand looking at all the proposed contracts and paperwork left in his home by said CEOs for another minute and Pepper was on leave visiting her parents so he had driven all the way down to Harry's place and could he please just spend the night.
Harry hadn't had the heart to say no and had allowed Stark entry, hastily shoving some boxes he had still yet to unpack away from his sofa-bed. Unfortunately, this one time admission into his home somehow became an open invitation and within the space of another two months, half a dozen midnight visits, and quite a few daytime appearances on Stark's off days, Harry had finally thrown in the towel and given the irritating man a key of his own.
The smug look Harry had caught on the billionaire's face when said key was handed over told Harry that this was the outcome Stark had been aiming for all along.
"Stark, have you ever heard of common courtesy?" Harry glared at the billionaire currently studying a closet with a disturbing amount of interest.
Stark barely spared him a glance before returning to his careful examination. "Of course I have," He said airily. "And I have plenty of it. I just save it for when I need it."
Harry rolled his eyes. "What are you doing?"
Stark hmm'ed thoughtfully before waving a hand around the living room. "I've always wondered: why is this place smaller on the inside? And," Stark raised a hand to silence Harry's reply. "Before you deny it, I've measured this place. It's definitely bigger on the outside. And I looked up the floor plans for this place; there should be a basement. Most of it's underground but the stairs leading down to it should be right here."
Harry felt a spike of real frustration that he wasn't quite able to hide and Stark hastily backtracked. "I know, I know, I shouldn't have looked, but I was curious and I couldn't help myself. Sorry?"
Harry sighed considered his next move. He knew if he denied Stark's claim, the man would never bring it up again. While Stark was curious enough to get himself killed ten times over, he also respected Harry enough to respect his privacy.
On the other hand, if Harry showed Stark just how many pet projects he had on the side, he had a feeling the man would only find even more reason to stick around. Not that Harry understood why the billionaire wanted to befriend him in the first place. Harry was not delusional in the least. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to get along with. He often preferred to stay silent as opposed to talking and he wasn't exactly all that friendly to other people anymore. He was polite, yes; that was a must when dealing with customers six days a week, but he never went out of his way to try to make friends with them either. The regulars knew him well enough to keep their visits almost completely on business.
"Fine," Harry snorted at the pleased look he received; Stark always wore it when he got his way. Surreptitiously, he used some of his magic to unveil the panel near the back of the closet, tapped in the code, and stepped aside as the back of the closet slid open to reveal a set of stairs leading downwards. "Knock yourself out."
Stark's face literally lit up with childish glee when his eyes landed on the six vehicles Harry had stored in the basement. "Those two are hybrids! And you have a motorcycle! And that's an Audi R8; I thought you said you didn't have one?"
Harry sat down on a chair. "I didn't. I bought it recently."
Stark glanced back at him for a moment. Harry knew the billionaire had always wondered why the prices Harry charged were never very high. Stark had never asked and Harry had never said, but he supposed it was now a confirmed fact that Harry was just as rich as Stark.
"And what are these two?" Stark peered curiously at the two vehicles on the far right.
"They're mine," Harry replied with a tinge of pride colouring his words. "They're not finished yet but I've been building my own cars."
"Ah, inventor," Stark nodded sagely, gaze already taking in the different parts that made up his two creations. "You never said."
"You never asked," Harry countered.
"True," Stark acknowledged. "You must be quite the genius to be doing this at your age. Exactly how old are you anyway? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
Harry made a noncommittal sound. "About, yeah."
Stark didn't seem very put out by the non-answer, turning instead to take in the basement. "How did you get everything in here?"
Already expecting the question, Harry drew out a remote and a moment later, the far part of the basement's ceiling opened, a ramp extended downwards, and cold sunlight splashed the floor of the room.
"It opens out to the backyard," Harry clarified.
Stark just grinned happily, enthusiasm almost visible around him. "Harry, you and I are going to be the best of friends."
Harry scoffed quietly as Stark bounded over to one of the hybrids. He supposed he could call Stark a friend, but there wouldn't be time for them to become best of anything. He had already stayed here for over a year. Another four years or so and it would be time to pack up and leave again.
Hope Tony wasn't completely out of character or anything.
Chapter Text
On to the next chapter! More action and the plot will be moving along now.
Chapter 3 – To Start A War
The spike of energy that washed over his Occlumency shields woke Harry immediately, and he shot out of bed, halfway to the window before he was completely conscious. He peered outside but only a clear night sky and a quiet street greeted him.
It happened sometimes; a sudden surge of something most definitely death-related that would hit Harry at the most random times. The first time this had happened, he had woken up in a panicked state, not quite knowing why. An hour and a Muggle newspaper later, Harry had found out that a gas line had exploded, taking three blocks and hundreds of Muggles with it. He had found that this news, while not something he knew about, did not come as a surprise for him either. Over the years, he had learned to block out most of this, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it; that the feelings he received weren't warning s but simply the souls of the dead being ferried to the afterlife by Death. Apparently, it was Death's duty to notify its master on this issue as well.
Nowadays, so long as he kept his Occlumency shields up, Harry only felt the really, really bad cases, which were, thankfully, far and few in between. But he hadn't felt something quite like this in, well, ever. For one, the usual terror that gripped him was nonexistent. For another, whatever had woken him hadn't felt like death.
With a sigh, he turned to face the opposite side of the room and called softly, "Death? A word, please."
Years ago, Harry had accidentally summoned Death, almost giving himself a heart-attack when it had appeared in West's living room right in front of Danny and Janey. Thankfully, nobody else could see it unless Harry allowed it, as Death generously pointed out, and Harry had found out that he could summon it at any time he wanted.
"You called, Master?" Death appeared on the other side of the room, scythe in hand and, for once, a frown turning down its lips. Harry had always instinctively known that Death had no real gender or form, which would probably explain why he could never give a physical description of it, no matter how many times he saw it.
"What's going on? What woke me up?"
Death took its time before speaking, expression darkening. "Something that does not belong is here. What that is is not clear. But he does not belong yet he sings my song. I wish him gone, Master."
Though Harry never talked to Death unless he couldn't help it, he had adjusted to the funny way it spoke, half rhyme and half not, and he quickly dissected the meaning it was conveying. "Okay, something's interfering with your job. Is it a wizard? I mean, it's probably not a Muggle, right? Unless they've created a way to cheat death or something stupid like that."
But Death shook its head. "He is Muggle and yet he is not. He has arrived through power and through thought. His rule has started and his goal is clear; if not stopped, the end draws near."
"Muggle but not?" Harry repeated, ignoring the dread that came with the ending of Death's speech. "How is that possible? Do you mean a squib?"
Death shook its head and was silent.
"Not a squib," Harry muttered. "Someone with no magic then, but not really a Muggle either. Like- Like an alien or something?" He guessed with a half-laugh until Death nodded.
"An alien?" He asked faintly. "Really?"
Again, Death nodded. "Asgardian. My hold over them is not the same as the ones here I claim."
Harry sighed. Wonderful. Well, he supposed if there was magic and superheroes, then aliens weren't too far off an idea.
"Right, so whoever managed to get here took half a soul of some people and that's what woke me up," Harry said. "Why would he take half a soul of anyone?"
"A soul is power, a soul forsooth," Death told him. "When bent to one's will, it shows nought but truth."
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, finally lost. "You mean he's controlling people by taking over half their souls?"
Death nodded. "And true truth is revealed."
"True truth?" Harry sighed. "No such thing." He stiffened. "Unless... there's nothing else to influence that truth. Like emotions and free thoughts. Is that what you mean?"
Once more, Death nodded, and Harry snorted. "Why can't you just say that? I suppose the government's handling it then?"
This time, Death did not answer and Harry dismissed it with another sigh. Unless the issue had to do with it directly, Death did not particularly care. It could not predict the future nor was it a spy Harry could send off to retrieve information.
But the unease twisting his stomach did not leave and he spent the next ten minutes moving from room to room, restless and on edge. Finally, he retrieved his cell, pulling up the number Stark had entered into his phone eight months ago. He knew Stark had contacts in the government; maybe he would know something. But he had never called the billionaire before, not once; Stark would know something was wrong instantly. His stomach gave another lurch and for a moment, Harry thought he might be sick. He took a few deep breaths, fully pulled up his Occlumency shields to block out the worsening feeling he was getting, and dialled the number.
Surprisingly, Stark picked up after only three rings, voice still sleep-riddled but surprisingly sharp for two in the morning.
"Harry? What's wrong?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, not really knowing what to say. "I- I'm sorry for calling so late."
"Don't worry 'bout it. I don't mind. What's the matter?"
Harry glanced out the window again as if that would somehow give him a clue as to what was going on. "Have you- I mean do you know if anything strange is going on?" Besides me calling you this late, he added mentally.
"No, not that I'm aware of. Should I?"
Harry swallowed as another surge of energy jolted against his mind. Someone somewhere was taking souls like it was going out of style. "No, of course not, but- Do you think you could check with the government? I know you've got a few contacts with-"
Harry's words died in his throat as a crippling wave of energy washed over him. The phone slipped from his hand and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Whoever was doing this had just taken over half of a very powerful soul. A part of him screamed; this was wrong, this was sick. Someone out there was contaminating souls.
"Harry? Harry! What's wrong? Come on, answer me! Damn it, I'm coming over there, just hang tight!"
"No, no," Harry picked up the phone again as the sick feeling ebbed to something bearable. "I'm fine; just- a bit of a stomach flu. Don't worry about it."
"Don't lie to me; I just saw you yesterday and you were fine then! I'm coming over."
"No," Harry said, more forceful this time. "Look, I'm fine. Just- I think you should stay by a phone, or call someone. I was asleep and woke up feeling a little... off. I thought something might be wrong, that's all."
"I have my cell with me and I'll call some people, but I think I should still come over."
"I really am alright, Stark," Harry assured, and he did feel better. It seemed the Asgardian had stopped for the time being. "I'll be going back to sleep so there's no point in coming over," He paused and then said sharply, "If you show up here, I'm kicking you to the curb."
Stark snorted. "Duly noted. I'll call you in the morning then."
Hanging up, Harry leaned his forehead against the window pane and squinted at the sky. Something was about to happen, something big, and he was afraid he might be pulled into whatever conflict that was about to explode across the world.
"Tony, who was that?"
Tony glanced up at Pepper as she appeared in the doorway with two mugs of coffee. "You're a lifesaver, Pepper, and that was Harry." He quickly took a gulp of the bitter liquid before returning to his computer.
"Is everything alright?" She asked, looking concerned.
"With him? Probably not, but he doesn't want me at his place right now and he told me to check up on a- holy son of a-!"
"What?" Pepper leaned over his shoulder. "Is that a satellite feed? You're hacking into satellite feeds now?"
"Who cares about that?" Tony enlarged the image. "Do you have any idea what that is? That's a research facility. Or it used to be a research facility. Now it's just a pile of rock and metal and probably bodies."
"Where is that?" Pepper asked anxiously.
"Southern coast of Staten Island," Tony studied the images. "Looks like the place collapsed in on itself."
"Wait, Staten Island? A research facility?" Pepper looked almost scared now.
Tony frowned at her. "Yeah, what about it?"
"Phil's there!"
"Phil? Who the hell is Phil?"
Pepper smacked him upside the head. "Agent Coulson, Tony! Remember the last time he visited? He mentioned he had been sent to a research facility on Staten Island. I bet that's it."
Tony squinted at the damage. "And here I thought his first name was Agent. Well, Fury's not gonna like it if his butler's stuck under all that-ow!"
Pepper glared hard at him, an edge of panic entering her expression.
"Alright, alright, I'll call him right now," Tony picked up his cell. "You shouldn't worry so much; Coulson's one of those cockroach types. He's probably in some helicopter with Fury right now being very calm and not hysterical." He gave her a pointed look as they waited for the line to connect.
Seven rings went by and even Tony's bored expression started slipping before the line picked up. "Coulson. Mr. Stark, now's not a good time."
"Tell me about it," Tony said as Pepper released a sigh of relief. "No really, tell me about it. Did some experiment go boom or something? There's nothing left but a pile of rubble."
"Mr. Stark, this is really supposed to be classified."
"An explosion happens off the coast of New York and you wanna classify it? Trust me, it'll be all over the news in a couple hours."
There were muffled whispers on the other end before Nick Fury's voice sounded instead. "Stark, I'll assume you managed to hack a satellite feed, but how did you know to search in the first place?"
Tony didn't miss a beat. "You think I don't keep an eye out for this sort of thing? Never know when Iron Man's gotta make an appearance, right? The public looks to me for protection, you know."
Fury's disgusted scoff floated clearly over the line. "Your ego does more damage than anything we've got," He retorted. "But now that I've got you, I might as well fill you in. Are you alone?"
"Yup," Tony replied, clamping a hand around Pepper's wrist when she made to leave.
"I highly doubt it but this won't take long. Can you locate S.H.I.E.L.D.'s aircraft carrier?"
"What do you take me for?" Tony shot back, mildly offended. "If it's on the planet, I can find it."
"Good. Pack your bags and head over there immediately. We'll meet you there."
"What? You haven't told me what's going on!"
"You'll be briefed once you arrive, now get a move on."
"I am not just going to pack and hurry off to-"
"Stark, I'm reactivating the Avengers Initiative."
Tony fell silent for a moment. Beside him, Pepper stiffened, looking wide-eyed. "Director, last time I checked, I didn't qualify for the Avengers. Something about being volatile, self-obsessed, not playing well with others? Ring any bells?"
"Times change," Fury said. "The world needs the Avengers and I need you to get off this phone and head to the Helicarrier. Hurry up, Stark. There's no time to waste."
And with that said, Fury hung up, leaving an irritated Tony with the dial tone.
"Well," Pepper straightened and grabbed the coffee mugs. "I suppose we've both got some packing to do. I'll take the jet to D.C. tonight. Be careful."
"You too," He murmured before focusing on the satellite feeds again. A moment later, he dialed Harry's number. It didn't surprise him when the line picked up on the first ring.
"You were right," Tony started. "An explosion occurred on Staten Island. How did you know?"
"I didn't," Was the abrupt reply. "I just felt something might be wrong. ...Are you leaving? As Iron Man?"
"Yeah, I'm leaving right now," Tony headed for his closet. "Listen, stay close to home and if something big happens, stay inside. If anything seems wrong at all – some weird dude coming up the street, robots, lasers, monsters, whatever – go down into your basement and stay there until I call and say it's alright to come up, okay?"
"You don't have to worry about me," Harry said flippantly and Tony paused.
"I mean it, Harry. This is serious."
The pause on the other end only broke when Harry released a dry chuckle. "Trust me, I'll be fine, Tony. Stay safe yourself."
And before Tony could even register the fact that Harry had finally used his first name after nine months of wheedling on his part, the mechanic had hung up.
Tony blinked at his cell before a happy grin spread over his face and he returned to his packing with more enthusiasm. Well, never let it be said that Tony Stark didn't get what he wanted in the end.
Harry locked up his house and garage, making sure the CLOSED INDEFINITELY sign would be clear to all. It was lucky he had no future appointments or regular clients coming in anytime soon.
Hefting his bag and pulling on his invisibility cloak, Harry set off towards the general direction of Stark Industries. He would give Tony a few hours before Apparating directly there.
He knew Tony could take care of himself but there was no way Harry was going to let one of his only friends walk into what looked like the dawn of another war alone, especially when Death itself was worried.
Finished! Hope the Harry-Tony interaction flowed well.
Chapter Text
On to the next chapter!
Chapter 4 – To First Meetings
Standing outside Stark Industries, Harry wondered how he was going to get inside. There was probably some indication on Tony's computers that would tell him where the billionaire had gone, but he didn't think simply Apparating inside would be a good idea. For one, there was enough artificial intelligence tech in the building to make breaking-in almost suicidal, even for him. For another, while he had always refused when Tony had tried to invite him over, Harry had heard of Jarvis, who would probably notify Tony immediately when it sensed an intruder, and that was only if Jarvis wasn't the shoot-first-ask-questions-later type.
The funny thing in all this was that Harry actually had his own pass key; Tony had left it at his place one day and refused to take it back no matter what Harry threatened him with. But he didn't know if Jarvis would inform Tony anyway since Harry was supposed to be staying close to home.
Well, there was no point in hanging back and wasting time. Maybe if he asked politely, Jarvis would keep it a secret.
An almost startled hum came from his suit as Tony flew over Brooklyn. "Jarvis? What is it?"
Jarvis didn't reply for a long moment and Tony was about to ask again when it spoke. "Nothing, sir. I was simply running a scan on Mr. Potter's household."
"Oh," Tony fully approved. He had managed to install a small scanner into Harry's alarm system without too much complaint from the mechanic. "Is he alright then?"
"Quite," Jarvis replied promptly. "He is safe. Not asleep though."
"Doubt he can sleep," Tony muttered. "I wish he'd tell me how he knew about the explosion. If Fury ever gets wind of his predict-the-future voodoo or whatever it is, he'll never leave Harry alone."
Another pause from Jarvis before Tony got the feeling that his A.I. was amused. "You wish to protect him, sir?"
Tony made an offended sound. "You say that like he isn't worth protecting! I save complete strangers every few months. Harry's a given."
"You misunderstand, sir," Jarvis objected. "I simply find it fairly presumptuous of you to think he needs protecting at all."
Tony blinked. "What? What does that mean? He's a wiz with cars but I really don't wanna throw him in front of whatever helped make that research facility go boom. ...Jarvis?"
"We are approaching the Helicarrier, sir," Jarvis ignored his attempts to return to the previous topic. "Decreasing power to forty percent in back thrusters. Preparing to land at your command."
Tony grunted, annoyed, but didn't push as he started descending. The broad expanse of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s aircraft carrier took up quite a bit of space in the Atlantic Ocean, dark and solid even against the night-shadowed waters. He could already see a number of people running around, helicopters and fighter-jets parked by the runway. Disinterested, his thoughts remained on the mechanic he had come to see as probably his only friend, not counting Pepper.
Since meeting one Harry Potter, Tony had thanked every god he didn't believe in for the day his car had broken down right in front of Marauders' Den. He could literally count his friends on one hand and still have two fingers left over, and that was including Jarvis. Sad, but true. Of course, it wasn't as if he needed friends, but a few he could actually count on to at least be his emergency contacts wouldn't hurt.
But from the very beginning, there had always been something about Harry that sparked his interest. Tony still had yet to figure out how Harry managed to tune his vehicles so well that they never made any noise. And that wasn't the only thing Tony found strange. Sometimes, he would work in the garage with Harry for a while and then Harry would point out a Mazda or a Toyota needing fixing that Tony would swear in front of a full jury wasn't there before. But somehow, he was never completely certain that he hadn't just missed them before, and Harry simply carried on with whatever he was working on so Tony would let it go.
And there was also Harry's age. Tony had been trying to get an actual number out of the mechanic for months only to receive responses like 'about' or 'something like that' or a noncommittal sound that really told him nothing at all. Harry looked to be in his late teens but his reclusive personality and mature countenance always left Tony jabbering on as if he was talking to someone closer to his own age.
However, none of that compared to the mechanic's eyes. After all, Harry could simply be a very grown-up teenager. Yet Tony had never, not once, called him a kid because there was no mistaking the haunted shadows lurking behind emerald green. They were the same ones he sometimes saw in his own eyes when he looked into a mirror. Harry had suffered; seen and done things no one should have to go through, and was probably part of the reason Tony found himself so at ease in the quiet mechanic's company.
It hadn't been easy getting through to Harry though. The mechanic had done everything humanly possible to shut Tony out since day one, but Tony was nothing if not persistent. He had wanted Harry as a friend and hadn't been above inviting himself over even when Harry didn't want him there (which, come to think of it, was pretty much all the time during the first two months). When Harry had given him the spare key, Tony had been pleased. When Harry had shown him the basement, Tony had been delighted. And, only two weeks ago, when he had once again shown up unannounced, Harry had let him in and, instead of waving in the direction of the sofa-bed in the living room, had led him to the guest bedroom, previously used to store some boxes and cleaning supplies but had been cleaned out and replaced with a new bed and desk and even a bookshelf, and Tony had been ecstatic. Now the only thing left was to persuade the mechanic to visit Stark Industries once in a while. The guest bedroom Tony had set aside for Harry was starting to collect dust.
"Mr. Stark, you've arrived."
Tony landed on the deck of the Helicarrier and removed his helmet. "Ah, Agent Coulson, Pepper sends her regards. She's very glad you're the cockroach type."
As usual, Phil didn't seem all that fazed by Tony's flippant attitude, taking it in stride with patience borne from familiarity.
"Glad to hear it," Phil nodded. "Now please follow me. The Director wants you to take a look at some files before the others arrive."
"'Others'?" Tony repeated as he trudged after the agent. "Who are we talking about now? I'm assuming Agent Romanov will be here?" He added with a mischievous smirk.
Phil didn't smile back. "She's gone to pick up Dr. Banner, but yes, she will be here."
"Ah, well then, I suppose Birdbrain will be around as well," Tony glanced around as they stepped inside.
"...Agent Barton has been compromised," Phil said, his voice neutral.
Tony's head tilted sideways, no words coming to him for half a second. "So he's finally flown the coop, huh?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Damn, our resident Lady Spider's gonna be all frowny until we get him back. Not that she isn't usually frowny anyway, of course."
True to form, Phil ignored the tactlessness of his words and waved him into a lab where a laptop waited for him on the nearest desk. "Start studying, Mr. Stark. The Director will call on your brain quite soon."
As Phil disappeared down another corridor, Tony made a face and proceeded to step out of his suit. This was going to take a while.
"Thank-you, Jarvis," Harry said as the A.I. pulled up the satellite feed of Tony's current location.
"Not a problem, sir," Jarvis replied smoothly. "But if I may enquire: shouldn't you be back at your house?"
"Nah, I can't let Tony go alone," Harry grabbed the printed copy of the coordinates. "And just out of curiosity, why haven't you told him I'm here yet?"
"Mr. Stark has entered an unknown situation," Jarvis explained. "And judging from what he has told me, you know more about the recent events than he does. As infuriating as he can be, I do want him to come out of this in one piece, if only because it would leave Ms. Potts quite a lot on her hands if she has to clean up after his mess."
Harry snorted and shook his head. "Well, you and I will make sure he comes home safe and sound. Now, is there an open window...?"
He trailed off as one of the floor-to-ceiling window panes slid upwards, letting in the soft breeze of a spring night. "Oh, well that'll do."
"Mr. Potter, are you certain jumping out a window is the wisest course of action at the moment?" The A.I. asked politely.
Harry's mouth twitched. Five minutes with Jarvis and he was already liking the system. "Quite sure, Jarvis. I'm going to fly, you see."
"Fly?" The A.I. paused as Harry pulled out a miniature broomstick and returned it to its normal size before clambering onto it. "Sir, I am not familiar with this technology."
"You wouldn't be; it's not technology," Harry quickly cast a disillusionment charm on both the broom and himself before slipping his invisibility cloak back on for good measure. "Keep this a secret for me, Jarvis?"
The A.I. was silent for a few seconds before speaking again. "Of course, sir; no one else will hear a word from me. Take care, and have a good flight."
Harry sketched a casual salute to the room in general before pushing off from the ground, the wind wrapping around him immediately putting him at ease. The air was where he belonged; he couldn't believe he had put aside his broomstick for so many years. Leaning forward, he shot into the brightening sky. He would catch up to Tony and simply keep an eye on him for now. He would refrain from jumping in unless it looked like tony couldn't handle it. With any luck, he might not even need to interfere. Humans, Muggle or magical, were surprisingly resourceful when they wanted to be.
Over twelve hours later, Tony was jolted out of his thoughts on everything he had just read by Phil, striding into the room still decked out in the same suit.
"Mr. Stark, how much have you gone over?"
"Everything," Tony spread his hands. "You are now looking at an expert on thermo-nuclear-astrophysics."
"Good," Phil motioned to the door. "Just in time too. Mr. Rogers and Dr. Banner have just arrived with Agent Romanov. We will be taking to the air in a few minutes."
"Great," Tony stifled a yawn. "Stars-and-Stripes before coffee. I hear he's a real... patriot."
"At least try to get along, Mr. Stark," Phil admonished with a resigned air. "Don't antagonize him before the entire team is even assembled."
"Who, me?" Tony asked with an innocent air. "I would never antagonize anyone. I'm a big fan of non-antagonizing."
"Can't you be serious for one minute?" Steve snapped two hours later when Tony cracked another joke about Bruce's rage monster.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh loosen up, Cap. Seriously, you face is gonna get stuck that way if you don't."
Bruce sighed as the room's other two occupants started another round of barb-trading. He half-wished Agent Romanov was still in the room; at least she could get them to tone it down. Somewhat. For a few minutes.
"Guys, stop it," Bruce called out, ignoring the other guy's restless stirring. "Can't you two at least pretend to get along until Director Fury gets back?"
Tony was the first to back off, easygoing as always. "Just saying; Cap here really needs to relax. Maybe get laid. That'll help him relax."
"Stop," Bruce repeated firmly when Steve made to get out of his chair. He shot a frown at Tony. Honestly, he didn't have anything against the billionaire; he was the only one here who didn't seem afraid of what Bruce could become at all, but he didn't think anyone else appreciated the man's sardonic quips. Captain America certainly didn't.
The door slid open at that moment and Bruce heaved another sigh, relieved to see Agent Coulson.
"Mr. Rogers, Mr. Stark," Coulson started without preamble. "Suit up; you're flying out with Agent Romanov. Loki has been spotted in Stuttgart, Germany. This is a retrieval mission; capture him alive."
Steve raced out of the room and Tony followed with a roll of his eyes at a more sedate pace, leaving Bruce alone with Coulson. The agent nodded at him. "The Director would like you to stay here, maybe just get a feel for what you'll be working on when Mr. Stark gets back."
Bruce correctly translated this to 'the Director orders you to stay here so you won't accidentally change into the other guy and kill a lot of people'. He nodded silently and settled down into a chair to wait for his new teammates' return.
Harry watched Tony and two others hurry onto a jet and waited for them to take off before hurtling after them, sticking a tracking charm on the aircraft before it could get too far away. He had a feeling this would be a long flight and there was no way he could keep up. He just hoped nothing drastic happened before he got there.
Finished! A small appearance of Bruce and Steve. Hope they seemed in character.
Chapter Text
I've had a few questions on this fic so I thought I'd clear it up here.
First of all, Harry has to move every five years or so since he doesn't age. He could use glamours, etc but that would have a constant drain on his core for, literally, years. Also, if he actually stuck around and used charms to make himself look like he's growing older, the friends he makes will grow old around him and he'd have to watch all of them die again and again. Not something anyone would want to go through.
Second, dunno if it was clear at the end but Harry can't keep up with the jet which is why he used the tracking charm. Also, he didn't actually board the jet with them just in case he gets caught. I mean, yeah, they're technically Muggles, but being superheroes with actual training, at least one of them would probably at least sense Harry's presence.
Finally, like I said before, at the moment, I haven't really decided to pair Harry with anyone, but if I do, it will be slash.
Chapter 5 – To Friends, Enemies, and In-Betweens
When Harry finally arrived in Stuttgart, panicked screams wrenched the air, Death was flitting around gathering wayward souls, and a full-blown battle was taking place right there in the square between Iron Man, Captain America, and a man cloaked in green and black that distinctly reminded Harry of a Slytherin. He was holding a strange-looking staff and, judging by the way Death was circling him warily, never getting too close, Harry guessed that this was the Asgardian.
Ducking when a large chunk of concrete flew into the air, Harry quickly casted several subtle shield charms over the fleeing crowd, waving at Death in a dismissive gesture. Death bowed, features taking on a half-relieved, half-frustrated expression for a moment before disappearing without delay.
He winced when Captain America was tossed into a nearby window. It didn't seem like he was hurt though so Harry turned his attention on Tony as the Asgardian did the same. He frowned when they clashed again. The blasts he was shooting off dealt damage but nowhere near the level of destruction Harry could sense from the staff. Why was the Asgardian holding back?
He arched his eyebrows when a heavy blast from Tony's palm repulsors knocked the man onto the ground, the staff skittering away across the ground. A moment later, Tony had every piece of weaponry built into his suit out and pointed at the Asgardian.
"Make your move, Reindeer Games," Harry could practically see the smugness dripping off the billionaire's words.
"Alright, bring him in," A woman's voice echoed from the jet hanging in the sky as Loki fazed back into simpler black clothes. "And keep the staff away from him. We're not taking any chances."
Harry remained a distance away as the two Avengers returned to the jet. He waited until the door closed behind them before settling on top of the jet instead. He wasn't looking forward to another long flight back; hitching a ride with the risk of being noticed was probably better. So, huddled against the metal of the jet, he placed a sticking charm against the aircraft and kept a firm grip on his cloak as they took off back to the States.
The crack of lightning that lit up the night sky was what stirred Harry from his frozen stupor. At least when he was flying, he still had to concentrate on staying in the jet's sensory blind spots. Stuck on top of the jet, he was surprised he hadn't started growing icicles by this point.
Peering up at the sky, Harry frowned when he couldn't spot any storm clouds. Where was the lightning coming from? The door at the end of the jet suddenly slid open and Harry stiffened as he spotted the red and gold of Tony's suit. What was going-
Harry jumped back as someone landed heavily a few feet away from him. He stilled, careful to keep his cloak around him, but that didn't seem to matter as the man – Harry was going to guess another Asgardian, judging by the way he was dressed – rose to his feet and took in his surroundings, gaze settling on Harry with perfect accuracy. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the Asgardian could see him.
But the man made no move towards him after seemingly deciding that Harry wasn't an immediate threat, turning on his heel towards the back of the jet instead. Still reeling from the shock that Asgardians could see through his cloak, he had no time to act as the blond grabbed the black-haired Asgardian and leapt from the aircraft. Judging by the rough angry grip one had on the other, Harry doubted they were on the same side. A moment later, Tony had also leapt out, shouting something about plans and attack. With a roll of his eyes and a muttered curse, Harry hurtled off after him, letting himself fall about halfway before pulling out his broom again.
It was lucky, he mused, slowing as he approached the ground. If the black-haired Asgardian had seen him earlier, he probably would've had to reveal himself, and letting the enemy know about magic was the last thing he wanted at the moment.
Harry hovered in a nearby tree, not close enough to hear what the two Asgardians were arguing about, but almost face-palmed when Tony crashed headlong into the blond one, sending both of them into a crop of trees.
"-don't take my stuff," Harry arrived in time to hear.
"You have no idea what you are dealing with," The Asgardian shot back, voice low with warning.
"Uh, Shakespeare in The Park? Doth mother know you weareth her drapes?"
Harry stamped down the urge to whack Tony for that remark as the Asgardian's eyes narrowed. Wonderful. Tony was going to literally talk himself to death. Then again, Harry had been convinced from the first day he had met Tony Stark that if the billionaire ever met an early end, it would be because he had mouthed off one word too many to the wrong person.
"This is beyond you, metal man," The blond's voice was tight with restrained anger. "Loki will face Asgardian justice."
The joking tone Tony had been using levied off somewhat as his expression sharpened. "He gives up the cube and he's all yours. Until then," His visor snapped back down. "Stay out of the way. Tourist!"
He turned to leave and in the span of a heartbeat, Harry knew the blond's temper would snap. Without thinking, he flung out a hand and sent a wave of magic tearing through the air, crashing into the hammer as it was flung at Tony's unprotected back.
The hammer was sent off-course, missing the billionaire by a mere few inches as the billionaire wheeled around again. Both of them stared at the weapon with an air of perplexity.
"You missed," Tony said lightly, though there was more puzzlement in his voice than mockery.
The blond glared hard at him before switching his gaze to Harry standing at the edge of the small clearing. "I would not have had it not been for your sentinel's intervention."
"My what?" Tony's visor flipped up again as he turned to follow the Asgardian's gaze. "Did you knock a few screws loose when we hit the ground?"
Cursing his own stupidity, Harry instinctively took a few steps back. It didn't really matter at this point; the Asgardian could see him and Tony could not. He glanced back at the blond, body tensing even as the man looked back and forth between the two of them. Tony was his top priority; if the Asgardian attacked again, Harry wouldn't hold back.
For the first time since he arrived, the anger ebbed from the Asgardian's face, leaving confusion in its wake. "Your..." The blond trailed off as he seemed to catch some of the warning in Harry's stance. He looked to be considering the situation now that this new turn of events had cleared his head a little. His next words were measured, spoken just as much to Harry as it was to Tony.
"I shall accompany you back to your base of command," The blond finally announced, holding out a hand for his hammer. "Loki is my brother and I wish to see this matter through to the end."
Tony looked taken aback by the abrupt temperament change but he didn't have time to open his mouth before Captain America came jogging into the clearing, looking more than a little surprised at the lack of carnage.
"Stark, I thought your plan was attack," He eyed the two people facing each other. "I thought diplomacy was beyond your level of understanding."
"What are you talking about? I'm the epitome of diplomatic," Tony scoffed, though he looked distracted as his gaze returned to the general area Harry was standing in.
"Right," Steve nodded, clearly not believing a word of it as he stepped cautiously towards the Asgardian. "I'm Steve Rogers. Or Captain America."
"Thor Odinson," The Asgardian shook Steve's offered hand. "Lead the way, Steve."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Thor only gave him one last curious look before heading back to the cliff face Loki had been left on with Captain America. At Steve' impatient shout, Tony also turned away, expression still shrewd as he scanned the clearing one last time before taking off into the air.
Harry waited until the jet took off before following on his broom once more. He didn't know why Thor had kept silent, but it wasn't up until this point that he realized just how nervous he was about other people finding out about his magic. Thor was alright; the man wasn't exactly human himself. But Tony was, not to mention he was one of the few people Harry had allowed himself to befriend. He knew it would hurt more than he cared to admit if Tony rejected his friendship altogether once he found out.
"Jarvis, do a scan of the area around the jet," Tony murmured. "A one-mile radius will do."
"Initiating scan," Jarvis responded. "What am I looking for, sir?"
"Anything out of the ordinary," Tony frowned as the search came up without any blips. "Extend the radius to maximum. Anything?"
"No sir," Jarvis replied smoothly. "Is this about Mr. Odinson's remark?"
"Yeah," Tony continued reading the results. "We were five feet away from each other. There is no way he could've just missed. I mean he could just be a really bad shot, but seriously, it would be an insult to demigods everywhere if he couldn't hit me from that distance, not to mention we're all doomed if that's the skill-level of our supposed heroes."
"Oh? And what of yourself, sir? You are included in this team, after all."
"I'm the hero of heroes of course," Tony quipped back. "Naturally, the public can count on me."
"Of course, sir," Jarvis' voice was dry as it stored away the scanner system. "Now if only you could deflate that head of yours in proportion to all that hot air you blow and you would be perfect."
Tony rolled his eyes and leaned back with a sigh. The scans hadn't picked up anything yet he was sure Thor had implied that someone else had... what? Protected him? Why would anyone go out of their way to protect him, especially smack in the middle of nowhere, Germany?
"Try not to think too hard, sir; you might short-circuit your brain."
Tony released an irritated sound. "I swear, J, you're worse than usual today."
His A.I. didn't reply this time and Tony turned his attention back to their demigod prisoner instead. Bored within seconds, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes behind his visor to catch up on much-missed sleep. No one would know, so not even Captain sleeping-on-a-mission-is-not-per-regulations America could get on his case.
Humans were curious beings. Thor had found that out the first time he had arrived on Earth and met Jane Foster.
Sitting neatly on top of the winged vessel, he could just catch the flap of a cloak and hair the colour of a raven's feathers hovering in the corner of his eye. Even with his eyesight, he could barely see the figure. The man was obviously hanging back as far as possible.
His first impression of Tony Stark had been that of an arrogant fool who had no place in dealing with such important matters. But if an arrogant fool was all the man of iron was, then why would someone stand guard for him with such ferocity? Thor had quickly realized that Tony had no idea he had a shadow and that the man under the cloak was invisible to the humans. The anxiety he had caught on said shadow's face was also enough to tell him that the unknown man didn't want Tony to know either.
Thor had wanted to point him out, of course, if only to call the man out on his intervention, but the blazing look of almost devoted protectiveness that turned the human's eyes a haunted jade set off all of Thor's instincts to retreat. He almost felt sorry for whoever truly threatened the man of iron; they wouldn't be coming out of the encounter unscathed, if at all.
So he would give this dysfunctional band of humans a chance, though from what he had seen of the interactions between Tony and Steve, the war looming on the horizon was going to be difficult. But Jane had taught him a little of humility and learning not to judge so quickly the first time around, and it had taken the silent warning of a man in the shadows to remind him of that again. Besides, this was their planet in the end. Perhaps they would know best how to protect it.
Hovering outside the Helicarrier once again, Harry stared in bemusement at the demigod standing by an open door, looking for all the world as if he was scanning the skies for danger but was really doing nothing at all. Harry had circled around the giant aircraft several times now yet Thor had yet to go back inside. Was the Asgardian trying to give him a way in?
Hesitantly, Harry flew around the Helicarrier once more before landing silently on the deck and making his way over to the demigod, strengthening his disillusionment charm as much as possible. Caution in every step, Harry didn't stop until he was standing only a few feet away from Thor, eyeing the blond with suspicion.
"Go on then," The demigod muttered, finally glancing down at him.
Harry tilted his head. "I could be an enemy. You'd be endangering everyone inside if I were."
Thor inclined his head. "That would be so if you were working with Loki, but I do not believe your loyalties lie with anyone save Tony Stark. It would be remiss of me not to let you in as you would be a powerful ally for the man of iron and, by extension, the rest of us as well."
Harry arched an eyebrow before finally stepping inside. "Are all you Asgardians this trusting?"
"I would consider 'this' to be insightful rather than trusting, and only the best of us are," Thor replied with a faint smile as he turned to follow Harry inside.
Harry smothered a smile of his own before stepping to the side to let the demigod lead him through the base. For someone who had hurled a hammer at Tony mere hours ago, he supposed Thor wasn't so bad.
"Thor, what's Loki's play?" Steve asked as soon as Thor stepped into the meeting room. Harry quietly stepped over to one side of the door, perking up when he realized this information would be important.
"He has an army, called the Chitauri," Thor revealed. "They're not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the Earth," His features darkened. "In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract."
"An army. From outer space," Steve said, sounding resigned as he glanced around the room.
"So he's building another portal. That's what he needs Erik Selvig for," Harry recognized this person as Dr. Bruce Banner and he straightened with interest. Tony had shown him some of this man's works and Harry had found it all to be high interesting. Since learning, also from Tony, of the doctor's problems with his alter ego, Harry had been working on a new calming draught in case it was ever needed. Tony had mentioned more than once that he would one day track down Bruce Banner and invite him to Stark Industries for a few discussions. Both he and Tony could take care of themselves against brute strength like the Hulk's, at least long enough to get out of range, so Harry had had no problem with the billionaire's future schemes either.
"Selvig?" Thor's voice was alarmed as he turned sharply to face Bruce.
"He's an astrophysicist," Bruce offered.
"He's a friend," Thor divulged grimly.
"Loki has them under some kind of spell," A red-haired woman from across the room cut in. "Along with one of ours."
"I wanna know why Loki let us take him," Steve said. "He's not leading an army from here."
"I don't think we should be focusing on Loki," Bruce spoke up, and Harry noted the contrast between the doctor's speech and demeanour. While his words were confident, the man didn't seem to be able to fully look at any one of them as if he was afraid they would attack him or, worse, he would attack them. Harry found he could relate well to that as one of his hands absently reached up to touch his scar. "That guy's brain is a bag full of cats. You can smell crazy on him."
"Have a care how you speak," Thor snapped, looking annoyed. "Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard. And he is my brother."
"He killed eighty people in two days," The redhead countered bluntly. Harry grimaced. Because Loki had taken those lives with that soul-staff, he had felt every one of those deaths.
Thor looked first at the woman before glancing at Harry with a slight frown when he caught the strained expression surfacing briefly on his face.
"...He's adopted," Thor offered, and Harry fought down a chuckle.
"I think it's about the mechanics," Bruce brought them back on track. "Iridium; what do they need the iridium for-?"
"It's a stabilizing agent," Tony's voice sounded as the billionaire strode in with Phil Coulson at his side. Tony had warned him to run the opposite direction if this agent ever came at you with a stack of folders and a smile. At the moment, Tony seemed to be trying to coax Coulson into something or other, and Harry wondered if it wasn't the agent who needed to run when Tony came at him with a scheme and a smirk.
"Means," Tony continued as he circled around to the front of the room. "The portal won't collapse on itself, like it did at S.H.I.E.L.D.. Also, it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long, as Loki wants."
He paused to glance at the bridge below. "Raise the monitors," He called, and Harry closed his eyes and waited for the quips.
"That man is playing Galaga!" Tony revealed cheerfully as Steve frowned in confusion. "Thought we wouldn't notice, but we did."
He turned to look at the monitors in front of him before covering his left eye with one hand. "How does Fury even see these?"
Harry heaved a sigh as the black-haired woman by the table indulged him. "He turns."
"Sounds exhausting," Tony decided dramatically. Harry glared at the man from under his cloak and, as if sensing his ire, the billionaire miraculously continued on the problem at hand.
"The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source," Harry's eyes narrowed when he caught the subtle sleight of hand Tony pulled to plant a chip on one of the computers. He knew a Stark decryption system when he saw it. "A high energy density, something to kick-start the cube."
"When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?" The black-haired woman asked, looking half-amused, half reluctantly impressed.
"Last night," Tony scanned the room. "The packet, Selvig's notes, the Extraction Theory papers. Am I the only one who did the reading?"
"Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?" Steve cut him off pointedly.
"He'd have to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier," Bruce interrupted before another fight could break out.
"Unless, Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunnelling effect," Tony countered, and Harry recognized the beginnings of the childish excitement the billionaire always got when talking about science.
"Well, if he could do that, he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet," Bruce replied, finally looking up completely.
"Finally, someone who speaks English," Tony grinned at Bruce, glancing pointedly at everyone else. "Honestly, I know one of the only living people I could talk about all this to and I had to leave him behind. Thank god there's one here."
Harry chuckled, feeling a glow of warmth in his chest as Steve rolled his eyes and muttered, "Is that what just happened?"
"If you know what we're up against, I want you two to start tracking the cube."
Harry immediately recognized the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. as the man strode in.
"Let's start with that stick of his," Steve suggested. "It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a Hydra weapon."
Harry frowned at that. There was no way a simple Hydra weapon could hamper Death.
"I don't know about that, but it is powered by the cube," Fury said, looking disgruntled. "And I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys."
"Monkeys?" Thor enquired, looking puzzled. "I do not understand."
"I do!" Steve straightened in his chair, looking proud."I understood that reference."
Harry had to fight down the urge to jab an elbow into Tony's ribs as the billionaire rolled his eyes.
"Well, let's get to it then," Tony said as he waved a hand at the door. "Should we play, doc-"
Tony halted mid-word just as he stepped past Harry's location, less than a foot away. Heart pounding, Harry stopped breathing entirely as the billionaire's head turned sharply to the side, gaze running over the place Harry was standing in twice.
"Something wrong, Stark?" Fury questioned sharply.
A confused look briefly surfaced on Tony's face before his expression smoothed over again and he shrugged. "Nope. Just thought I smelled... lilies."
Without another word, he continued out of the room, Bruce a step behind him as the room stared after him with differing degrees of puzzlement.
Harry ignored the questioning look Thor threw at him and cursed himself again. Damn, he was really losing his edge after a decade off the battlefield.
He had forgotten; his home was filled with small pots of lilies lining the windowsills and Tony, having been over to his home so many times and had even bought Harry some of the flowers after finding out he liked them, would obviously know the scent anywhere. While the lilies probably clung only faintly on his cloak, Tony's first thought on the scent would be Harry and not, say, one of the women's perfumes.
Finished! I'll end it there. How were all the interactions?
Chapter Text
On to the next chapter! Lots of Tony and Harry in this one. Hope you like!
Chapter 6 – To Trust
Stepping into a deserted corridor, Tony waited impatiently for his call to go through. Five rings went by and he was just about to hang up when the line connected.
"Tony? Something wrong?"
Tony didn't quite know what to say for a moment. As crazy as it sounded, he had honestly expected Harry to not be at home. After all, the lilies-
"Ah," Tony jolted back into the present. "Well, I just... wanted to know how you were doing."
"At three in the morning?"
"Oh, is it three?" Tony glanced at his watch. "So it is! How are you?"
"Fine," Came the wry reply. "And you?"
"Tired, hungry, and I need more coffee," Tony rambled. "Fury's going dictator on our asses and Coulson's as creepy as ever. I mean, does that guy ever need to sleep? Every time I even think about taking a break, he shows up and goes all 'are you finished yet, Mr. Stark?', and I say 'do I look like a genius on steroids? No.', and he goes 'keep it up, Mr. Stark. You may not be on steroids but you're certainly a genius.', and I say 'well thanks, Agent! Mind telling the Director that even genii need sleep?', and he goes 'Sorry, Mr. Stark. The Director has given everyone orders to dump you into the Atlantic Ocean if you start slacking off. I'm just here to make sure that doesn't happen.', and I say 'well that's very kind of you.', and – note the sarcasm in my words? Yeah, everybody and their grandma could hear it but Coulson just smiles that creepy smile of his and says 'not a problem, Mr. Stark. Keep up the good work.', and then he leaves me to do my thing like I haven't been awake for the last seventy-two hours straight!"
He drew in a deep breath as he finished his rant, and couldn't help huffing in mock-offense as Harry deadpanned, "Since you've reached the twenty-four/seven hotline for complaints and general grievances and have yet to use up your minutes per call, we would love to hear about anything else in your life that you have found fault in."
"Ha ha, very funny," Tony grumbled good-naturedly, already feeling better after Harry's usual dry wit. "But seriously, I wish I was home. I wouldn't have gotten out of bed if I had known it would be this hard to return to it."
"The faster you wrap up whatever it is you're doing, the sooner you'll get to sleep," Harry told him unhelpfully. "But look, if you're really that tired, you're at some military base right? Override the systems or something and lock the door. You can get some shuteye that way."
"That... sounds like a wonderful plan," Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair before tugging at his loosened collar. He had long since ditched his tie. "Unfortunately, Bruce – Dr. Banner I mean; he's here as well – is still going strong, and the guy's a peace-lover if I've ever seen one. I think I'd actually feel guilty if I left him to do the work all by himself because he started offering to do that after Coulson's third visit."
"Sounds like a good man," Harry offered. "Have you asked him to go to Stark Industries after this whole fiasco?"
"I have," Tony made a face. "And let me tell you, the guy's self-esteem issues have self-esteem issues. It didn't help that the American Capsicle kept telling me to leave him alone. Honestly, how does he think that'll help? A guy can't be left alone for the rest of his life."
There was a thick silence on the other end and Tony stiffened, a sudden sense of foreboding twisting his gut. "Harry?"
"...I agree," Harry's light tone seemed forced to Tony's ears. "Definitely. Bring him back to Stark Industries; you'll be good for him, Tony."
"Yeah..." Tony agreed before trailing off. "...Are you okay?"
"Fine," Came the prompt response. "You should probably get back to work. Talk later?"
"Right," Tony frowned worriedly but let it go for now. He'd get it out of the mechanic once he wrapped this crazy mess up. "I'll call you later."
It wasn't until Tony hung up and was halfway back to the lab he and Bruce were using that something hit him. Several somethings. Figuratively, of course, but the impact was staggeringly similar to being hit by a freight train while salsa dancing in your birthday suit on the train tracks and all the while not realizing you were actually there until it was too late. Embarrassing, fast, and so out-of-the-blue that you couldn't believe you missed it before.
The lilies. He had smelled them, and it couldn't be perfume or hell, even cologne, because agents on duty weren't allowed to wear them.
And Thor had said, clearly, that someone had protected him, had knocked the hammer aside, and Tony could believe that because he just didn't think the demigod could miss at that distance. There was only one person out there that he really believed could and would come to his aid no matter where he was.
And Jarvis, oh Jarvis. His own A.I. had questioned whether Harry needed protecting and that really should've been his first clue. Jarvis had told him it had scanned Harry's house but Tony had asked the wrong question. Instead of 'is Harry at his house', he had asked 'is he alright'. Jarvis had answered with an affirmative but that didn't mean Harry was at home. It just meant-
A moment later, Tony was full-out sprinting back down the corridor, flying past startled agents with single-minded intensity. Oh he was stupid; so, so stupid. He had installed part of Jarvis' mainframe into Harry's house himself.
"Jarvis!" He burst into the room where his suit was held, activating his A.I.'s verbal speech system. "Did you reroute my call to Harry's house back to his cell?"
Jarvis was silent for a heartbeat longer than necessary and Tony had his answer. "Sir, which call-"
"Save it, Jarvis," Tony growled. "Yes or no?"
"...Affirmative, sir," The A.I. finally admitted almost nervously.
Tony closed his eyes and stumbled into the nearest chair. "Where is he?" He finally asked.
"Just please tell me he's not still in Germany," Tony said tersely. "Or if he is, tell me now so I can go hijack a jet."
"He is no longer in Germany."
"Well thank god for that," Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Now what the hell's going on? Since when do you go behind my back like this?"
"...Mr. Potter knows more about this situation than you did when you left," Jarvis began. "He arrived at Stark Industries shortly after you departed and I thought it prudent to help him as much as possible when he revealed his intentions to come after you. He did not wish for you to know so I simply refrained from notifying you of his presence. Rest assured, he is not a danger to you."
"I know that," Tony snapped. "I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about him. This is S.H.I.E.L.D.. God knows Fury would love a clairvoyant or whatever Harry is in his arsenal. No offense to him but he's got tunnel vision when it comes to every big disaster on Earth. Is Harry actually here? At the base?"
"How is that even possible? How did he get here?"
"My apologies sir, but that I cannot say. I gave my word to Mr. Potter."
"Wonderful," Tony rose to his feet and pulled out his phone, quickly dialling Harry's cell. "My A.I. has integrity."
"If I may say, sir," Jarvis pointed out politely. "I am only what you programmed me to be."
"Yeah, yeah," Tony waved a hand as he pressed his cell to his ear again. While he still felt a sting of annoyance at the fact that Jarvis had kept something so important from him, it was dulled by the fact that at least it was Harry the A.I. was working with. "For future reference, you can help Harry to your electronic heart's content, but not telling me about something again that could potentially hurt him in the long run and I'll dismantle you myself." Unfortunately, he was only half-joking and Jarvis had the good sense to promise him that much.
"What now, Tony? If you're calling about a sudden midlife crisis or something, so help me I will help you end it in a very unpleasant way."
Tony's grip on his cell tightened. "Yeah, you could say I'm having a bit of a crisis. Let's start with the near heart-attack I had a minute ago when I found out – surprise, surprise! My best friend's on the military aircraft with me."
Silence reigned on the other end of the line and Tony almost started lecturing – him, lecturing! – again when Harry said resignedly, "Jarvis told you."
"Yeah," Tony collapsed into the chair again, heaving a sigh. "Harry, why did you follow me?"
"...I had to keep you safe," Harry said, voice suddenly so small that Tony almost missed it. "You're an egotistical bastard who doesn't know when to back off and it's your goddamn fault for pushing into my life like you did. I made it clear in the beginning that I wanted you to leave me alone, didn't I? I didn't want you around, but you just kept coming back and you wouldn't leave. So unfortunately, you're... one of the only friends I have now, the only friend I have in all of America and I'll be damned before I let you walk into some war alone."
Tony wanted to be mad, he really did. Harry had worried him and followed him without telling him first, but he just couldn't help the stupid grin now pasted on his face. Not once had Harry ever admitted so candidly that Tony was important to him and it was a refreshing change from all the people who liked him for his money and position that he had to deal with at work every day.
"Really?" Tony couldn't quite hide the smug note that crept into his voice and he could all but hear Harry roll his eyes.
"Yes, really, you self-centered arse," Harry snapped back. "Now are we finished with this conversation yet?"
"No," Tony immediately took a sharp turn into serious-ville. "Where are you? You do realize getting caught here is a very bad idea? And how did you get here in the first place?"
There was a long pause and Tony picked up a soft sigh before his head snapped around as the door slid open and Harry stepped in, simultaneously closing his phone.
"Harry!" Tony leapt to his feet again, stowing his phone away and automatically checking for injury on the mechanic's person. Harry looked tired, like no-sleep-for-seventy-two-hours tired, and Tony silently berated himself as he realized that stowaways didn't even get an uncomfortable lab chair to catch a few winks in, nor did they get food of any kind. "Shit, look, I'll go get you some foo-"
"No need; I'm really just a bit tired," Harry gave him a rare smile. "Thor got me something to eat."
"Thor?" Tony repeated, not sure if he should feel confused or hurt. "You went to Thor? As in demigod-with-a-hammer-happy-arm-and-a-crazy-half-brother Thor?"
Harry glanced down before gently manoeuvring Tony back into his seat before grabbing a chair for himself. The billionaire softened when Harry couldn't seem to meet his gaze and he quickly said, "Look, if you trust Thor to help you, more than me I mean, but I know I haven't exactly had a lot of free time on my hands-"
"-then I think it's fine that you went to him-"
"-it's good that someone's looking out for you here-"
Tony fell silent when Harry pinned him with a pointed stare.
"If you shut up for a second then you'd know I didn't go to Thor for help," Harry said irritably. "Just- Just shut up for a minute, okay?"
Tony blinked, and for the first time since meeting him, he could see a hint of fear clouding Harry's expression. He wanted to reassure him that there wasn't anything in the world that Harry had to fear from him, but the mechanic seemed to be using the momentary silence to pull himself together so Tony stayed quiet.
"Here," Harry finally spoke, pulling out a silvery material that turned out to be a cloak. "That's mostly how I've been getting around without being seen."
Tony slowly took the cloak, catching a whiff of lilies as he studied the silky fabric. "What-"
"Put it on," Harry said quietly.
The cloak seemed to automatically lengthen to fit him as Tony tugged it around his shoulders and pulled up the hood. Feeling a little awkward, he glanced back at Harry who nodded at the nearest wall. Turning, Tony found himself staring at his reflection on the metal surface, except...
Except there was no reflection. Stunned, he drew closer to the wall before sticking out a hand from the cloak. Immediately, his reflection's hand appeared as well, but that was it. He pulled down the hood and found his floating head staring back at him, looking just as startled as he felt.
Whirling around, his gaze fell on Harry who was now staring back at him with very weary eyes. He seemed almost defeated, and Tony, for the life of him, couldn't see why.
"Harry, this is amazing!" He exclaimed, bounding back over to the mechanic. "How did you make it? Is this carbon nanotube tech? I've never seen it incorporated like this-"
And Tony stopped talking at once because he had never heard Harry use that tone of voice before, stuck somewhere between hurt and lonely resignation, and Tony just really, really wanted to make it go away.
"It's not technology," Harry continued, gaze wary in a way that reminded Tony of the first two months they had known each other, as if the mechanic expected him to leave without a moment's notice. It had been a large part of the reason Tony had done exactly the opposite. "It's not even science. It's just magic."
The silence that fell over them was near-suffocating as Tony tried to wrap his mind around this. Magic? Did Harry mean that whatever made this was a lot like magic? Or...?
"Magic?" Tony probed tentatively, being very careful to keep any disbelief out of his voice. Harry didn't seem to notice the effort, already pushing Tony away even as both remained seated.
With a tilt of his head and slight twitch of his index finger, Tony's cell flew from his pocket and into Harry's hand. In amazed disbelief, the billionaire watched his phone become a hedgehog plushie which promptly started tap-dancing across the table next to them when Harry flicked his finger again.
"Magic," Harry confirmed, expressionless. "I'm a wizard."
For a long minute, Tony could only stare blankly at the hedgehog before finally glancing back at the mechanic. A wizard. As someone who grew up around science, that was something he would never have come up with in a million years, but Harry was a wizard and that, it seemed, made all the difference, because Harry didn't lie, not about the important things and rarely even in jest. Tony had learned, after the mechanic had badly twisted his ankle one day and had almost broken it trying to continue working, that Harry only ever lied when it came to his own wellbeing.
He guessed that Harry must be a fairly powerful wizard because the mechanic was currently staring at his lap and the plushie was still tap-dancing. At the back of his mind, a part of him really hoped Harry could change it back. He only had the one phone on him at the moment.
"Well?" Harry finally broke the silence, still not looking at Tony.
Tony studied the hunched shoulders and dulled eyes and did the only thing he could think of. "Think you could magic up a cup of coffee for me then? It's been a long day, and Fury's probably out for my blood by now. I'd rather suffer through another one of his sermons with coffee than without."
And then Tony just grinned and leaned back to enjoy the open-mouthed surprise that spread across Harry's features, mentally congratulating himself on a job well done.
"You're not- You're not scared?" Harry stammered, looking confused and cautiously hopeful as if he wasn't quite ready to believe it yet.
"Harry, we're currently fighting against a psychopath with daddy issues and a power-hungry streak the size of Mexico bent on world domination," Tony reached out, ignoring the slight flinch the movement received and silently promising retribution to whoever instilled that reaction if they weren't dead already. Instead, he ruffled the mechanic's hair teasingly before slipping a friendly arm around his shoulders in a familiar gesture. "I'm not all that concerned about magic. Seriously, you worry about the most ridiculous things."
"It's not ridiculous!" Harry scowled, but the expression was half-hearted and his shoulders had relaxed. Tony would count that as a win.
"So tell me why Thor is helping you out," Tony said, still disgruntled about that. And then added as an afterthought, "And please tell me you can turn that hedgehog back into my phone."
Harry released a ragged laugh, sounding mostly relieved as he twitched a finger and returned Tony's phone.
"Thor can see through my cloak," Harry explained. "I guess it's an Asgardian thing. He's the one who helped me slip in and he's been sneaking me food for a while."
Tony nodded thoughtfully. "And you managed to follow us to Germany and back because..."
Harry shrugged. "I flew."
"You flew," Tony repeated faintly before grinning widely again. "That is awesome." He paused in thought before recalling, "You know, he called you my sentinel," He wiggled his eyebrows at the mechanic. "You're my protector now, Harry. My own personal knight in shining armour."
Harry snorted and Tony pretended not to notice the quick swipe of the mechanic's arms over his eyes. Honestly, to be worried about something like that. He really should be offended. Hadn't he shown how good a friend he was by now?
"I'm not used to it," Harry was staring back at him, obviously guessing what he was thinking. "One of my best friends; he got jealous of me a lot because, well, I was a bit famous in my world, in the magical community back in Britain, and I come from a rich family while he doesn't. He's always just a bit off when either of those things come up so I suppose I'm used to people leaving for things out of my control."
"Doesn't sound like a very good friend," Tony said, voice harder than he had meant to sound.
Harry quirked a sardonic smile at him. "We parted ways a while ago. It's nothing to worry over anymore."
Tony grunted. "Well I'm not going anywhere."
Harry's expression became a little odd for a fraction of a second before it eased away like quicksilver. "No, I suppose you're not."
The sudden ring of Tony's phone suddenly split the air and the billionaire made a face as he saw who it was. "You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark," Tony intoned, smothering a grin when he caught Harry's stifled laugh out of the corner of his eye. "Please leave a message."
"Mr. Stark, where are you?" Coulson frowned at him.
"In Honolulu," Tony said at once.
"Just return to the lab and continue your work. The cube is of the utmost importance."
"Tell him my flight's been delayed," Tony said, still straight-faced. "I won't be back until sometime tomorrow."
"Dr. Banner has been asking after you," Phil told him, and Tony scowled. He had forgotten about lab buddy.
"Alright, alright, I was just stretching my legs," Tony sighed. "I'm coming back now."
"Good to hear." Coulson smiled pleasantly at him. "The Director has upgraded his threat to death by the nearest volcano. Just thought you should know." The agent hung up before Tony could get another word in.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Really? Death by volcano? Is that the best he can come up with?"
Harry just shook his head and rose to his feet, retrieving the cloak Tony had taken off. "Have fun then."
"I rather doubt it," Tony looked hopefully at the silver cloak. "You'll lend that to me later, right? I could have so much fun with it!"
This time, Harry did laugh, a little hoarse from misuse but genuine. "Yeah, Tony, you can borrow it later."
"And you'll show me more magic?" Tony pressed gleefully.
"Yes, Tony," Harry indulged before waving a hand. A moment later, two mugs of freshly-brewed coffee appeared on the table, just the way Tony loved it. "And there's your- hey!"
Ignoring the mechanic's protests, Tony gave him a tight hug before sweeping up the coffee. "See you later, Harry! Gotta get back to work!"
And before Harry could threaten to throttle him, Tony ducked out of the room, highly satisfied and feeling very accomplished. All in all, it hadn't been a bad three-in-the-morning conversation at all.
Finished! I really hope this came out right. Did everyone like the reveal?
Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter or Avengers…
Again, not sure if I'm adding a pairing for Harry. It might just stay a GEN fic.
Just as a heads-up, the war fully ended when Harry was eighteen. Ten years passed with Harry remaining in London, England, and then he moved to New York where he's been living for eighteen months, so he's twenty-nine years old, almost thirty.
As for Harry being detected on the base, while the personnel would probably pick up Harry's body heat, etc when he's not careful enough, his cloak plus the disillusionment charms would help him hide. Also, a headcount won't be done every day or even every week. They'd usually do those maybe once every few months or when there's a security breach so even if the cameras pick up something, if they don't sound any alarms, nobody will know that there's one extra person on the base.
Lastly, Harry does have an Animagus form but he doesn't use it often, and in the books, both Voldemort and Snape could fly, but that doesn't mean Harry can, not to mention he hasn't really practiced a lot of magic for eleven years. Magic comes easier to him and he could learn to fly in a very short time or in a tight situation, but his first thought when he needs to fly wouldn't be to use just magic. He would definitely think of his broom first.
Chapter 7 – To Revelations
"You have not told me your name."
Harry glanced to the side at the demigod sitting next to him. "…Harry. Harry Potter."
Thor nodded thoughtfully before they both turned to stare out at the open air around them. Apparently, they both preferred being outside than in, surrounded by metal walls all day.
"I believe Tony is upset with me, Harry," Thor continued.
Harry sighed. "Sorry about that. Tony found out about me and he got… annoyed that you knew first."
"That seems… somewhat petty," Thor said carefully, not sure if Harry would take offense to this on Tony's behalf.
To his surprise, Harry chuckled outright, drawing up one knee under his cloak. "Petty sums up at least a third of what makes Tony Tony. He gets hung up on things most people wouldn't really make a big deal out of, but then again, he has known me longer."
Thor considered this and then asked, "He does realize I only know that you are on this fortress, does he not? I do not know how you flew to Germany and back, for one."
Harry shrugged. "He does, but he'll still stew on it for a while. He's not really mad, but he has a flair for dramatics. He'll get over it though, don't worry."
"I see," Thor wasn't sure if he did. "Well, I shall endeavour to stay out of his way until such a time arrives."
"Probably for the best," Harry agreed.
They fell back into a companionable silence again but Thor had never been one for very long periods of quiet, especially when there was something of interest on his mind.
"So are you actually human?" He enquired. "You can fly yet I am quite certain this broom you use is not part of your world's science."
Harry glanced at him again, and this time, Thor thought he saw something darker lurking in the man's features.
"I'm certainly from Earth," Harry said hesitantly before his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "But human… well, that's up for debate."
Before Thor could ask him about what he meant, Harry had posed a question of his own. "In Asgard, you said that your race is something like gods. Demigods. You live a long time then, don't you? Doesn't that get… tedious?"
Thor tilted his head contemplatively. "No," He shook his head. "For us, long life spans are normal. Humans consider a life span of a century or so to be the full extent of one . Asgardians are the same, save that we consider several dozen centuries to be our average lifetime."
"Oh," Harry looked away again, letting his senses wander across the invisible wards he had set up around the Helicarrier two days ago. "What about living forever? That'd be pretty difficult, wouldn't it?"
Thor's expression darkened. "Indeed. I would not wish for such an existence to befall anyone. Immortality is a heavy burden to bear. …Why do you ask?"
Harry shook his head wearily. "No reason. Just wondering," He rose to his feet and adjusted the cloak around him. "Let's head back in. It's getting a bit cold."
Thor followed Harry's lead without protest, but a dawning suspicion grew in the back of his mind. Judging by Harry's physical features, the demigod would put him somewhere around seventeen, still technically a child in the human world. But Harry certainly didn't talk like one, nor was there anything childish about his manner or speech. Thor talked to him as an equal, finding himself grateful when Harry would always answer any questions he had about humans with patient honesty. Even Jane had laughed at him a little when he couldn't figure out what gas stations were for. Harry answered his queries as if he had had to adjust to a new culture as well, which was actually the main reason Thor had wondered whether Harry was human or not.
And Harry hadn't actually said yes. He had said it was debatable. As the demigod stepped back inside their temporary stronghold, he knew one thing for certain: Thor had never met anyone, human or otherwise, shrouded in as much mystery as Harry Potter.
"Are you still hung up on what the Captain said?"
Tony glanced over at Bruce before returning to his phone.
"He's a real stiff," Tony muttered. "But no; I've got better things to do with my time."
"Hm," The doctor typed something down before casually bringing up, "Then you're thinking about your stowaway?"
Tony reacted on instinct, halfway to the door and already dialing Harry's number even as he turned a wary look on Bruce.
The scientist quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, I didn't mean it like that."
"Funny," Tony hovered by the door but lowered his phone. "Here I thought there was only so many ways you can mean that." They eyed each other for a long moment before Tony spoke again. "How do you know?"
Bruce offered a rueful half-smile. "The other guy, remember? Better senses. I smelled the lilies too, but I thought that was you."
Tony looked mildly offended. "Really? You think I spray lilies all over my-" He looked down at his shirt in sudden realization. "Oh, this must be one of the shirts I left at his place."
Bruce arched an eyebrow. "His? Boyfriend?"
Tony shook his head, shoulders finally relaxing as he made his way back into the room. "Best friend. He's…" A smirk. "One of a kind."
"I can tell," Bruce nodded at the cell in Tony's hands. "You've been texting him nonstop every time you have a spare minute."
"I have lots of questions," Tony mumbled, before his eyes lit up mischievously. "Wanna meet him?"
"Oh, uh, I don't think that's a good idea," The doctor immediately balked. "This room has cam-"
Tony rolled his eyes and cut him off. "Please, you're in the presence of a genius. As if I wouldn't hijack those cameras at the first opportunity. Trust me, the only thing anyone will see if they even bother looking at the monitors is a video loop of our first day working here."
"Don't worry," Tony assured even as he texted Harry again. "You'll like him."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Bruce muttered, but knew further protesting would be useless.
Slipping through the half-opened door, Harry watched as Bruce immediately looked up, eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder. The doctor glanced at Tony who was bent over the staff with a frown.
"Er, Mr. Stark? Your friend is here."
Tony immediately looked up, a grin already on his face. "Harry?"
Ignoring a touch of apprehension at being so exposed, Harry tugged off his cloak, simultaneously closing the door behind him. He caught Bruce's surprised look and offered a slight smile in return.
"Hi, I'm Harry Potter," He strode forward and extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Tony's showed me a lot of your work on anti-electron collisions. It's brilliant."
The surprise on the scientist's face grew more pronounced, along with a flash of pleasure at Harry's obvious sincerity. "You like science?"
"I like physics," Harry confirmed as they shook hands.
"And," Tony interrupted as he came to stand beside them. "Harry's also a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster."
Harry sighed as Bruce's expression immediately started to close. "Ignore him," Harry said with a sharp look at Tony. "Look, first thing you should know about me is that I may be a bit on the small side, but I can take care of myself. I don't have any problems with, what do you call him? The other guy?"
There was a moment of silence as Bruce blinked back at him, startled. "You're very honest, Mr. Potter." He finally said, seemingly having decided that there was absolutely no deceit in the mechanic's words.
Harry shrugged as he tossed his cloak over a nearby chair. "I know what it's like to be lied to. Not a pleasant feeling. And it's just Harry, Dr. Banner. Mr. Potter makes me think I'm still back in school."
Bruce nodded slowly, still looking a little uncertain, but his frame became more relaxed. "Then Bruce is fine."
"Hey, how come he tells you to call him Bruce and you agree right away but I had to beg for nine months and get hauled away by S.H.I.E.L.D. before you called me Tony?" Tony protested when Harry nodded agreeably. "That's not fair!"
"He's a lot less aggravating than you are," Harry told him blandly.
Tony scowled before turning away with a huff. "Well fine then. You wanna be his best friend, go ahead."
Harry arched an eyebrow before exchanging a glance with Bruce. The scientist shrugged before shooting him a questioning look. "Give me a hand with these?"
"Sure thing," Harry moved over to where Bruce was standing, scanning the stats on the screens. Both of them proceeded to ignore Tony's loud squawk of indignation, sharing a small grin, Bruce's more hesitant than Harry's but genuine all the same, when the billionaire threw up his hands and returned to his workspace, grumbling about injustice and conspiring friends.
All in all, it was a rather nice way to pass the next few hours.
Bruce wasn't sure why but he found that the other guy was a lot calmer when he stood beside Harry.
It had been close to four hours since Harry had joined them and Bruce had been pleasantly surprised when he found out that the mechanic was just as good as Tony told him he would be. While there were a few areas in which he had to clarify (and he honestly didn't mind those; Harry made an attentive student and brought up questions interesting enough to make even him stop and think about the answers), Harry could still keep up with their scientific jargon, sometimes throwing in his two cents and picking up percentage errors faster than either of them.
But he wasn't quite sure what to make of the soothing effect Harry had on him. No one had ever been able to calm the Hulk before, yet the mechanic didn't even show signs of minute discomfort around him, much like Tony. It was no wonder the two of them were friends; they didn't seem to have any self-preservation instincts to speak of.
Bruce nodded absently when Tony stepped out for a bathroom break, leaving him alone with Harry. The scientist glanced over at the Briton again. He showed no change as he flipped through one of the books Bruce had recently written but hadn't published with a faint frown creasing his brow. He seemed completely immersed and not at all discomfited by Tony's absence.
"Why aren't you scared?" He blurted out before he could censor his words.
Harry looked up.
"I mean, I understand why Tony might not be," He continued, shifting a little as he glanced away. "He may be a civilian but he's also used to this sort of thing, being Iron Man and all. But you…"
"Didn't I tell you I could take care of myself?" Harry cut in, voice mild. "I'm not exactly helpless, you know. If you ever do lose control, we can just wait for you to cool down again."
"You're part of the invite-me-to-Stark-Industries parade as well?" Bruce asked, looking back again.
"Well, I can't have Tony running the parade by himself," Harry said dryly. "He'd end up doing something stupid and dramatic and before you know it, the entire Avengers team would be moving into the place."
Bruce laughed a little at that. "Good luck convincing the Captain to go. Those two do not get along at all."
"They haven't fought together yet," Harry replied easily. "There's no respect between them right now."
"Not much respect between any of us," Bruce mumbled.
"Not true," Harry countered sternly. "Tony respects you and it's easy to see that you respect him. Thor's not quite sure what to make of any of you yet but he's getting there. That red-haired woman – Agent Romanov? She's just wary of all of you and probably feeling a little off-balance what with her partner going AWOL, and Mr. Rogers respects what you can do though he has yet to pull his head out of his arse when it comes to Tony and vice-versa. Dysfunctional, but not impossible."
Bruce stared at the mechanic. "You haven't met all of us."
"No," Harry agreed. "But I've seen all of you around and I've heard enough of Tony's rants on both Mr. Rogers and Agent Romanov to get a good idea of what they're like."
Bruce stared for a moment longer as Harry offered him a small smile before returning to his book.
"What can you do then?" Bruce enquired, finally giving in to his curiosity.
Harry chuckled. "I'm no superhero, Bruce."
"Maybe not, but neither am I," He seemed to have caught the mechanic's attention with that statement as Harry looked up again.
"I can do… a number of things," Harry said slowly before giving him a lopsided smile. "Ask the right question next and I'll show you one."
Bruce blinked and then instantly settled on one query he was sure Harry would have to answer. "How come the other guy's so much calmer around you?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up as if he hadn't been expecting this question and then he closed his book and shot a look at the closed door. "What do you know about phoenixes, Doctor?"
Bruce looked taken aback. "Uh, they're mythical birds, aren't they? Immortal, because they can be reborn," He shrugged. "That's about all. I'm not really well-versed in mythology."
Harry smiled a little though it didn't reach his eyes. "They're not myths, Doctor. I've seen one."
"You're serious," Bruce studied the mechanic's expression. "But what does that have to do with my question?"
"In addition to rebirth," Harry began. "Phoenix tears are capable of healing just about anything. Their song gives courage to those who need it and their very presence soothes emotions to a certain degree."
"So are you going to tell me you're hiding a phoenix in your pocket?" Bruce joked.
Harry gave him a wry look. "Not quite." He shot one more look at the door before rising to his feet, and a moment later, Bruce was gaping at the medium-sized bird perched on the table.
"No way," He breathed, feeling the other guy settle down even more. "That- That's not possible."
The phoenix poised in front of him had a sleek onyx plumage, the black feathers almost shining dark blue under the white lights of the lab. When it took flight, three long tails trailed behind it, fluttering gracefully as the bird landed next to him. Familiar green eyes stared back at him.
"You're- still Harry?" Bruce asked uncertainly, scanning the room for any sign of the mechanic.
The phoenix trilled an agreement before blinking questioningly at him, holding out his wings for Bruce to take a closer look. Bruce wasn't sure he was allowed to even touch such an ethereal creature, even if it was still Harry.
But Harry hopped forward and almost smacked his nose with one wing, somehow giving him a stern bird-look and Bruce knew he was being scolded. Laughing, half in disbelief, half in amazement, he reached out to pet the soft feathers.
"You're beautiful," He breathed in wonder, and then, when Harry trilled indignantly again, told him hastily, "I mean handsome, of course."
The bird nodded, puffing out his chest in an exaggerated motion and reminding Bruce that Harry was Tony's best friend, after all. Some of the drama-prone billionaire's personality would have rubbed off on the mechanic eventually.
At that moment, the Hulk picked up approaching footsteps and, not sure if Harry could change back quick enough, Bruce all but lunged across the room for the cloak and dropped it over the startled phoenix, just as the door slid open and Tony strode back in, stretching.
They stared at each other for a long second before Tony looked around. "Where's Harry?"
"Uh-" Bruce scratched his head and glanced at the air next to him. Tony followed his gaze.
"Why is he there?" Tony asked suspiciously.
An amused trill suddenly echoed around them and Bruce grinned sheepishly before reaching out to tug the cloak away. The drop of Tony's jaw was very gratifying.
"What the-" Tony stared at the bird. "Is that-"
Right before their eyes, the phoenix morphed back into Harry and the mechanic slipped off the table to stand on the ground again. "Yup."
"You can change into a bird?" Tony looked thrilled. "Is that how you flew to Germany?"
"You flew to Germany?" Bruce repeated.
"No," Harry looked at Tony before turning to Bruce. "And yes."
Tony crossed his arms. "Why won't you tell me how you got to Germany?"
Harry waved a hand. "I'll show you one day," And before Tony could protest, he gestured at one of the computers. "And I think you're decryption program's finished its work."
Tony shot him an exasperated look but dropped the subject and hurried over to the monitor. Bruce looked round when another set of footsteps drew near the room. "Harry, I think you should hide. Someone's coming."
Harry nodded and quickly pulled the cloak over him, settling back somewhere behind Bruce as the door slid open and an annoyed Nick Fury stalked in.
"What are you doing, Mr. Stark?" He demanded.
Tony didn't even blink at being caught in the act. "Uh... kind of been wondering the same thing about you."
"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract," Fury grounded out.
"We are," Bruce cut in. "The model's locked and we're sweeping for the signature now. When we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile."
"And you'll get your cube back, no muss, no fuss." Tony's gaze turned accusing. "What is Phase Two?"
All three of them turned to look at the door as it slid open again to reveal Steve Rogers, holding what looked like a very big weapon.
"Phase Two is SHIELD used the cube to make weapons," Steve said bluntly, glancing at Tony. "Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow for me."
"Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean that we're-"
"I'm sorry, Nick," Tony's voice rose to wash over Fury's. He turned the computer screen around where weapon plans were clearly splashed across it. "What, were you lying?"
"I was wrong, Director," Steve said derisively. "The world hasn't changed a bit."
The door slid open a fourth time and Thor and Natasha joined them. Bruce shifted uneasily at the packed lab but relaxed a little when he felt a hand against his arm, settling the other guy once more.
"Did you know about this?" He asked instead, looking at the only S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in the room. He bristled when the redhead only gave him a wary but dismissive look.
"You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor?" She said sharply.
Bruce scoffed. "I was in Calcutta; I was pretty well removed."
"Loki's manipulating you," She returned.
"And you've been doing what exactly?" Bruce shot back, a little stung. He felt fine, most likely because of Harry. Loki wasn't doing anything to him.
"You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you," The agent snapped.
"Yes, and I'm not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy." He returned irritably before reaching for the computer screen and turning to Fury. "I'd like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."
Fury sighed before pointing at Thor. "Because of him."
Thor looked taken aback. "Me?"
"Last year, Earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town," Fury explained as everyone shifted to keep Thor in their sights. "We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously, out gunned."
"My people want nothing but peace with your planet," Thor objected, eyes narrowing.
"But you're not the only people out there, are you?" Fury countered. "And you're not the only threat. The world's filling up with people who can't be matched. They can't be controlled."
"Like you controlled the cube?" Steve challenged.
"You're work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and his allies," Thor spoke up. "It is the signal to all the realms that the earth is ready for a higher form of war."
"A higher form?" Steve repeated.
"You forced our hand," Fury defended. "We had to come up with something."
"A nuclear deterrent," Tony cut in, voice uncharacteristically sharp. "'Cause that always calms everything right down."
"Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?" Fury said coolly.
Bruce sensed movement to his left and saw Thor's gaze cut across the room. He knew if Fury went any further, Harry wouldn't take it lying down. Even spending only a few hours in the mechanic's presence, Bruce knew Harry wouldn't stand for anyone hurting Tony, emotionally or physically.
"I'm sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck deep in it." Steve jumped in.
Bruce took his last thought back. If Steve went any further, the Captain wouldn't be leaving the room unharmed. He really had no idea why the shield-wielder went to such great lengths to put down the billionaire.
"Wait, wait! Hold on! How is this now about me?" Tony stepped forward, shoulders squaring for another faceoff.
"I'm sorry, isn't everything?" Steve asked mockingly.
"I thought humans were more evolved than this," Thor interrupted pointedly. Bruce caught another brief flicker of the demigod's eyes in Harry's direction. He could just imagine what Thor was seeing to produce the hint of apprehension hidden beneath his words.
Unfortunately, Fury took this the wrong way. "Excuse me, did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?"
And the room promptly descended into chaos.
"You speak of control, yet you court chaos," Thor's voice finally cut over everyone else's, fed-up and scornful as he stared at Fury.
"It's his M.O., isn't it?" Bruce said bitterly. "I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no. We're a chemical mixture that makes chaos. We're...we're a time-bomb." As always, he was ignored.
"You need to step away," Fury cautioned instead.
Bruce felt the other guy stirring and automatically felt for Harry. The reassuring hand returned and a wave of calm washed over him, clearing his head as the anger ebbed.
"Why shouldn't they guy let off a little steam?" Tony asked flippantly from across the room, clapping Steve on the shoulder.
"You know damn well why!" Steve knocked Tony's hand away, ire rising. "Back off!"
"Oh, I'm starting to want you to make me," Tony's voice softened with warning.
"Yeah, big man in a suit of armor," Steve jeered. "Take that off, what are you?"
"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," Tony returned easily.
"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you," Steve said coldly. "I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."
"I think I would just cut the wire," Tony mused tersely.
"Always a way out," Steve sneered. "You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."
Even Bruce, from all the way across the room, caught the flicker of hurt surfacing briefly in Tony's eyes before it was covered up. The hand around his arm tightened momentarily at the same time and he honestly didn't know if he would try to stop him if Harry decided to tear the Captain a new one.
Tony's voice was sharp with scorn and intent to hurt when he spoke again, taking a threatening step forward. "A hero, like you? You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle."
"Put on the suit; let's go a few rounds," Steve dared. Bruce glanced to the side when he felt Harry stiffen.
Thor laughed mockingly from the side. "You people are so petty, and tiny."
"Yeah, this is a tee," Bruce interjected absently as he felt Harry shift. Was something wrong?
"Agent Romanoff," Fury started. "Would you escort Dr. Banner back to his-"
Bruce's head snapped around, resentment welling up inside him. Were they all blind? He was fine; better than fine. He hadn't felt this calm in a long time. "Where? You're renting my room."
"The cell was just-"
Bruce straightened, eyes narrowing in annoyance at the Director. He hated it when people lied to his face. "In case you needed to kill me, but you can't!" He spat out without thinking. "I know, I tried," The room was suddenly silent as he continued to ramble. "I got low, I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out. So I moved on, I focused on helping other people. I was good until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk, but I feel fine right now. Sending me to my room for a timeout; that's going to piss me off!"
Bruce stared defiantly back at them, concentrating on the glow of warmth at his side. The computer suddenly beeped and everyone was snapped out of the staring match as a signal appeared to locate the Tesseract. Bruce quickly made his way over to look, feeling Harry's hand slip from his arm, though the soothing warmth still stayed with him.
"Located the Tesseract?" Thor asked, voice a little calmer now.
"I can get there faster," Tony volunteered.
"Look, all of us-" Steve started.
"The Tesseract belongs on Asgard, no human is a match for it," Thor interjected.
Tony looked impatient and turned to leave, only to be stopped by Steve.
"You're not going alone!" Steve ordered.
Tony was in no mood to take any orders, especially from the Captain. "You gonna stop me?" He snapped back, slapping Steve's hand away.
"Put on the suit, let's find out," Steve snapped.
"I'm not afraid to hit an old man," Tony growled back.
Steve glared. "Put on the-"
A loud clatter cut him off and everyone wheeled around to stare at the cell on the ground by Tony's workspace. Bruce immediately recognized it as Harry's phone.
"That's mine," Tony hurried over to the device and picked it up. "Must have vibrated from an incom-"
He stopped mid-word, eyes glued on the screen, and Bruce frowned before moving over to look at the message. His breath caught.
"Everyone out!" Tony barked, and the urgency in his voice insured everyone's instant obedience. The lab's occupants cleared the room just as a distant rumble sounded and the lab exploded behind them, showering everyone with debris and glass.
"Dammit!" Fury spat out, staggering from the force of the explosion as he fumbled for his earpiece. "Hill!"
"Number three engine is down!" Hill called back loud enough for everyone to hear as Fury grimaced and pulled the earpiece out. "Turbine looks mostly intact but it's impossible to get out there to make repairs while we're in the air."
"We lose one more engine, we won't be," Fury said grimly. "Alright, Stark, you're up. …Stark, what the hell are you doing?"
Tony had completely ignored the entire conversation and was looking around almost frantically.
"Here!" Thor suddenly shouted, making a funny gesture to his left side before reaching up to scratch his nose. Fury, Natasha, and Steve all stared in utter bemusement at the demigod while Tony and Bruce relaxed somewhat.
"Well then!" Tony cocked an eyebrow at Steve. "Engine three; let's go."
Tony sped away with a slightly confused Steve at his heels. Fury sighed and shook his head. "Sometimes, I wonder…" He muttered, before glancing at the remaining people around him. "The rest of you spread out and make yourselves useful. Dr. Banner, are you certain-"
"I'm fine," Bruce said with a sigh. He flexed his hands before promptly morphing into the Hulk. "I'll head to the deck," He grunted as he stomped away. "More space."
"…Is it just me, or is he a little different today?" Natasha asked aloud.
"I don't know what's going on," Fury said, shaking his head. "But I'll question it afterwards. Luck seems to be holding up on our side; let's keep it that way. Go!"
With a nod, Natasha sprinted off in the direction of the detention lab. That would be where the enemy would head to break out Loki, and she would bet quite a bit that Clint would be there too.
"I will head for Loki as well," Thor announced, heading after Natasha. Fury raised an eyebrow at the demigod as he seemed to stare avidly at a patch of thin air before sprinting off, hammer in hand.
"Half the team's losing their minds," Fury muttered before replacing his earpiece. "Coulson, initiate defensive lockdown and then head to the detention section. I'll meet you there."
"Stark, over here!" Steve called from one of the platforms.
The billionaire flew over, hovering in the air to take in the damage. "I gotta get this super conducting cooling system back online before I can access the rotors and work on dislodging the debris," He observed before pointing to the side. "I need you to get to that engine control panel and tell me which relays are in overload position."
Steve blinked before leaping into the air and swinging himself over to the other side.
"What's it look like in there?" Stark asked over the comm link.
Steve stared at the panel and gave his best guess. "It seems to run on some form of electricity."
He scowled when he could almost hear Stark rolling his eyes.
"Well, you're not wrong," The billionaire told him dryly. "Alright, I'll talk you through this. What can you see?"
Steve stumbled through a rough description of the controls and followed Stark's instructions for a few minutes before the man finally gave him the okay. "Okay, the relays are intact now. But even if I clear the rotors, this thing won't re-engage without a jump. I'm gonna have to get in there and push."
Steve stiffened in alarm. "Well if that thing gets up to speed, you'll get shredded!"
"Then stay in the control unit and reverse polarity long enough to disengage mag-"
"Speak English!" Steve yelled. He needed to know exactly what to do or the arrogant jerk was going to get himself killed.
Stark heaved a sigh. "See that red lever? It'll slow the rotors down long enough for me to get out. Stand by it, wait for my word."
Steve spotted the lever and leapt over to it. "Okay, just tell me when."
Nick almost snarled when the remaining engine shut down and the entire aircraft tilted, losing altitude instantly. There was only one person capable of doing it without causing another explosion.
"It's Barton, he took our systems," Nick growled into his comm link. "He's headed for the detention lab. Does anybody copy?"
"This is Agent Romanov. I copy."
Harry appeared in the detention lab mere minutes behind Thor and at the same time as Coulson. He skidded to a halt and took in Loki at the controls to the glass cell and Thor inside said cell.
"Move away, please," Coulson ordered politely, hefting a Phase Two weapon at Loki.
Loki's attention was now firmly on Coulson as he took a few steps back, and Harry took this opportunity to slip further into the room, watching their exchange warily.
"You like this?" Coulson enquired, and Harry really wished the agent would just shoot. He did not like the calm expression on Loki's face. "We started working on the prototype after you sent The Destroyer. Even I don't know what it does. Do you wanna find out?"
Harry hadn't so much as blinked the moment Coulson engaged Loki, so as soon as the energy of the staff disappeared from the spot where the Asgardian appeared to be standing, Harry Apparated as well, leaving his cloak behind so it wouldn't get entangled during the jump and tackling Coulson to the ground just as the real Loki appeared behind them, the pointed tip of the staff missing them by mere inches as it was thrust forward.
"I suggest blasting him!" Harry shouted as he rolled off the agent.
To his credit, Coulson only wasted a second or so to blink at Harry before rolling into a crouch to face a startled Loki and pulling the trigger. The blast of energy that erupted from the gun hurled Loki across the room and through the wall, dumping the Asgardian amongst a pile of metal and rock.
Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then froze when Coulson swung around and leveled the weapon at him.
"No!" Thor roared from his cell, hurling his hammer against the glass again. A moment later, the pane shattered and the demigod tore across the lab to glare down at Coulson, simultaneously positioning himself in front of Harry. "Harry is a friend. Lower your weapon immediately."
Coulson eyed the demigod but was already dropping the gun back down by the time he looked back at Harry again, one hand coming up in the universal I-mean-no-harm gesture.
"Well," He finally said. "Not that I'm not grateful to you for saving my life, but who are you and how did you get on the Helicarrier?"
Harry rose to his feet, gaze still glued on the gun in case the agent decided to get trigger-happy. "I'm Harry. Potter," He offered curtly. "Tony's friend."
"Mr. Stark didn't bring anyone here," Coulson frowned.
"He didn't have to," Harry adjusted his clothes. "I followed him. Now, let's save this discussion for later. I thought everyone was trying to prevent Loki's escape."
This seemed to stir both Thor and Coulson into action and both of them moved toward the hole in the wall. Coulson stared at Harry for a moment longer before placing the weapon on the ground and turning his back on Harry to follow Thor. Harry figured he couldn't possibly get a stronger thank-you.
"He's gone!" Thor's enraged shout sent Harry running, and indeed, there was nobody there amongst the rubble.
"What now?" Harry asked once they had scoured the entire detention lab and had discovered nothing.
"Let's head back up," Coulson suggested, tapping his earpiece. "Some of the explosions must have downed a part of the communication systems; I can't get through to the Director."
Thor released a frustrated growl but nodded reluctantly. Harry grabbed his cloak, not bothering to put it on. The secret was out, and while he had saved Coulson, there was no way the agent would keep quiet about him.
"Don't worry, Mr. Potter," Coulson glanced at him. "The Director likes yelling and threatening people but he only ever goes through with the latter if you're an enemy."
Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself even if S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to turn on him, but it was somewhat troublesome to deal with.
"Do not worry, Harry," Thor clapped him on the shoulder. "If necessary, I shall defend you with my dying breath."
Harry quirked a wry smile at the demigod. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that then."
"Stark, how did you know we had to clear the room?" Steve asked as they made their way back to the centre of the aircraft. It had been nagging at him since before the impromptu fight began.
Stark flicked a glance at him, helmet cradled in one arm. "Wouldn't you like to know," He grumbled, glancing disdainfully down at all the scratches on his suit.
Steve scowled. "I was a little busy at the time. I pulled the damn lever as soon as I could."
Stark grunted noncommittally and refused to say another word all the way back to the meeting room.
When they stepped into the room though, Tony froze in mid-step and Steve almost walked right into him. "What-" His gaze landed on a new face standing beside Thor and a de-Hulked Bruce. Fury, Coulson, Hill, and Natasha were standing only a few feet away.
Beside him, Steve could feel Stark tense even behind his armour. A moment later, the billionaire had crossed the room and stationed himself in front of the stranger and pinning Fury with a hard uncharacteristic glare.
Fury didn't seem at all fazed. He growled three words. "Start talking, Stark."
Finished! This was a lot longer than my usual chapters and I thought about chopping it in half, but I just couldn't find a good place to stop, so there you go.
Chapter Text
To address some queries:
So Harry's of age now which is why there won't be any Obliviators coming around when Harry uses magic.
I've always thought that if Bruce keeps a clear head, even when he Hulks out, he would be able to talk, even if not very long sentences. And people's reaction to him after he changes; since they are SHIELD agents/superheroes, I think that as long as Bruce doesn't lose it while he's the Hulk, nobody will react too badly.
Some people have wanted pairing, but this will stay GEN for the foreseeable future. I figure I'll concentrate on the war for now. I might put up a poll later on, but not right now.
I'm hoping that the Fury I'll be making won't come out a complete bastard so keep an eye out for that.
And I'm glad everyone thought a phoenix fitted Harry; I was aiming for the immortality angle.
I think that's it, so without further ado, enjoy!
Chapter 8 – To Merge Two Worlds
"Harry's here 'cause I brought him here-"
"Last time I checked, Stark, you came here in your suit-"
"Nobody asked you, Spangles-"
"Can someone just explain how no one's seen him aroun-"
"What do you think I'm trying to do? If you people would just shut up for a minute-"
"You know, this is just like you; breaking the rules and endangering civilians-"
"I'm a civilian! And does he look endangered to you?"
"That's not the point-"
"Then please enlighten us, Cap, what is the point? I mean what is with this personal vendetta against me anyway?"
"I don't have a personal vendetta! You're just too reckless and you're going to end up hurting someone-"
"Rogers, I swear to you, if I end up hurting Harry, I'll cut off my own arms, so back off-"
"Er, excuse me-"
"Since when did this turn into another verbal brawl between the two of you? You both need to stow it. Loki's missing and we've got an unknown who's been on this base for god knows how many days-"
"Agent Romanov, with all due respect, I don't need you reiterating everything we already know-"
"Uh, maybe we should-"
"She's only trying to get everyone back on track, Stark-"
"We are on track, Director. As I was trying to tell you before the American Capsicle butted in-"
"It was an obvious lie!"
"You didn't even let me get past seven words!"
"Because it was a lie!"
"You humans get pettier every time you quarrel. Can you not just listen-"
"Oh that's rich, coming from you, Thor. I seem to recall you were very much not listening when you went to retrieve your hammer-"
"Um, can we all just-"
"Good choice of words, Director. My hammer. Mjolnir was rightfully mine; I was simply getting it back-"
"When did we start talking about hammers? I thought we were here to-"
The sound of Bruce's hands slamming on top of the metal table in the room was enough to shut everyone up and half of them all went for their weapons.
Bruce snorted when Natasha pulled out her gun. "This again, Agent Romanov? I'm still in control. And that thing's not gonna do much if I'm not."
A muscle jumped in Natasha's jaw before she slowly stowed away the gun again. A few steps away, Fury let his hand fall away from his own weapon and Hill and Coulson followed Natasha's example.
"Now that I have your attention," Bruce clapped his hands together before sweeping an arm to the side in Harry's direction. "Why don't we let Harry speak? After all, I'm assuming this is actually supposed to be about him."
A long pause followed the pointed remark before Fury sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "You're right. Mr. Potter, what can you tell us?"
Slowly, everyone took a seat as well, their gazes turning to focus on the only Briton in the room.
Harry had been silent so far, watching the Avengers snap at each other heatedly. If this was what planet Earth was counting on to save them, they were all in for a bumpy ride.
"Well," Harry started, looking around the room. "For anyone who doesn't know yet, I'm Harry Potter. I'm Tony's friend, and I got on the base by myself," He shot a withering look at Tony when the billionaire made to protest. "I don't mean anyone here any harm. I just came to protect Tony."
At Harry's blunt admission, Tony's expression turned a mix of indignation and smugness. Harry rolled his eyes at him.
"But how did you get in here?" Natasha demanded. "And you've been here for days, haven't you? How has no one seen you?"
"That would be my doing," Thor quickly cut in with a brief glance at Harry. "I have been helping."
"You snuck a civilian onboard without notifying anyone?" Hill asked with a frown.
Thor shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "Yes."
"But how did you get up here in the first place?" Natasha pressed. "Thor joined us halfway back from Germany? What, did you hitch a ride?"
Thor made a sound that sounded suspiciously amused. Harry shifted uncomfortably while Tony leaned forward in undisguised interest. Was he ready to just tell them all he was a wizard? Tony already knew, and Bruce sort of knew; he just didn't know what Harry was called. And Thor would accept it without batting an eye; magic was something he understood.
Surprisingly, it was Fury of all people who made the decision for him, leaning forward with focused intensity in his lone eye. "I think the question here is, Mr. Potter, what made you pick Stark of all people to protect, and why would you choose to in the first place? You, of all people."
Harry frowned. What…?
"Harry James Potter," Fury said softly, and Harry felt like he had been doused with a bucket of cold water. "Britain's Saviour."
All around the room, people straightened in their seats. Even Tony frowned, confused.
Harry just stared. "You know," He said at last, not quite sure how to feel about this.
"Of course I know," Fury confirmed. "This is S.H.I.E.L.D.. There aren't many things we don't know, and nothing we don't eventually find out."
Harry glanced away before looking back again when Fury continued. "Do you know Britain has sent out BOLOs for you? They contacted the American Ministry and the American Ministry contacted S.H.I.E.L.D.. Who knew you would be living it up at Stark Industries?"
Harry immediately stiffened, bristling as Tony half-rose out of his seat, obviously taking offense on Harry's behalf.
"First of all, I haven't been 'living it up' anywhere," Harry said coldly. "And second, the only reason there are BOLOs circulating out there is because the British Ministry never seems to have anything better to do than keep track of the whereabouts of their favorite poster boy. I'm no criminal. The American Ministry of Magic should know this. If they actually have even half a brain, they'll leave me alone, and if you, Director, have even half a brain cell, you won't so much as think about turning me in."
"Wait," Natasha interrupted the stare-down between her boss and Harry. "Britain's Saviour? Ministry of Magic? What are you talking about?"
There was a stilted silence as Harry closed his eyes for a moment before glancing back at Fury. "The Statute of Secrecy hasn't applied to me for a long time," Harry said with a humorless tilt of his mouth. "Comes with the benefits package of being the Saviour; I'm exempt from quite a few laws. It's your choice, Director."
There was another prolonged pause before Fury sighed and proceeded to give a short overview of the magical community living in secret beside the Muggle world, and of the two wars that had haunted Britain for the better part of four decades. To say that most of the room was stunned would be an understatement.
"So magic's real?" Natasha looked between Fury and Harry, and the mechanic just managed to catch a spark of childish excitement beneath the many layers the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent always stood behind. "Here on Earth?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded cautiously. "But there are laws against telling Muggles- I mean you people."
"So none of this leaves the room," Fury warned. "Or there'll be consequences, and not from me."
"So what's this about being Britain's Saviour?" Tony asked, looking back at Harry.
Harry grimaced. "It's a long story. The basic rundown is that I got rid of a really bad wizard bent on world domination. Several times, since the bastard kept coming back. They upgraded me to Saviour when I got rid of him for good."
"Huh," Tony raised an eyebrow. "Not much different than what we're doing right now then."
"You said several times," Thor was watching Harry very closely. "And yet you look no older than nineteen, perhaps twenty."
Harry' fought to keep his expression blank. He had two options. One wasn't even up for consideration here. "Wizards and witches have longer lifespans," Harry said smoothly. "We age more slowly."
"Damn that's lucky," Tony teased as Thor frowned. "So how old are you really?"
"It's rude to ask people their age, Tony," Harry shot back, pasting on a smirk. "Keep guessing."
"Back to the matter at hand," Fury interrupted as Tony settled back to grumble. "Why are you protecting Stark?"
"Do I need a reason?" Harry countered. "He's my friend. I protect my friends. I think everyone here can agree that we're about to go to war. I'm not about to let Tony walk into this alone."
"Your people are looking for you," Fury pointed out.
"Then they can keep looking," Harry said, voice frosting over again. "There's no law that says I can't live where I want, however I want, and if there was, I'd probably be exempt from it too."
"You don't care that your friends and family are probably wor-"
"I don't have family," Harry snapped so sharply that Tony seemed to be considering his options of shutting Fury up forcibly. "They're all dead. And I haven't talked to my friends from the Wizarding world for over eight years now. I highly doubt they're very worried about me."
Tony's head swiveled around again, looking a little thrown, as if he hadn't expected Harry to be so completely cut off from other people. Harry had to fight down a sudden urge to laugh. What did the man expect? Had he already forgotten how hard Harry had tried to push him away when they had first met?
"There are British Aurors out there-" Fury tried again. Harry wasn't sure why the Director was trying so hard to get rid of him, just that he was really getting on his nerves.
"And they'll do what, exactly?" Harry's voice became flat, anger clear for everyone to hear. "British Aurors? I bet I'll know at least two thirds of them. I went to school with all of them. I trained them. All the basics they've built their careers on? They learned it all from me. I taught them everything I knew after being fast-tracked through the Auror program when I was fifteen! If they come after me and try to drag me back for one reason or another, I can guarantee you they won't succeed. I could knock them back on their arses before they take one step through my front door, and that will only be if they've lost all respect for their goddamn general."
Dead silence met the end of his tirade as Harry paused for breath. He met Tony's gaze briefly and almost winced at the dismay staring back at him.
"You were a war general at fifteen?" Tony asked quietly. Even Fury looked surprised at the uncharacteristic sobriety in the billionaire's voice.
Harry shrugged, settling down again as he let his anger fade. "It was necessary. People were dying left and right, and I was… temperamental that year. I didn't want to just stay in school and the adults around me wanted me to train anyway so I agreed."
"You were fifteen," Bruce looked almost resentful.
"Technically, I was sixteen when I started leading people," Harry corrected.
"There's no difference," Natasha looked stricken and Harry remembered the things Tony had mentioned about this woman's past.
"I was pretty angry at the time," Harry sighed. "I had just… well, my godfather was killed that year."
"So they played on your emotions," Natasha's eyes narrowed. "That's despicable."
"That's life," Harry countered. "People do what they can to survive, and I was the only person who could defeat Voldemort for good. Besides, it's in the past now. No use dredging it up years after the fact."
"Then you have no intention of returning?" Fury spoke up again before Natasha could object.
Harry frowned. "I intend to live my own life."
Fury leaned forward again, expression determined, and Harry had a feeling he wouldn't like whatever the man came up with next.
"Perhaps as part of the Avengers then?"
Cliffie! Yes, I'm evil, but I'm off to class and I figured this was a good place to end it. No worries! I'm fairly certain I can get the next chapter up by the end of the day!
Chapter Text
Query Post:
-For now, NO PAIRING in the foreseeable future. Might put up a poll later though.
-Since Harry told them that wizards age more slowly, everyone will assume that the Aurors he trained will look around Harry's age. IF other wizards show up later, won't they be surprised that they look older?lol
-I know a few people thought Harry was a bit off in the last chapter and yeah, he did get more emotional, but I think that's still a part of Harry that people sometimes overlook. He doesn't get angry often, especially now that he's grown up, but he can and there will be places here and there in my fic that his temper spikes, especially when his past is brought up. Also, Harry is a pessimist; no point denying that, and he does get depressed. Just because he didn't try suicide again doesn't mean he doesn't think about it. It's only because of West and the fact that it doesn't work that he stopped, so from time to time, Harry will get somewhat moody.
-Some people have also brought up drabbles/oneshots for when this fic is over. I was already planning on something like that; I have a general idea that they will be about the Avengers and Harry's lives after this story. Just a thought.
-Anything I didn't answer will come up eventually. Don't want to give out spoilers.
I think that's it so on with the next chapter. Try to enjoy; this one will be... conflicting.
Chapter 9 – To Come Apart
Harry stared. "What?"
Tony glared. "What?"
Fury gave Tony a dismissive glance when the billionaire leapt to his feet. "Stark, stay out of this. This is none of your business."
"None of my-!" Tony spluttered. "Excuse me, but last time I checked, Harry's here for me and he's my friend, not to mention I'm part of this joke of a team you're trying to put together. If you're going to try to drag Harry into this monkey act, you've got another thing coming!"
"Tony," Harry spoke up before Fury could say anything again. "It's alright."
Tony's head snapped around to look at Harry with wide-eyed disbelief. "What? You're really going to-"
"I'm not going to join," Harry interrupted, voice clear as he looked back at Fury. "Like I said, I'm only here to make sure Tony gets back home alive and in one piece. Nothing more. Besides, I'm no superhero. Just because I can do magic doesn't mean I'm going to charge out there fighting for the good of all. Besides, how hidden do you think the magical community will be if I start crusading as an Avenger?"
Tony sat down, apparently satisfied that Harry wasn't about to pick up arms and join S.H.I.E.L.D.. On the other hand, Fury didn't look all that pleased.
"Potter, do you know how much good you could do for the world?" He demanded. "That's what the Avengers do-"
"No," Harry shook his head, glancing around the room. "That's what you want the Avengers to do. I've been on this base for days now and all I've seen are a bunch of separate individuals all trying to do things their way. One of you hasn't even been here the entire time."
"That's not his fault," Natasha cut in tersely. "And he's back now. He's in sickbay."
"Understandable and I'm not saying it's his fault, but can anybody here tell me, in all honesty, that the Avengers is anything more than a name right now?" His gaze took in all of them, even Tony, and not one of them managed to meet his eyes.
"And anyway," Harry continued, unrelenting as his gaze settled on Fury again. "How can any of them begin to trust each other if you're keeping secrets from them? You brought them together; you have the responsibility of giving them a reason to stay." He half-turned to take in the rest of the Avengers in the room. "And just by agreeing to come here, each of you have the responsibility of coming up with a reason to fight. I don't think I have to tell you that going into a battle without a reason usually ends with body bags, and it won't be the enemies inside them. Make up your mind; either you're in or you're not. Halfway isn't going to be enough anymore."
And without another word, Harry turned on his heel and headed for the door. He had said his piece; voiced his opinion. Whether they took it into consideration or not would be up to them.
"By the way, I still think you're a first-grade asshole," Tony piped up after a full minute of silence, looking evenly at the Director.
Fury sighed wearily. "You can think anything you want, Mr. Stark. Just stay quiet long enough to hear me out." He paused, and then snorted. "Never thought I'd see the day I'd get chewed out about the way I command on my own ship."
"He's got a point," Bruce eyed the rest of the room. "Nobody here trusts anyone."
"I trust you, big guy," Tony reached over to pat him on the shoulder.
Bruce quirked a slight smile in the billionaire's direction but it was half-hearted at best. Being chastised by someone like Harry wasn't the best of experiences and a certain tension remained in the air even after Harry had left.
"Look," Fury got their attention again as he rose to his feet and moved to the front of the room. "We're dead in the air up here. Our communications and location of the cube are lost and Barton's still down. We have no idea where Loki went and we've got a powerful wizard onboard whose only concern is Stark, not to mention he's not all that impressed with us right now. I got nothing for you."
He paused and looked at each of them before continuing in a grave tone. "Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number though, because I was playing something even riskier. There was an idea, Stark knows this," All eyes turned briefly to Tony. "Called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could." Fury's eye sharpened as he looked at Tony. "It seems your friend already knows this."
Tony shrugged unapologetically. "I tell Harry everything."
"It was supposed to be top-secret," Natasha frowned.
"And who's Harry gonna tell?" Tony challenged. "His cars? He's a mechanic. The only reason he's here is because of me."
"How did you even become friends?" Steve suddenly asked, honestly curious. "You two are nothing alike. Why would he come all this way, risking getting caught and revealed just to protect you?"
Tony frowned, expression pinching with annoyance. "And what's that supposed to mean? I'd do the same for him."
This was very reminiscent of what Steve had accused him of never doing and the Captain scoffed. "There's a surprise."
Tony shot up so fast his chair skidded backwards. "You know what, Rogers? You've been getting on my nerves since day one. Now I don't care what you say about me personally; I can take anything you dish out. But when you bring Harry into this, that's when you've crossed the line, so if your face doesn't wanna say hello to my fist, keep your mouth shut."
Tony's expression blazed with an alarming amount of hostility as he swung around to face all of them. "This is obviously not gonna work," He gestured at the room in general before looking at Fury. "So I'll just save you the trouble of printing out a dismissal form. I quit."
And with that said, he spun around and stalked out the door as well, steps loud against the metallic floor.
"Well, I guess I'm done here too," Bruce rose to his feet, hands clasped together. "You don't need me anymore; can't trace the cube without the staff. I'll see myself out."
As opposed to Tony, his steps were near silent as he exited the room, never looking back as he disappeared from view.
Thor heaved a disgusted sigh and got up as well. "You humans; sometimes, I find it truly a mystery that you have even advanced this far."
Picking up his hammer, the demigod left as well. No one noticed the uneasy frown on his face as Thor realized how heavy Mjolnir had gotten.
Natasha pressed her lips together before rising from her seat. "Sir, I'd like to return to Barton now. He hasn't woken up yet and the doctors said they'd give me an update when I got back."
Fury nodded once and watched as one of his best agents disappeared from the room at a near-run. Sighing deeply, he turned to the last member of the Avengers.
"Well, Rogers? What about you?"
Steve stared from the door to the Director. "How did you find out about Potter anyway?" He asked at last. "I mean, he was hiding fine before, right?"
Coulson cleared his throat. "He saved my life. Loki would have killed me otherwise."
"I thought his only priority was Stark," Steve pointed out.
"Apparently not," Fury shrugged. "Though I doubt many people would stand to one side while someone was killed if they could prevent it."
Another long silence descended before Fury prompted impatiently, "Rogers?"
"I want to talk to Harry," Steve suddenly said, getting up abruptly.
"Are you quitting?" Fury pressed.
"I'll let you know as soon as I do," Steve promised before speeding out of the room in the same direction Harry had headed in.
Fury turned to glance at Hill.
"What are we going to do now?"
Fury sighed again. "Nothing to do but wait."
"Wait for what?" Hill asked as she and Coulson followed Fury out of the room.
Fury frowned. "For the time when the Avengers prove to be strong enough to work together."
Now that the Helicarrier was no longer doing anything save hanging in the air, Harry could enjoy the scenery without people running back and forth on the deck.
"Mind if I join you?"
Harry stiffened at the voice, turning to see Steve Rogers hovering a few feet away. After a contemplative moment, he shifted over to make room for the man.
"So you're a mechanic," Steve said as he sat down. "Saw a lot more of those back in my day than I do now."
Harry shrugged. "It's a profession. I like working with cars."
They fell into a slightly awkward silence. Harry pretended not to see the quick glances Steve kept shooting at him every few minutes.
"...What do you see in Stark?" Steve finally spoke, frustration evident in his voice.
Harry shot him a long considering look. "What do you see in Tony?" He countered.
Steve frowned. "He's arrogant and reckless, and he has no tact. He's selfish too, and everything's a joke to him."
"You really think that?" Harry asked, keeping his voice neutral. "You fought with him just a while ago. You worked together to get the turbine up and running, didn't you?"
Steve hesitated and Harry waited patiently as he thought it over.
"He could've died," Steve offered at last. "He had to push the rotors to get them working again. And he trusted me to pull the lever..."
He trailed off, deep in thought, and Harry nodded. "All those things you say he is? I completely agree. I'll be the first to say he's nothing short of an egotistical bastard, but that's not all he is either. He doesn't have to be here; he doesn't have to be Iron Man. I mean, he has plenty of money and fame. He doesn't really need the added danger of being a superhero to get recognition. And at the end of the day, all the things he's done for S.H.I.E.L.D. so far? No one's going to know any of that, except us. He's here because he wants to help, no matter what shite he tells people, and that takes selfless courage." His gaze sharpened into a glare. "So if I ever hear you say anything to Tony even remotely like what you said to him back in the lab, you'll see exactly why no British Auror in their right mind would cross their magic with mine. Understand?"
Steve looked understandably shocked, but he managed a weak nod and Harry promptly dropped the fierce look. "Good, now was that all you came out here for?"
"Er, no," Steve shifted a bit on the spot. "...The team's kind of disbanded."
"Shocker," Harry deadpanned.
Steve scowled. "That was entirely Stark."
"Yes it was," Harry agreed shamelessly. "What about Agent Romanov?"
Steve shrugged. "She can't exactly quit. She's S.H.I.E.L.D., but I think she doesn't want anything to do with the Avengers anymore either."
"Well, it is a group of superheroes in this day and age," Harry shook his head. "You Americans; I almost laughed when I found out."
"There's nothing wrong with superheroes!" Steve protested indignantly.
Harry tilted his head. "It's a big job."
"But it's worth it," Steve insisted stubbornly. "No matter how hard being a superhero is, it's worth it in the end."
"I'm not saying it isn't, Captain," Harry rose to his feet, stretching out his limbs before turning to face Steve. "But then you've got to wonder: why aren't your colleagues jumping at the chance to be one?"
Slipping off the railing of the flag bridge, Harry turned and headed back inside, leaving a pensive Steve behind.
Harry glanced back and blinked when he caught sight of Natasha sprinting towards him, a desperate glint in her eyes. "Agent Romanov?"
"You wizards can heal with magic, can't you?" She gasped as she skidded to a halt in front of him.
"Er, well yes," Harry started. "But I'm not qualified-"
"Come on!" Unceremoniously, Natasha grabbed Harry by the arm and ran off again, this time dragging Harry behind her.
"Ma'am, what's going on?" Harry demanded, half trying to wrench his arm out of her grip. "I don't know many healing spells; they're not part of my skill set."
"There must be something you can do," She shot back determinedly.
"What's going on?" Harry tried again.
Natasha didn't even pause as she tossed an almost frightened look over her shoulder at him, only years of training and missions hiding her emotions from sight.
"It's Clint. I mean Barton. He's dying."
Another one finished. This one was a bit bleh to write, but it had to be done. Gotta throw some conflict in here.
Chapter Text
Query Post:
-A bit of Master of Death!Harry coming up next!
-Will Clint die? Maybe, maybe not. I'm evil:)
-I probably won't put characters from the other Marvel movies (ie. Jane, Darcy, etc.) into this fic; would complicate things too much and I want to stick with just the Avengers.
-The Master of Death has to work with a set of rules; even the Master of Death can't just raise the dead or someone like Harry would try to do that for a lot of people who had died in the war. But there just might be exceptions... won't reveal anything more or I'll be giving people spoilers.
-And for those who are wondering, I live in on the west coast of Canada; I guess my end of the day would be some of you people's beginning or middle or whatever. Bleh time zones.
-I'm not planning on killing Loki off but I won't say more than that. You'll just have to wait and find out.
-And lastly, this fic will extend to a little after the Avengers movie timeline, and then the drabbles/oneshots I'm planning on writing will focus on their lives afterwards.
I think that's it, so on with the next bit. Might hinge on the depressed side at the beginning, depending on what depresses you, but it'll get better. Enjoy!
Chapter 10 – To Be Separated
"Agent Romanov, what exactly do you think I can do? I'm no doctor," Harry had finally freed his arm but was walking at Natasha's hurried speed anyway as the woman swept down another corridor.
"It's not a doctor Clint needs right now," Natasha said grimly. "It's a miracle. The doctors can't do squat. They say he's perfectly fine physically, except that all his vitals are dropping. There's no reason for it at all."
"So if doctors can't find the problem, what do you expect me to do?" Harry protested as they rounded the corner. "I'm not being modest when I say I can't really heal; I'm literally crap at- GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
His voice echoed around the sickbay and everyone within hearing distance turned to stare at him, including the figure looming over a comatose Clint Barton.
"What is it?" Natasha looked back and forth between Harry and the space where Harry was engaging in a glaring match. Her hand drifted to her gun. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Harry said curtly. "Clear the room; I reckon I might be able to help him after all."
Without waiting for an affirmative, Harry strode forward, sweeping across the sickbay to Clint's side. Behind him, he heard Natasha ordering the doctors out of the room but caught a glimpse of her as she remained in the background, watching him with wary, anxious eyes.
Ignoring her presence, Harry stepped up beside the bed, raising his eyes and wordlessly putting up a silencing charm around them at the same time before he greeted, "Hello Death."
"Agent Romanov?"
Natasha started, surprised by both the arrival and the fact that she hadn't heard him come in. "Dr. Banner. Can I help you with something?"
"No, no," Bruce shook his head distractedly as his eyes darted to where Harry was standing. "I heard Harry yell so I came to see if anything was wrong. Did something happen?"
"I don't know," Natasha turned her attention back to her partner and the Briton, keeping half an eye on the scientist next to her. "Clint- Barton was dying and the doctors couldn't do anything so I went and got Potter. He said he only knew a few healing spells and that there wasn't a lot he could do but as soon as he came in here, he shouted for something to get away from- I'm guessing Barton?"
She trailed off, even more confused now that she had gone over the events in her head.
Bruce took a step forward, ears straining to pick up any sound as Harry's mouth moved. What was going on?
"You can't take him," Harry insisted.
"His soul is already half gone," Death intoned, one hand hovering over Clint's chest with a swirling forest green ball of pure energy under it, already partly removed from the archer's body. "Thus his hold on life shall be withdrawn."
"If it's half gone, then that means it's also half not gone," Harry said impatiently. "You can't just take him because Loki screwed him over. That's not fair."
Death frowned. "When Life is too much to bear, Death is always fair."
"Not this time," Harry said firmly. "You're the one taking his soul. Your job is to take the souls that have already been freed from their bodies. His hasn't; it's just been tampered with. But Loki has no hold on him anymore which means everything goes to you, so put it back. All of it."
Death was silent for a long moment before its eyes moved to Natasha standing by the door. Harry followed its gaze and blinked when he found Bruce standing there as well.
"The Master of Death should not be influenced by emotion," Death said softly, and its gaze was suddenly piercing and harsh as it looked at Harry again. "It will be your downfall, young Master."
"I'm not!" Harry retorted back defensively.
And this time, Death grinned, the action razor-sharp and ugly. "Death is honest, Death is fair. Thou are neither, oh Master of mine, so why, pray tell, must I obey?"
Harry's jaw tightened. "I am your Master," He said quietly, staring straight back at Death with all the defiance he could muster. "You accepted me as your Master the day I gathered the three Hallows, and you bound yourself to my service the day you refused to let me die. You don't need any other reason to obey me. Now put his soul back. Now."
Death stared down at him, expression twisting, and Harry knew it was angry this time. "This human is not worthy of your time," Death hissed. "A god you are compared to this mortal, and yet you lower yourself to his level."
"I said put it back!" Harry finally snapped. "I never wanted to be a god, I never wanted any of this, but you wouldn't let me go! Yeah, maybe I am influenced by my emotions, but so what? I'm human! I didn't ask to be your Master! So goddamn it, put his soul back! Don't make me repeat myself again!"
An invisible wave of power erupted from Harry and Death seemed to stumble back, releasing his hold on the soul. Harry watched in relief as the ball of energy sank back into Clint and the man himself released a deep breath before settling into a calm slumber.
A rasping laugh made him look up again, eyeing Death with caution as it started to disappear. "Oh Master, my Master, what will you do? When your dear ones depart and your fate rings true? Will you rise, will you fall, will you try and stand tall? Will you weep, will you cry, will you turn a blind eye? Human you are, and yet you are not. So I offer you this; a few words for thought."
And soon enough, it disappeared, but its voice echoed around Harry, loud and mocking and only for him to hear.
'Who telleth a tale of unspeaking Death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?
Who painteth the shadows that are beneath
The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?
Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be
With the fears and the love for that which we see?'
"They do not know me, Master," Were Death's parting words, whispered in his ear. "But you do. They live in Life, you live in Death. They do not know your burden. Is it not better, then, to cut your ties with the land of men?"
And then it faded altogether, and Harry just wanted to run, run and never look back because it would be the easy thing to do, but he couldn't because he had been stupid enough to let people get close and he had other responsibilities now.
So he took a deep breath and pulled together the unravelling seams of his control before dropping the wards around him.
"He's alright now," Harry called, surprised at how shaky his voice was. He cleared his throat and avoided Bruce's searching gaze as Natasha moved forward. "He's just resting. He'll be fine when he wakes up."
Natasha rushed over to the monitors scanning Clint's vital signs, checking them anxiously before releasing a sigh of relief. She turned back to Harry, genuine gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you. Thank you so much. For whatever you did. He's my partner; I can't- can't lose him. Thank you."
Harry managed a strained smile, nodding once before vacating the sickbay with Bruce. He barely noticed the scientist's worried expression as he hurried towards the nearest door, needing the open space of the sky.
He fumbled twice as he tried to enter the code that would open said door, missing the right numbers by a mile before Bruce reached over and entered it for him. The door slid open and Harry didn't even pause to thank him before bolting out of the base, gulping down fresh air as he leaned wearily against the railing.
It was several long minutes later before Harry raised his head again and found Bruce still beside him, patiently quiet in a way one wouldn't expect someone who could change into the Hulk to be.
"Sorry," Harry offered weakly. "I'm usually better at keeping my emotions under control."
Bruce shrugged and smiled back wryly. "Don't worry; I know all about it. Strange thing is, I'm still calm, even though you're..."
"An absolute wreck, yeah," Harry sighed. "The effects of a phoenix doesn't go away just because I fall apart, don't worry."
"You're alright now, though?" Bruce was observing him carefully and Harry straightened completely, ignoring the last traces of fear still lingering in his mind.
"Yeah, I'm fine," He assured. "I was just a bit shaken up with Agent Barton back there."
Bruce didn't look like he believed him and his next words confirmed it. "I know a panic attack when I see one. I may not have a degree in medical science but I am rather good at it."
Harry looked away, frowning at the open sky around them. "What do you do," He asked softly. "When even death isn't an option?"
"You move on," There was no hesitation in Bruce's reply. "You find something else to keep you occupied and you keep living. I should know; I've been there, remember?"
Harry glanced sidelong at the scientist and felt himself relax. This was one of the things he liked most about Bruce; he never pushed and gave honest advice when someone asked for it. A complete opposite to Tony but Harry thought it was a good balance.
"Well let's go find Tony," Harry pushed away from the railing, leaving any depressing thoughts behind for the day.
"Mr. Stark?" Bruce looked puzzled as he followed Harry back inside.
"Yeah, we're leaving, aren't we? Are you finished packing?"
"Er, well yes, but-"
"Good. Knowing Tony, he's not. We can go help."
"Wait, Harry," Bruce stopped him with a hesitant hand on his shoulder, removing it quickly as if still not used to any sort of human touch. "What do you mean 'we'?"
Harry paused long enough to arch an eyebrow at the scientist. "You haven't forgotten, have you? Stark Tower? Moving in? Big lab for you to play with? Ring any bells?"
Smothering a grin at the stunned look Bruce had taken on, Harry moved away again, heading towards Tony's temporary room.
"Wait!" Bruce's footsteps picked up speed behind the mechanic. "I don't think-"
"Harry, Doc!" Tony exclaimed as he appeared in the hallway, stepping out of his room with a suitcase in hand. "Ready to go?"
"Yup," Harry said cheerfully as they both turned and ushered Bruce back down the way they had come. He and Tony had come to a silent agreement a while ago that the only way they could... convince Bruce to come with them was to not allow the man an opportunity to protest. "Bruce is all packed. We can stop by his room, pick up his things, and head out."
"Wait!" Bruce finally dug in his heels, and while Harry and Tony were both powerful in their own right, neither of them had the extra physical strength Bruce did. All three finally came to a mostly reluctant stop outside the scientist's room.
Bruce turned and crossed his arms. "I never agreed to this."
Harry and Tony exchanged a glance before Tony shrugged. "Well, technically, you never said no. You said it wasn't a good idea and that we wouldn't want you there and some other stuff I stopped listening to ages ago, but you never said no."
Bruce pinned him with a mildly ticked off look. "I seem to recall you answering me whenever I gave my reasons."
"Excuses, not reasons," Tony corrected. "And haven't you ever picked up the art of nodding and yes-ing in all the right places? I've had to do that all the time when people come and tell me how great their companies are. No?" Tony thought about this for a moment and then shrugged. "Well that's just adorable, big guy, now let's go."
"Mr. Stark," Bruce began objecting again as Tony attempted to push him into his room. Harry solved the problem by entering for him and coming back out with his luggage a few seconds later. "I think this is supposed to be my choice-"
"How about this then?" Harry finally cut in, leaning against the doorframe. "You can move in to Stark Tower or you can move in with me. I have enough space for even the Hulk to move around and Tony's place isn't that far away. You can go use the lab any time you want but you won't smack in the middle of the city either."
"Harry, your place isn't that big," Tony reminded. "And no offense, Doc, but I earned that guest bedroom at Harry's house. I'm not giving it up."
Harry shot him an amused look, wiggling the fingers of one hand. "Magic, Tony."
Tony blinked, wide-eyed, and then the usual excitement lit up his eyes. "So you can expand the place? Just like that?"
Harry actually laughed at that. "I don't need to expand it. I've got six floors above the ground floor hidden with magic. No Muggles can see them. I haven't used them since I built them; they were more a safety measure than anything else, equipped with the latest defenses to serve as a safe house, but I can open them again any time."
"And you never showed me!" Tony looked highly offended. "Nine months! What does a guy have to do around here to earn a little trust?"
"I showed you the basement," Harry reminded him. "And that I've never shown anyone before."
Tony sniffed dramatically. "You're apparently going to show Doc here and you've only known him for a few days."
Harry rolled his eyes at the outrageous pout on the billionaire's face. "Oh get over it. I'll show you both as soon as we get there."
Tony still looked disgruntled but he brightened at the prospect of seeing more magic and turned back to Bruce. "Well how 'bout it, Banner? You're a lot calmer with Harry around so there won't even be any of those accidents you're so afraid of."
Bruce stared from one hopeful face to the other, Tony's expression was more impatient than Harry's and he wondered absently how the mechanic managed to put up with Tony's antics on a day-to-day basis.
"Fine," He finally capitulated, feeling a glow of pleasure when both Tony and Harry immediately grinned. "But how are we going to get there? We're still in the air and none of us can pilot a jet."
Tony frowned, obviously not having thought of that particular aspect as he glanced down at his Iron Man suit-turned suitcase.
"We'll go by side-along Apparition," Harry announced, pushing off the doorframe.
"Side-along what?" They both turned to look at Harry.
"Apparition," Harry clarified. "It's basically jumping from one place to another. Instant transportation. Might be a bit uncomfortable but perfectly safe," Harry paused, and then amended, "Mostly. But I'm pretty good at it."
"Wait, if you can do that, why didn't you just jump directly to Germany?" Tony asked.
Harry shook his head. "One, I didn't know where you were going, and two, I have to know what the place looks like before I can Apparate there."
"So now that you've been to Stuttgart, you'll be able to jump back there any time?" Bruce asked this time.
Harry tilted his head. "Depends on the distance. I probably can, but I've never tried Apparating so far before. I'd rather not do it unless it was an emergency."
"Understandable," Tony nodded, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder as all three of them started down the corridor again. "Wouldn't wanna jump halfway there and end up in the Atlantic. Puts a bit of a damper on things."
Harry snorted at the bad pun but he had to hide an affectionate smile. He had missed the easy camaraderie he had had with Tony before this entire fiasco happened, and even though he knew this wouldn't last, because both Tony and Bruce would never let the Earth fall at Loki's feet no matter how much they were currently thinking of quitting the Avengers, not to mention his own eventual departure, he was glad that they would have a little down time right now.
"They've left? All three of them?" Steve felt a little bewildered when he realized how empty the base suddenly seemed, never mind that the majority of the place's personnel were still around.
Fury nodded, expression unreadable. "Left a few minutes ago. I think Potter transported them away."
"Oh," Steve looked around the room. "What about Thor?"
"Still here," Fury waved a hand in the general direction of the guest bedrooms. "In his room."
"Oh," Steve said again, his shoulders slumping. He had been thinking about Harry's words, coming to the conclusion that perhaps he had been too hasty, too close-minded. He had automatically tried to take up the position of leader, having done it during the Second World War, but he hadn't taken the time to get to know the people he was working with. And that was the biggest difference.
In the war, he had been leading soldiers, people who had enlisted and were expected to follow their commanding officer's orders. But here, he was working with other people, each with their own strengths to bring to the team and each with the habit of working alone. How could he expect them to follow him if he didn't even make the effort to listen to them when they spoke?
Especially Stark. The billionaire had rubbed him the wrong way from the minute he had first met him because Steve had immediately thought Stark had been trying to insult him. But didn't the man joke around with everyone? If Steve had been Bruce, he would've gotten angry the moment Stark cracked the first Hulk joke, but the doctor had simply let it roll off him and, thinking back, he had to admit that Bruce had seemed a little more relaxed around Stark than he did around him or the others.
And Harry was right. Stark didn't need to be here. None of them did, and yet they had all come, perhaps hoping for a way to stop Loki for good. But they had all royally screwed that up and now the Avengers had scattered.
Steve had thought hard about Harry's parting question, and thought he might have the answer. Or answers; each person on the team would have a different one.
Bruce was perhaps the easiest to figure out. The scientist, being so afraid to hurt other people, wouldn't want to be stuck in such a closed environment surrounded by agents ready to shoot him at a moment's notice. He wasn't used to being accepted in any group, which would probably explain why Bruce was so much more at ease around Harry and Tony; neither seemed at all concerned about Bruce's temperamental state. Steve was wary as well, but he wasn't anywhere near as bad as Natasha or Fury, who seemed to go for their guns every time the scientist so much as twitched.
For Thor, well, Steve supposed anyone would be tense if they had to fight their own brother, blood-related or not. Being part of a team that didn't seem to be getting anywhere what with all the arguments would be frustrating for him at best. Steve remembered that one of Thor's friends, Selvig, was still under Loki's control, and that couldn't be doing anything to improve Thor's temper. With the Avengers looking to be somewhat useless against Loki, the demigod wouldn't want to stick around either.
He hadn't met Hawkeye yet but he did know of the Black Widow's reputation as a spy. Being a lone wolf or part of a tag team with Clint at most, it wouldn't be easy for Natasha to simply fall in with a much larger group of individuals, all with quirks of their own. And without the familiarity of her long-time partner who would probably act as a foil for the female agent's cold demeanour, she wouldn't have much to stay for either.
And Stark. Steve was starting to realize that the billionaire was more of a package deal than anything else. No Harry, no Stark. So used to the man's Devil-may-care attitude, he had been more than a little shocked at the sheer amount of protectiveness whenever Harry was brought up. And it wasn't just Stark either. It seemed Harry was just as adamant about defending Stark as the billionaire was about defending Harry. Neither gave an inch when it came to shielding the other from any type of harm, and it looked like neither would return to the Avengers without the other's approval.
Steve glanced up. Fury was still staring at him.
"What will you do?" The Director asked.
Steve stared at him before straightening. He had made up his mind already.
"I'm going after Harry," He announced. "He seems close to Thor and Banner and Stark won't come within a mile of the Avengers without him. Maybe he'll be able to convince Romanov and Barton as well. I think what this team needs most of all is someone to hold it together and that's not me. I can lead them into battle if they trust me enough and coordinate them, but I can't keep us together. I need Harry."
Fury didn't seem surprised, but then again, Steve had never seen the Director surprised before. Either way, Fury only nodded once. "Do what you think is best. At this point, any plan is a good plan."
Steve nodded sharply but before he could take even a step towards the door, Hill burst into the room, looking almost frantic.
"Sir, we just picked up a burst of energy coming from Manhattan!" She reported urgently. "The coordinates pinpoint Stark Tower as Loki's new base of operations. He's done it, sir. He's opened a portal directly above it. The Chitauri are pouring through now!"
Fury swore, already heading for the bridge. "Rogers, you need to get out there now! Hill, head down to sickbay and get Romanov and Barton. Tell Coulson to get Thor. I don't care what you have to do; if Hawkeye's not awake yet, dump a bucket of water on him if you have to. Just get all of them moving!"
Steve had already sprinted out of the room, heading for the nearest jet and yelling for Hill to tell the other three to meet him on the deck. As he ran to the hanger, he prayed that their other teammates hadn't jumped directly to Stark Tower. They needed to regroup before they could push the invading forces back.
Finished! Think I'll end it there. I think I mentioned some Natasha and Clint but I couldn't manage to fit them in. They'll definitely be in the next chapter though, so hope you enjoyed this instead.
Chapter Text
Query Post:
-Not much here this time...
A little action in this one and lots of interactions between different members of the team. Enjoy!
Chapter 11 – To Form an Alliance
They landed on the porch of the penthouse of Stark Tower, staggering as they tried to stay on their feet.
"Well," Tony said as he just managed to stop himself from face-planting on his floor. "That was-"
"Disconcerting," Bruce finished, shaking his head.
"I was gonna say different," Tony corrected. "But that works too."
"Told you it would be uncomfortable," Harry told them both cheerfully. "It's not my favourite way of traveling eith-"
He stopped abruptly, the colour draining from his face as he stared at something over Tony's shoulder. Both Tony and Bruce wheeled around, eyes widening when they caught sight of a familiar figure dressed in black and green, approaching with a confident smirk on his face and the staff in one hand.
"Only three of you?" Loki asked mockingly as Bruce and Tony simultaneously tensed and took a step forward. "Well, that's not much fun, is it? Then again, I have yet to repay you for your rude introduction. I'm not talking to you," He added sharply to the two closest to him before his gaze cut behind them to meet Harry's.
"Now who are you?" Loki circled them, eyes never leaving the mechanic in their midst. "Your Agent Barton very kindly told me all about your little team of heroes. The Avengers, wasn't it? But your team is scattered and your floating fortress is but a rock in the sky. I made certain of that. Yet he made no mention of you." His gaze seemed to sharpen and, unlike Thor, who had either not looked too closely or simply been polite enough to refrain from asking, observed curiously, "That scar you have; do you know of its meaning?"
Harry frowned, automatically flattening his hair over it. He hadn't heard mention of his scar for about a decade now. Even Tony hadn't asked about it, especially since one could barely see it now that his hair was slightly longer than it had been during his teens.
"To me? Death and destruction," He replied flatly, ignoring the puzzled looks from both Tony and Bruce.
Loki chuckled. "Does it? But in Asgard, the lightning bolt symbolizes power. It is the mark of our king. As I understand it, you humans do not gain such specific scars, nor do you have the power of teleportation, so who are you to bear this sign?"
"I'm nobody," Harry retorted, shifting to keep Loki in his sights. "And you're getting creepy. What kind of person waltzes into other people's homes and starts preaching about power?"
A flash of annoyance flickered across Loki's face as Tony snorted.
"Laugh now, human," Loki snapped, sweeping a hand upwards. They all followed the gesture. "But you shall watch as your world falls at my feet, your attempts to stop me futile!"
And to their horror, they caught sight of the Tesseract placed in a device, already glowing blue with the cube's energy.
"Sonofabitch," Tony cursed quietly. "He's using my tower."
And before Harry or Bruce could stop him, the billionaire had cracked open his suitcase, stepping into his suit within seconds as Loki shot a blast of energy at them. All three dove out of the way, Harry and Bruce scrambling inside behind the bar table while Stark all but threw himself over the edge of the building.
"Tony!" Harry shouted as Iron Man took to the skies and headed straight for the Tesseract. "It's not gonna work-!"
He ducked as Loki lashed out again, almost yanked off his feet as Bruce grabbed him and hauled him behind the counter again. The scientist's luggage on the other hand wasn't so lucky as the blast caught it head-on and burned right through the suitcase.
"It is too late!" Loki called out, a triumphant smirk on his face. "My army comes and a new era begins!"
They watched as a blue bolt shot into the air, narrowly missing Tony as the shot he fired off was blocked by the barrier around the Tesseract. A rumble shook the very foundations of New York and suddenly, the sky itself broke open, dark and ugly against the blue.
And from within that darkness poured hundreds of creatures, vaguely reptilian and wearing grey armour as they flew out over the city in what looked like hovercrafts. Behind them, they could just glimpse something much larger following the first wave through. Within seconds, the Chitauri had started their destruction, and even from high up in the Stark Tower, the screams and explosions were clear.
"This is so not good," Bruce muttered. "I can change-"
"And do what?" Harry asked tersely, eyeing Loki as the demigod turned his staff on Tony. "Right now, Loki's got the upper hand. Half your team is still back at the Helicarrier and Tony's suit isn't even working at maximum. The Tesseract is blocked off and we can't do anything to stop those Chitauri from up here. Best option right now is-"
Harry vaulted over the counter, ducking as Loki spun and hurled a blast of energy at him before throwing out a hand and sending the demigod flying, dumping him out one of the glass windows of the penthouse.
"Now's our chance!" Harry barked. "Tony, grab what you need! Bruce, help him! I'll buy us some time!"
Without waiting for an affirmative, Harry sprinted after Loki, throwing out a shield when the Asgardian appeared at the broken window again, balanced on one of the hovercrafts as he shot another blast at Harry. With a grimace, he rolled to the side as a second blast scorched the air above him.
"Reducto!" He barked, and the power of the spell doubled with the word, shattering all the nearby windows as his magic surged forward with a vengeance. It slammed into the hovercraft, shattering the front and sent Loki down in a nosedive, taking him out of Harry's line of sight once more.
"He really can fight," Tony remarked, pausing at the sound of shattering glass.
"Would you hurry up please," Bruce said through gritted teeth. The other guy was stirring and watching the narrow misses directed at Harry, he was hard-pressed to stay human.
"I'm done," Tony assured him, tapping a sequence of numbers into a number panel. "Just shutting down the building. Alright; Harry!"
The mechanic sent a jet of red light out one of the windows before spinning around and heading for them. "Tony, are you materialistic?"
Tony blinked. "What?"
"No? That's good," Harry grabbed both of them by the arm just as a dozen Chitauri zoomed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, staves pointed at them with obvious threat.
"Hang on!" Harry shouted. "Bombarda Maxima!"
And the last thing Tony and Bruce saw before they disappeared was the world around them exploding in a cloud of metal and debris.
"They just disappeared," Barton announced as he steered the jet into Manhattan.
"What?" Steve peered at the tracking device Fury had apparently tagged Banner's suitcase with. The signal had completely vanished and he doubted any of the invading forces would know to look for it. "They must have destroyed it or something. And Harry would've teleported them away once they found out Stark Tower's been taken right?"
"Looks like it," Barton agreed cautiously. He hadn't actually met this Harry Potter yet and being woken up to chaos and a tale about magic and wizards would overwhelm anyone. All in all, after only asking Natasha if she had hit her head and having Fury tell him to get his ass moving instead of wasting time asking pointless questions, he figured he had taken everything in rather well.
"But where do we go now?" Natasha cut in, scanning the skies ahead as the Chitauri came into view. "We can't stay up here. They'll shoot us out of the air."
"The Avenue of Lexington," Thor suddenly spoke up from the back. They all turned to look at him. "Harry said his residence is at the Avenue of Lexington."
Natasha caught on first, understanding dawning on her face. "You mean Lexington Avenue? Did he say anything about a street?"
Thor frowned. "Yes, he said the 86th East. I was not aware that the East had to be numbered."
"It's complicated," Natasha said briskly. "Streets are like that. Clint, East 86th on Lexington Avenue. Thor, did Harry mention a number?"
Thor shook his head. "No, but he calls his residence the Marauders' Den."
"Found it," Barton called back, eyes on the GPS. "415 Marauders' Den; we're close."
"Everyone okay?" Harry asked as soon as they landed on his front lawn.
"Fine," Bruce grunted, from his sprawled position on the grass. "But I've decided I hate traveling this way."
Harry offered a faint smile. "Like I said, I don't particularly like it either, but it's fast and efficient." He turned to Tony who was still in his suit and was sitting on Harry's doorstep, having removed his helmet. "Tony, you alright?"
Harry blinked when Tony turned an accusing expression on him. "You blew up my tower!" He exclaimed with an edge of disbelief.
Harry sighed while Bruce snorted beside him. "Technically, I blew up your penthouse," Harry corrected. "The rest of your tower's fine, err... besides the fact that it's been taken over by an invading alien force."
Tony groaned and dropped his head forward.
"Cheer up, Mr. Stark," Bruce said as he rose to his feet, dusting off his pants in the process. "At least you're alive."
"Big whoop," Tony muttered, but he got up as well, producing a key and pushing his way into Harry's house. "And by the way, what's with all the 'Mr. Stark' business? Even Harry dropped the Mr. on the first day."
Bruce shrugged, looking around as he stepped into the house. "You do the same."
"I call you Doc," Tony pointed out. "I don't go around saying 'Dr. Banner' all the time. What a mouthful."
Bruce peered at him, deadpanning, "Then would you like me to call you Miss?"
This startled a muffled snicker from even Harry as Tony took on a mock-affronted look. "Just call me Tony," Tony grumbled, shooting a scowl at Harry's back. "My handsome looks aren't portrayed as well in skirts."
"Just close the door," Harry said as he shook his head. "I'm activating the wards. They're powerful enough that you might feel a bit of a shock."
It wasn't exactly a shock, as Bruce found out a moment later. More like a warm tingling feeling that swept over him like a breeze before fading again. Judging by Tony's intrigued expression, he had felt the same thing.
"Alright, come on," Harry motioned them through the house. "SHIELD's probably sent someone out by now so the others are either on their way or already here. If we want to get out of this alive, we need a plan."
A minute later, Harry had led them through to his bedroom and to his walk-in closet. A wave of his hand and a whispered word later and the entire closet shifted, detaching itself from the rest of the room as it rose upwards. The clothes that had previously been on either side of them simply faded from existence as if they had never been there in the first place.
"This is an elevator!" Tony almost cracked his head on the wall as he tried to peer downwards.
"Yup," Harry nodded as the elevator came to a silent stop and let them out on the second floor. "Okay, listen up. There are six floors, seven if you count the one we just left. There's a kitchen and sitting room on every floor except the very top one. I built a hangar just in case I ever needed it and the ceiling opens to the outside. Bedrooms are a floor below that while this floor has the labs. The floor above us is where the training rooms are, as well as the... more questionable weapons. Guns and the like. I don't like using them but it's better to be safe. And the floor above that is for surveillance."
"And the last one?" Bruce asked as he peered into a room furnished as a lab.
"It's empty," Harry said. "I didn't know what to put in it so I left it as extra. I can just transfigure it into whatever I want later on."
"That's amazing," Tony said. "And you can fit everything on one plot of land?"
"Invisible Extension Charm, grandé-sized," Harry explained, and then stopped abruptly and tilted his head. "...Someone's above the house."
Both his houseguests tensed. "Chitauri?" Tony asked, already putting his helmet back on.
"I don't know; let's go check," Harry grabbed them both again and Apparated them to the surveillance floor, ignoring Tony's loud curses as he crashed to the ground again.
"It's S.H.I.E.L.D.," Harry announced as they gathered around a computer screen. The black jet hovering in the air filled the entire screen and they could make out the other Avengers' faces inside.
"Why do they look so confused?" Bruce asked, squinting at the screen.
Harry chuckled, reaching to his right. "My wards are up, remember? They can't see my house at all. All they're looking at is a plot of land overgrown with weeds."
He flicked a switch and tapped in a code sequence. "Well, let's let them in."
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Steve asked for the third time.
Natasha shot him an annoyed look. "For the last time, yes. The GPS pinpoints this place."
"There's nothing there," Steve argued back.
Clint simply stared at the plot of land as if looking at it long enough would suddenly make it appear. On the other hand, Thor didn't seem too concerned.
"Perhaps it is simply invisible," He suggested.
"That's im-" Natasha paused. "Actually, that might be possible. Does anyone here know exactly what a wizard can do?"
Shrugs were traded all around before they went back to staring at the GPS.
"Maybe there's a mistake?" Natasha finally suggested doubtfully. "And how do we even know they're here? The top of Stark Tower is practically gone. They could be buried in there for all we know."
"And we are wasting time here," Thor voiced, expression fierce. "If they are trapped, we must save them."
"Well we can't go check," Steve objected. "That place has turned into a nest. Even if we manage to evade all the sentries, they'll shoot us down before we get within a block of the place. It's a miracle they haven't moved this far yet."
"Well we can't just stay up here," Natasha tapped at the GPS. "We could-"
"Bingo," Clint interrupted, straightening in his seat and reaching for the controls. "He's letting us in."
The other three Avengers all turned, doing a double-take when they saw a plain-looking house where once there was nothing.
"What the-" Steve leaned forward as the air above the house seemed to shiver and then a landing pad appeared, melting into existence with liquid grace.
Quickly, Clint steered the jet forward, setting it down gently on the landing pad with experienced ease.
"How did you know?" Natasha asked curiously. "You were waiting for that, weren't you?"
Clint shrugged, unbuckling himself as he got up. "Not exactly that, per say, but you're the one who told me about magic and wizards, Nat. I just kept an open mind."
"Whoa, you have to come see this!" Steve's voice reached their ears from outside the jet. Exchanging a glance, the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents vacated the aircraft as well, stopping in the doorway when an entire hangar, spacious and expertly-made, greeted them.
Natasha couldn't help the gasp that escaped her. "This is-"
"Amazing? Astounding? Remarkable? Unbelievable?" Tony Stark came striding in, arms spread and a grin on his face as if he was showing them his personal hangar. "You can stop me anytime."
His grin faded just shade when his eyes landed on Steve but there was nothing unfriendly when he clapped the Captain on the shoulder and gestured at the elevator. "C'mon; the others are waiting downstairs."
"Wait, Stark," Steve hung back as the other three went on ahead, still looking around. Tony glanced at him, expression unreadable even as he continued to smile, features light.
"Look, I'm sorry," Steve started a little awkwardly. "Some of the things I said; I was out of line."
Tony studied him for a long moment and Steve forced himself not to shift under the surprisingly penetrating gaze.
"Only some?" The billionaire finally asked, and Steve automatically scoffed.
"Definitely not all," He retorted, and relaxed when Tony grinned again, more genuine this time.
"Fair enough," Tony agreed as they started moving again. "Don't sweat it, Cap. And as a sign of goodwill, I'll even stop calling you the American Capsicle."
Steve sighed. "I'm touched."
"You're Harry Potter? Good to finally meet you. Heard you saved my life; thanks for that."
Harry nodded, shaking the hand Clint offered him. "Nice to meet you too, and it was no problem." He widened his attention to the other newcomers. "Welcome to my humble abode."
He quickly brought them up to the weapons room and Natasha headed for the nearest rack of hand guns, hefting a few with a pleased expression.
"Isn't this illegal?" Steve wondered absently as he studied a laser.
Tony rolled his eyes but refrained from saying anything as Harry shrugged. "Probably, but I don't use them unless it's an emergency and the police can't actually find anything anyway."
"Well, we have weapons," Thor said impatiently by the door, hammer in hand. "Now we must fight."
"How?" Bruce leaned against the opposite wall. "There are hundreds of those things out there right now and no way of getting to the Tesseract. I say we stop the ones branching out from Stark Tower as best we can and get the civilians underground."
"We can't possibly clear everyone," Steve pointed out. "Our main focus should be the Tesseract. We should set up a perimeter around Stark Tower; contain them-"
"There isn't time!" Thor cut him off. "My brother is already releasing the Chitauri on your city. And if the Tesseract keeps the portal open for much longer, it will stay open forever."
"Which is why we're trying to make a plan-" Steve tried again.
"All you do is talk!" Thor snapped. "If you recall, all that achieved last time was the fall of your fortress. It is time to act, before this world and my brother fall succumb to the Chitauri's onslaught!"
"You know, you've mentioned your brother quite a few times," Tony butted in, looking up from where he had been fiddling with the suit he had grabbed from Stark Tower. "I'm starting to wonder if you just wanna get him back to Asgard and leave us to deal with this."
Thor's eyes narrowed. "How dare you? I wish to protect this planet just as much as any person here! Perhaps more so then some."
Tony brushed this off easily. "Yeah? Have you forgotten about our almost-fight then, Point Break? If I remember correctly, you just wanted to take Loki and leave."
"I told him to give up the Tesseract!" Thor growled. "To give up that poisonous dream of his-"
"Yeah, how did that work out for you?" Tony challenged.
"You interrupted us!" Thor snarled, hand tightening around his hammer. "Had you not, perhaps he would've agreed to come home!"
"He's a psychopath bent on world domination, and frankly, after everything he's done and is doing right now, I'm not exactly in a forgiving mood. Chucking him back through the portal along with the Chitauri seems the best option at the mo-"
Several things happened at once.
With an enraged shout, Thor made to hurl Mjolnir at Tony, his intention clear in every line of his body. At the same time, Harry, Bruce, and even Steve shot forward, all three moving to block said hammer even as Tony started to duck and Clint and Natasha cried out in alarm.
None of them needed to bother. A loud crash of metal against metal rang out in around them and all eyes zeroed in on the demigod's weapon now embedded in the floor of Harry's weapons room.
A long astonished silence followed and even Tony looked surprised. Glancing up at Thor's face, Harry very nearly winced at the stunned shame surfacing on the demigod's features, but before anyone could think of anything to say, Thor had turned on his heel and disappeared from the room, red cape flapping behind him as he made a hasty retreat.
"Well that went well," Tony remarked but even Harry shot him an irritated look and he fell silent with a shrug bordering on contrite.
Steve heaved a sigh before glancing hopefully at Harry. "Mind talking to him?"
Harry blinked back. "Me?"
"You probably know him best at this point," Bruce pointed out.
Harry looked around the room but found no objections from anyone so he sighed and headed for the door. Tony would probably have to talk to the demigod as well; at least offer an apology, but Thor would more likely kick Tony's ass than listen to anything else the billionaire had to say right now.
Harry found the demigod on the empty floor, having already destroyed a chunk of wall. Well, he mused wryly, at least he had a use for this floor now. Emotional relief.
"I will fix that," Thor said as soon as he caught sight of Harry.
Harry shrugged, taking a seat on the steps leading up to a loft he had put in for no real reason. "Don't worry about it," He waved a hand at the wall and it instantly repaired itself. "There; good as new."
Thor stared. "That is… fairly irritating."
Harry quirked a brief smile before turning more somber again. "Want to talk about it?"
The demigod rounded on him. "Why would I wish to talk about this?" He demanded, an edge of hostility in his words.
"Apparently, it's supposed to help," Harry said dryly. "Honestly, it's never worked for me, but maybe I just tried talking to the wrong people."
Thor was silent for a long moment, gaze focused on the ground as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
"I told you about Loki," He said abruptly. Harry nodded but remained silent.
"I care for this world," Thor continued. "But Loki is my brother. Not by blood, but we were raised together. We played together, we fought together. I cannot just abandon him."
"...I can't say I understand a bond like that," Harry admitted after a few seconds. "Not completely anyway. I grew up alone and all the friends I ever had during my teens have moved on without me. It's not all their fault either; I take at least half the blame. Never bothered to stay in touch. But simply wanting to protect someone," Harry leaned forward. "That I can understand."
He studied the demigod for a while, searching for the shame that had been so clear back in the weapons room. It was still there, but the conversation with Harry seemed to have at least moved his mind away from it momentarily.
"We could... save them both," Harry suggested, and watched as Thor grabbed hold of this like a lifeline.
"You would be willing?" The demigod took a few steps towards Harry. "Even after Loki has wreaked so much havoc?"
"You told me about Loki," Harry reminded him. "I don't think he's a lost cause. And besides, I'm used to fighting impossible odds and coming out on top. It's sort of my thing." He rose to his feet, adding, "If the Earth and Loki are both important to you, then just save them both. Simple."
Thor blinked and then released a hoarse laugh. "'Simple'." He shook his head, a wry smile curling at the corners of his lips. "You humans."
Harry grinned, though he had to hide a trace of wistfulness as he led the way back to the elevator. "Not all humans. I'm just one of the ones who try not to complicate things when I don't have to. Life is hard enough as it is."
Everyone brightened when Harry came back with Thor, and breathed a collective sigh of relief when Mjolnir settled into the demigod's hand as if it had never left. Tony even managed a roundabout apology that had Thor's eyebrows rising almost to his hairline, but the demigod accepted it with a nod and offered one of his own, which was acknowledged in return and the entire thing was dropped without further incident.
"Okay, Cap, how are we gonna do this?" Tony prompted much to Steve's surprise.
Shaking out of his momentary astonishment, the Captain glanced around the room before nodding decisively. "Right then, until we can close that portal up there, we're gonna use containment. Barton, once we get out there, move up to the roofs, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays."
Clint nodded once, checking his arrows before glancing sidelong at Harry. Wordlessly, Harry held out a hand and Hawkeye passed them over, watching with undisguised interest as the wizard waved a hand over them and an orange glow settled over about half the arrows, fading again after a few seconds.
"Produces fire," Harry explained as Clint experimented with them, shooting one across the room and smirking gleefully when flames erupted from the tip. "And," Harry reached over to tap his quiver. "An endless supply of arrows."
"Thanks Potter," The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent strapped the quiver onto his back and picked up his bow.
"Stark, you got the perimeter," Steve continued when they all managed to drag their attention away from the spectacle. "Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or your turn it to ash."
Tony nodded briskly. "Got it, Cap." He turned to Harry. "Anything for me?"
Harry arched an eyebrow but moved over to Tony's side and placed a hand on the armour he was wearing. A flash of blue light glowed briefly under the mechanic's hand. "Reinforced with magic," Harry said. "Nothing short of multiple consecutive direct hits from those staves will dent this."
Tony grinned his appreciation and flipped his visor down. "Thanks Harry."
"Thor," Steve turned to the demigod. "You've gotta try and bottleneck that portal, slow them down. You've got the lightning; get somewhere high and light the bastards up. Then head for Loki. Get that staff away from him if you can."
Thor looked surprised but nodded without hesitation, offering a grateful smile when Harry muttered a few protective charms for him as well.
"You and me," Steve turned to Natasha. "We stay on the ground, keep the fighting there and clear as many people as possible."
Both were treated to the same protective charms as Thor, Harry charming an endless supply of bullets for Natasha's guns for good measure.
"And Banner," Steve said, turning to the scientist.
Bruce inclined his head, an ironic smile on his lips. "Just drop me off anywhere, Captain. I'll do what I do best. And it's alright; I don't need it," He added when Harry set about giving him protective charms as well. He was promptly glared down and then ignored.
"And Harry," Steve looked slightly uncertain.
Harry nodded in grim understanding. "I'm heading for the Tesseract. I know where it is. I can teleport straight there. I'll see if I can do anything to deactivate it."
"Good," Steve nodded, scanning the assembled team. "Then let's move out."
Finished! Bit longer this time. Lots of action next time. Hope everyone was in character.
Chapter Text
Query Post:
-I've decided that there will be NO PAIRING for this particular fic. I might fit it in some drabbles/oneshots but there's too many things going on in this story to fit romance in as well.
-My update speed is crazy, I know, but when the plotline is still fresh in my mind and I have new ideas for it, I just have to write it down. (I'm going to take a wild shot in the dark and say you people don't mind.:P)
-I hope nobody thinks this is too Mary Sue. I know I have a tendency to do that to characters so I've been trying to tone it down a bit, but Harry is Master of Death, and after the war, he's got to be a little paranoid, thus, the safe house. He's also gone through a lot of training for the war, but I don't think he's too invincible (ie. He can't just overpower Bruce; Loki gets in a few near-hits on him; etc). And the weapons already at his house would be because he's researched some of the superheroes in New York and he know Tony who would have told Harry some things about the Avengers so Harry would know Tony might be called in and he'd want to be prepared just in case something (like this) happens.
-I am planning for the Hulk to lose control (not in this chapter; probably next) but I won't tell you the trigger:P
-No nuclear missile in my fic, people. World Security Council's going to stay out of this one. For now.
-And lastly, magic and electronics would mix without damage when Harry applies it; he's been doing it for years with his cars.
That should be it so...
Lots of Harry-Loki interactions in this one and a cliffie at the end! *Grins evilly*
Chapter 12 – To Stand Together
Apparating to the top of Stark Tower turned out to be harder than Harry had expected. Nothing but a pile of rubble, he almost twisted his ankle as he landed by what was once the bar table of the penthouse.
Staggering to remain upright, Harry quickly looked around, taking in the lack of live Chitauri in the penthouse – there were plenty of dead ones hidden under the wreckage – and noting that Loki was nowhere to be found. The Tesseract device was in plain sight though and he hurried upwards to where it had been stationed. Almost immediately, he caught sight of an old man standing by the device and guessed this to be Erik Selvig.
"Shut it down, Dr. Selvig," Harry called out cautiously, not getting too close.
Selvig turned and Harry grimaced when he saw the eerie blue in the man's eyes. Natasha had told him that a hit over Clint's head had released the mind control but he couldn't help feeling plain rotten for even thinking about hitting a defenceless old man.
"It's too late!" Selvig shouted back. "It can't stop now. He wants to show us something! A new universe."
"Yeah, a new universe filled with blood and death," Harry shot back. "Great world."
Without waiting for a reply, he quickly Apparated behind Selvig and muttered an apology under his breath before stunning him and then cuffing the man over the head with a sharp blow. Needless to say, Selvig dropped like a rock and Harry gently eased him to the ground.
"Harry? How are things on your end?"
"I just hit an old man over the head, Tony," Harry said somewhat crossly over the comm link Clint had passed to him before they had launched into the battle. "So in terms of morality, things are pretty low for me right now."
"You got Erik?" Thor cut in as Harry bent over the astrophysicist, keeping half an eye out for Death. It was nowhere to be found and Harry assumed it had learned its lesson the first time around, not to mention it would be pretty busy with the rest of the city at the moment.
"Yeah," Harry examined the soft yellow colour of Selvig's soul still floating near the surface. Placing a hand over it, he felt it thrum against him before slowly settling back inside the man's body. "He'll be fine, don't worry. I-"
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye caught Harry's attention and the mechanic moved on instinct, shoving Selvig to the side while throwing up a shield around them for good measure.
Just in time too as blue energy curled around them, struggling to get through the barrier Harry had erected before fading away once more.
"I have been waiting for you, nameless warrior," Loki's voice sounded somewhere to Harry's right and, after placing a few protection charms and wards around the unconscious Selvig, he quickly rose to his feet, wheeling around sharply to face the demigod.
"Harry? Are you alright?"
"Fine," Harry said curtly. "I'm about to enter a meeting with our esteemed host. Talk to you later." And without waiting to hear another word, he promptly switched the ear piece off. He didn't need voices yelling in his ear while confronting someone like Loki.
"That sounded vaguely stalker-like," Harry informed the Asgardian, wondering how far he could push him until he would let his temper get the better of him. This man was not Thor, after all; Loki seemed to have a cooler head than his brother did.
Loki only tilted his head as he stepped off the skimmer hovering next to the building and approached Harry, stopping only a few feet away.
"Teleportation, destructive power, shields," Loki studied him with an almost curious air. "You have immense power at your fingertips, yet you stand alongside those humans, protecting a planet filled with people who slaughter each other in droves. What do you see in them that you find worth protecting?"
Harry stared back. "...Potential," He said after a long moment. "There's potential in all of us. To be better people, to live better lives. You're destroying that. You say that we slaughter each other, but you can't possibly tell me that there weren't conflicts like that on Asgard? What, were your people completely at peace with everyone on the planet? And what you're doing now; you don't count that as slaughter?"
"I am creating a better world!" Loki snapped, frowning now. "I mean to rule them, and with me as their king, they will become a superior race in the eyes of the universe! I have no intention of returning to Asgard. It is no longer my home; it never was. Of course there was conflict, but what I am doing here will make them great!"
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You really believe that? You're killing innocent people, and that's not right no matter how you try to justify it. This isn't about making Earth great; this is about you and your personal grudge against the universe, against your brother!"
"You will be silent!" Loki lashed out again and Harry quickly deflected the blast with a flick of his hand, ignoring the slight burn when it grazed his hand. "I am above this primitive race! They should be grateful that I wish to rule them!"
"And that's why you'd never make a good king anywhere!" Harry barked back, ducking out of the way as another blast was sent at him before throwing back a Reducto at Loki. "'Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power'. A human said that once and from what I've seen, you're character's not turning out to be all that great. When you have power, you should use it to protect, not destroy. This?" He swept a hand around him at the devastation. "This will be nothing but a broken world if you succeed. The ruler of a dead planet. Is that really what you want?"
And Harry saw it. A flicker of doubt in Loki's dark eyes, brief and gone in an instant, but Harry had seen it and knew it to be there, even if it was pushed to the back of the demigod's mind.
"What are you?" Loki asked instead, voice barely above a whisper as he stared at Harry warily. "You are not like the others. You- How do you know-"
Harry waited with bated breath as Loki seemed to struggle with his words. He didn't dare look away, just in case whatever part of Loki he had managed to reach would disappear.
"You know war," Loki finally said, taking another step forward.
Harry inclined his head. "One of the things I know best."
"Yet you are still very young," Loki eyed him carefully. "In Asgardian years, you would be no more than a newborn. Even in human years, you must still be considered a child."
Harry tried not to grimace. "I haven't been considered a child in a very long time. And somehow, judging by how you've been saying 'they' and 'their' and 'them', you don't really consider me a human anyway."
Loki's frown deepened. "Then you are not human?"
"Not... exactly," Harry said carefully, gambling with the honesty card. He doubted Loki would want to be lied to his face right now and he didn't want to break the tentative connection he seemed to have made somehow.
"Then you are like my brother," Loki said flatly. "Protecting a planet not your own, for beings far beneath our notice."
"You sound like Death," Harry said without thinking. Fortunately, he had said it quietly enough that Loki hadn't caught it. Louder, he asked, "And how would you know that they're so worthless? I can tell you now: Earth is my planet through and through. I was born here, I was raised here, I fought here, and it seems I'm still fighting here. And through all that time, yeah, there've been people I didn't like, some I even hated, but that doesn't mean all of them are like that. I've met people who I liked very much, who became my friends. If you give this place a chance, if you give your brother and yourself a chance to fix whatever's broken between you, if you give lifea chance, instead of just bringing death and destruction down on everything in sight, maybe you'll see that too."
For a second, Harry thought he had managed to get through to the demigod. The brief glint of regret in his eyes at least was very real. But Loki only raised his head and stared up at the open portal where the Chitauri and Leviathans were still pouring through.
"It is too late," He finally said quietly, looking back at Harry. "You have picked your side and I stand by mine. They, you, will all fall before me."
And power erupted between them, magic against magic as blue and red clashed, the Tesseract's power against Harry's core.
Tossing spell after spell at Loki, Harry rolled to the side and sent a burst of fire at the demigod before scrambling over to the Tesseract device. Since peace-talks seemed to have broken down, his next best option was to shut the portal forcibly, with or without Loki's consent. Pulling up a shield around himself and the device, Harry proceeded to ignore Loki's increasingly frustrated attempts at breaking through, trying to ignore the strain of each burst of energy.
"Tony," He said, switching his ear piece back on. "Talking didn't work-"
"I could've told you that," Tony grumbled.
"At least he tried," Thor said sharply.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you need, Harry?"
"I'm looking at the cube," Harry reported as he tried to summon it out of the barrier. "But my magic has no effect on this thing. Any ideas?"
"Have you tried pulling the plug?" Steve enquired amidst the sound of explosions in the background.
"It's powered only by the cube," Tony reminded. "And we're not in the Stone Age anymore, gramps. Keep up with the times."
"Is right now really the time?" Clint joined in. "We need to turn that device off or none of this is gonna mean a damn thing. Every time we kill one of these things, half a dozen takes its place."
"Potter, try Selvig," Natasha's voice cut through the babble of voices over the comm link. "He's the one who built it. He should have an idea as to how to stop it as well."
"Right, give me a min- bloody hell!" Harry dove aside as his shields shattered from Loki's onslaught, a tongue of flame-like energy scorching his shoulder as he ducked out of the way.
Rolling to his feet, Harry quickly fired off several stunners, mostly just fend Loki off, and then, catching sight of several Chitauri trying to creep up behind him, he spun around and hurled several cutting hexes at them, ending with a powerful Sectumsempra.
He blew out a heavy breath as he watched the last Chitauri topple off its skimmer and plunge for the ground, a large bloody gash in his chest.
"Shouldn't have let Snape teach me that one," He mused grimly. Sectumsempra had become something of a signature in his arsenal of offensive spells, mainly because Snape had drilled that one into him without mercy. It could cause tremendous damage, depending on how powerful the wizard, and not many could perform it anyway.
"Harry, Thor and Banner's headed your way," Tony said in his ear.
"I can handle it," Harry shot back, blocking an actual swing of Loki's staff as the demigod bore down on him. "Loki and Thor isn't the best idea at the moment."
He stopped talking to duck under a blow before delivering a stinging hex that struck the hand Loki was holding the staff with. The staff clattered to the ground, rolling a few feet away as Loki staggered back, holding his hand. But before the Asgardian could retrieve his weapon, a green shape came flying out of nowhere, grabbing Loki as it passed by before crashing through the windows several floors below the penthouse.
"Too late," Tony told him lightly. "Leave it to them. Concentrate on the cube."
Harry blew out a frustrated breath but turned his attention back to the device, picking up the staff to examine it. With a muttered Rennervate, he crouched down and waited as Selvig's eyes fluttered open.
As Loki tumbled across the floor and crashed into the far wall of the room, the Hulk skidded after him, growling darkly as one thought floated through his mind. This trash hurt Harry.
Storming after the Asgardian, he pulled up short when Loki leapt to his feet again and snapped, "Enough! You are all of you beneath me! I am God, you dull creature, and I will not be bullied by-"
Swiftly grabbing Loki by the legs, the Hulk smashed him against the floor repeatedly before finally throwing him aside to the ground. There, that was a good way to shut him up.
"Puny god," He muttered as he stomped away, ignoring the whimpers of pain behind him.
"Banner, what-" Thor stopped short at the sight of his brother all but embedded in the ground and shot a dark scowl at the Hulk. "There was no need to-"
An abrupt fist crashed into him and sent him flying as the Hulk continued out of the building, irritation in every movement as he leapt out through the window again. First the trash, then the trash's brother. How annoying.
Thor sighed as he picked himself up from a pile of debris, none the worse for wear as he dusted himself off. Perhaps Tony could figure out a way to bottle some of Harry's composure and give it to Banner. Carefully, he made his way over to where his brother was still laying on the ground.
"Well brother," Thor crouched down beside him. "I can't say you didn't deserve it."
Loki shot him a withering look as he shifted upright, ignoring the hand Thor extended as he pulled himself up.
"Do you know how to turn off the Tesseract?" Thor asked quietly, retracting his hand.
Loki glared at him. "There is no stopping it. There is only war!"
Thor snarled, anger in his grip as he hauled his brother up and dragged him over to the open windows. "Look at this! Look around you! You think this madness will end with your rule? You think the Chitauri, a race known for destruction of the worst kind, would stop after you hand over the Tesseract? That they would leave you to sit on you throne and rule to your heart's content? They have no mercy, no principles, and after they get what they want, they will destroy you along with the rest of this world!"
"We have an agreement!" Loki snapped back, wrenching himself out of Thor's grip, but there was an almost desperate sort of defiance in his expression.
"An agreement I highly doubt they plan on honouring," Thor pressed. "They will betray you, brother."
"Like the All-Father betrayed me?" Loki's temper flared.
"Our father loved you like a son," Thor growled. "He adopted you and raised you as his own. Yes, he lied to you, but only to protect you-"
"Protect me!" Loki shouted. "I deserved to know the truth yet he kept it from me for my entire childhood! And you stand there and defend his actions, convinced he is right in his deci-"
"I NEVER SAID HE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE!" Thor bellowed even louder than Loki, momentarily shocking his brother into silence.
"Don't think, for one moment, that I consider his concealment of the truth from you the correct decision," Thor said much more quietly though with no less intensity. "I am simply telling you why he made that choice. He did not want you to think yourself any less loved than I. He wanted you to know the love of a father without it being tainted by doubts that you were unwanted-"
Thor reeled back when Loki's fist crashed into his jaw, and he staggered back, more shocked than anything else. Even when they had fought in jest as children, Thor would be the one who used his fists while Loki, smaller but quicker and undoubtedly smarter, would weave his illusions and cast his magic. Very rarely would Loki resort to physical attacks.
Instinctively, Thor brought up his hammer in preparation for another assault, only to pause when he realized his brother had made no move to continue. Instead, Loki remained standing by the edge of the building, left hand still balled into a fist but his gaze averted to the world outside.
Thor hesitated. "...Brother?"
"...You've changed," Loki's gaze flickered back to him again. "Once upon a time, you would have struck back if only out of wounded pride."
"I have learned that pride does not matter so much," Thor replied easily. "There are more important things in life."
Loki scoffed. "That almost sounded profound."
Thor had to swallow a smile. This was the Loki he knew. He was relieved his brother wasn't completely gone.
"I will be imprisoned in Hel if I return to Asgard," Loki said abruptly.
Thor was quick to shake his head. "No, I will not allow it, and nor will our father," He took it as a good sign when Loki didn't immediately deny this.
Loki remained silent again, staring out at the destruction the Chitauri was wreaking. Thor took a chance.
"Come home, brother," He pleaded softly, and waited for Loki's reply.
"Stark, is Thor still chitchatting with Loki?"
"What do you think?" Tony shot back as he fired off several missiles at a Leviathan. "They're going through family reunion and the whole shebang."
"What about Potter?"
"Talked to Dr. Selvig, Agent Barton," Harry cut in. "He says that he built in a safety to cut the power source. I can close the portal."
"Then do it," Steve ordered. "Before anymore of them gets through."
"Roger that, Captain," Harry acknowledged. "It'll shut- what the-"
"Harry?" Tony immediately prompted. "What's wrong?"
"The scepter- damn, what the hell-"
"What's going on?" Natasha demanded.
"Shit! The staff's moving on its own! I don't know what's happening-!"
"What are you talking about?" Steve asked tersely. "Is Loki summoning it to him?"
"I don't think so or he would've done that already. Something's wrong. It's definitely going somewhere fast."
"Well which way is it going?" Barton asked.
"Down," Was the one-worded reply.
Thor saw movement over Loki's shoulder as his brother turned back to him, mouth opening, and he reacted on instinct. "Watch out!"
He tackled his brother to the ground just as the scepter hurtled through the broken windows, the glinting point narrowly missing both of them as it rushed past them and plunged itself into the far wall.
"What's going on?" Thor snapped out as he bundled Loki behind a large desk. "Did you summon it?"
"And asked it to try and take my head off; yes, yes I did," Loki shot back sarcastically. "Of course not! I don't know why it's doing that."
They both ducked when the scepter wrenched itself from the wall and took another shot at them, shattering the glass windows behind them.
"Harry!" Thor turned his ear piece back on, passing it to Loki as he threw the entire desk forward to redirect the staff. "Something is wrong with the scepter! It's attacking on its own. How do we stop it?"
There was a series of muffled voices through the comm link before Harry's voice sounded. "Dr. Selvig's studied the staff. It's basically powered by the Tesseract, which is currently holding the portal open at the moment. When Loki came through the first portal, he made contact with the cube's power. By stepping through the Tesseract's energy, he accepted its power and all of it was his. But-"
"But now that another portal was opened, the power was transferred to..." Loki trailed off, swallowing hard as he glanced at Thor before diving out of the way of the scepter.
"Transferred to the Chitauri, that's just wonderful," Tony finished. "And someone please tell me that wasn't Loki on the line."
"He's with us now," Thor said shortly, springing to his feet and deflecting the scepter with a mighty swing of his hammer. "Right?" He looked pointedly at his brother as they scrambled behind a couch.
Loki said nothing but he didn't refute it either so Thor took this as an affirmative.
"Well if he's with us, then the Chitauri must have sensed his sudden change of heart," Steve deducted. "They wouldn't take that lying down so they've gone after him."
"That's a fantastic conclusion, Cap," Tony said. "But what exactly are we going to do about the glowing stick of destiny?"
"Lead it back to the cube," Harry said immediately. "If it's following Loki, then he can lead it back up here. Jump out of the way when you're right in front of the Tesseract."
Thor looked over at Loki as the staff tore past them again. "How about it, brother?"
Loki stared back at Thor before looking down at the ear piece in his hand. "...The doors throughout this entire stronghold are all sealed," Loki finally said.
"No problem, Rock of Ages," Tony answered promptly. "I put the place on lockdown. Jarvis, turn everything back on. Unlock all the doors."
"Stark Tower back online, sir. All doors unlocked."
And on their left, the door leading out of the room slid open silently, revealing a long hallway branching outwards.
"Let's go!" Thor leapt forward first, repelling another strike from the staff before motioning Loki to go on ahead.
They were in the middle of a war and things were looking more than a little grim, but Thor couldn't have been happier when Loki nodded and hurried through the doorway, pausing only long enough to pick up a nearby lamp and hurl it at the scepter when the weapon tried to skewer Thor.
Harry waited anxiously by the device, Selvig standing several feet away and safely ensconced within Harry's wards. He had been very glad when he had heard Loki's voice over the comm link and hoped the younger demigod wouldn't turn again. He hadn't ever heard Thor so happy before.
And then both Asgardians were there, stumbling into the ruined penthouse and making a beeline for Harry. A glint of gold and blue caught his eye and Harry quickly shouted, "Aresto Momentum!"
The scepter slowed but didn't stop and Harry gritted his teeth at the sheer force fighting against him, digging in his heels as the staff pressed forward relentlessly. He wouldn't be able to hold it back for long. His magic just wasn't a match for the full power of the Tesseract; nobody's was.
"Hurry up!" He yelled, arm shaking from the effort of holding the weapon back, and both demigods picked up their pace, leaping easily over the rest of the debris and onto the balcony.
"Okay, stand here," Harry waved Loki over to the area directly in front of the Tesseract. "You have to be quick, alright?"
Loki sent him a bemused look. "I am Asgardian, warrior."
"Yeah, well, you'll be a very dead Asgardian if you don't get out of the way in time," Harry retorted, ignoring the searching look Loki threw him.
"Incoming!" Thor suddenly roared, and they all turned to find several Chitauri bearing down on them, already shooting off blasts from their staves.
Harry and Loki ducked as Thor hurled his hammer at the first few, knocking them off-course but making way for the next wave. A stray blast caught the balcony itself and sent up a shower of rubble, dangerously rocking the platform under their feet.
"No! Stay behind the wards!" Harry shouted when he caught a glimpse of Selvig scrambling away from the oncoming Chitauri and out from behind his protective wards.
Another blast rattled the balcony, snapping part of it away, and Harry watched in horror as Selvig lost his balance and started to fall.
"Erik!" Thor cried, and Harry automatically reached for the scientist, his attention wavering from the staff for a fraction of a second.
That was all it took.
The scepter broke through his magic and Harry's head snapped around again, distantly noting two things at once: one, Thor had dashed past him and caught Selvig instead, barely clinging on to the remains of the balcony, and two, the scepter was headed straight for Loki, who was still in front of the Tesseract, back turned as he followed his brother's movements.
Harry had always been exceptionally stupid when it came to his – as Hermione called it – people-saving thing and this time was no different.
Without hesitation, he shoved Loki out of the way, moving himself into the path of the staff in the process, and without fanfare or delay, the scepter entered his body with brutal ruthlessness, running him through and pinning him against the device as it rammed straight into the Tesseract behind him.
And all around him, the world fell silent.
Finished! I warned you about the cliffie; I'm evil, aren't I? Well, you'll just have to wait for the next chapter to come out to find out what happens.
Chapter Text
This chapter ends the movie arc. Might be what you expected, might not. Enjoy!
Chapter 13 – To When Winning Feels Like Losing
"It's closing up! Great job guys!"
"These Chitauri must need an open link to the mother ship or something. They're dropping like flies. Looks like we'll only have cleanup to worry about."
"Clean up? Are you kidding me? Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it."
"We're not exactly finished yet, Stark. There's still the Tesseract and Loki. Thor, what's your status up there? ...Thor? Potter? Do you read?"
When an ear-shattering roar of unrestrained rage split the air of Manhattan, every single Avenger made for Stark Tower as fast as they could go. They all knew something had gone very, very wrong.
Thor barely remembered helping Erik back on flat ground, his eyes glued on the weakly struggling figure pinned against the Tesseract device. He barely even noticed Loki, so still he might have been a statue if the stunned expression on his face hadn't been so real. He most definitely didn't see the Chitauri dropping to the ground all around them.
"Harry?" He managed as he dropped to a crouch beside the wizard. His hands hovered helplessly over the scepter now embedded in Harry's chest. The barrier around the Tesseract faded within seconds and the mechanic abruptly slumped forward, no longer held up in a mockery of an upright position. Thor didn't know which was worse as he lowered him onto the ground, careful not to jostle the weapon and aggravate the wound.
"Loki, do something!" He demanded urgently. He didn't have the first notion about how to heal but Loki had done it before, had actually been quite adept with it too. "Loki!"
His brother started a little, looking the most uncertain Thor had ever seen him, before his gaze dropped down to the injury.
"There is nothing I can do," Loki said flatly. "This injury is fatal. It has punctured a lung and hit his heart as well," His jaw worked for a moment but no more words came out.
Thor could do nothing but stare. "But he will-" He started weakly.
A heavy thud behind them caught their attention and they both tensed when they caught sight of the Hulk standing only a few feet away.
"Banner-" Thor started, and he wasn't sure if his throat was tight with relief or dread. "Banner," He tried again. "Please change back. Perhaps you could try-"
The Hulk took a ground-shaking step forward and Thor rose to his feet, quickly summoning Mjolnir. Harry was dying, there was no denying that, but if the Hulk lost control here in the center of the city, they might as well have lost the fight against the Chitauri.
"Banner, calm down," Thor cautioned as the Hulk took another step forward, dark eyes focused on Harry's form.
One last step and Thor could actually see something snap in the Hulk's eyes, turning his expression from frighteningly calm to terrifyingly incensed in the span a heartbeat.
"Loki, take care of him!" Thor just had time to shout as the Hulk released a heart-stopping bellow and charged forward, features rabid. Thor met him halfway, crashing into Banner's monster form and forcing them off the balcony, disappearing downwards and through to the bottom floors.
Take care of him? How was he supposed to do that? Loki had a hard enough time taking care of himself.
He glanced down at the injury again and forced away the storm of confusion trying to cloud his mind. Involuntarily, his hands found the place where weapon entered body and pushed a wave of his own magic into it, trying to keep the damage from spreading.
"Leave it," A voice rasped, and Loki's eyes shot up to meet pained green.
"You will die," He said bluntly. He didn't know what to make of the bitter laugh that escaped this man – Harry, a part of his mind still functioning properly reminded. That was what his brother had called him – but it quickly turned into a wet cough that spilled bright red over his lips and sent a sliver of ice straight into Loki's heart.
"Wonder if I'll make it this time," Was the slurred reply. Loki honestly had no response for that.
"Do not be foolish," He retorted instead, sending more magic into the wound and trying not to notice how the blood stained his hands. "I thought you were better than this. You had me believe you to be superior to average humans."
A ragged breath. "Nah, 'm just as average as the rest."
Loki pressed down unconsciously around the wound at this, easing just as swiftly when Harry made a pained sound.
"You humans have doctors for this sort of thing, do you not?" He demanded. "Science where magic will not suffice? I will not accept your death, warrior. My debt to you is yet to be paid and I always pay my debts." He heard another crash behind him and muttered something derogatory under his breath as he looked around. "And instead of retrieving aid, my dear brother and that mindless beast decide to brawl. I am surrounded by incompetents."
Another shaky laugh found itself out into the open. "You remind me of a man I once knew. Called everyone... dunderheads. Couldn't stand it... when people didn't... didn't catch on as quickly as he could."
"Sounds to be an intelligent man, for a human," Loki carefully ignored the long pauses now punctuating Harry's words, still looking around. His gaze landed on Erik Selvig and he scoffed when the scientist shrank back just a little.
"Go acquire help immediately, human," He ordered with a sneer. "As you can see, he is in need of assistance."
"No, s'alright," Harry called out as loudly as he could. "S'alright, Dr. Selvig. "I know you injured your leg. Don't bother."
Loki didn't know who to glare at so he settled for pinning a resentful stare at the old man while directing his harsh questions at Harry. "You wish to die, warrior? Were you not the one who told me to give life a chance? Are you such a hypocrite?"
Harry's answer was lost in the whine of a familiar weapon charge, and Loki's head snapped around to find Iron Man hovering directly behind him, palm repulsor extended and pointed straight at Loki.
Strangely enough, moving away wasn't even a thought that crossed his mind so it was lucky someone else intervened just in time.
"Stark!" Captain America appeared, tackling Iron Man out of the air and forcing his arm upwards so that the shot the laser fired became harmless. "You heard Thor; he's on our side!"
They were all pretty sure Tony hadn't heard.
"Let go of me," In contrast to his usually loud behaviour, Tony's voice was dangerously soft at the moment as he struggled violently to throw Captain America off. "Let go right now. I'm gonna kill him, you hear me? He's as good as dead. Let go! Let go right now!"
With a tremendous heave, the billionaire threw the Captain off and was instantly on his feet again, surging forward with deadly intent, and Loki didn't need to see the man's face to feel the murderous rage seeping out from behind the armour.
"Stark, calm down!" And suddenly, Hawkeye and Black Widow were there, wrestlingTony to the ground as Steve picked himself up from the remains of the penthouse.
"I've got him," The Captain took Hawkeye's place, fighting to restrain Tony, who was now swearing up a storm. "You've got medical experience, right? Harry-"
Clint was already moving away, dropping his bow with careless abandon as he crouched down next to Harry. "Move a bit," He said curtly to Loki, stomach twisting when he realized that the weapon had gone straight through the wizard. "Unconscious. Was he awake before?" At Loki's nod, Clint grimaced and felt for Harry's pulse. Weak and thready.
Ignoring the loud crashes of the Hulk and Thor fighting, Clint turned to the scuffle occurring only a few feet away. "Stark!" He barked over the large range of curses Tony was spitting. "Stark, he's dying! I'm no certified doctor. What Potter needs right now are a hospital and a surgeon. You're the billionaire; call someone!"
Tony stopped struggling so abruptly that Steve and Natasha cracked heads as their momentum threw them forward.
"...Jarvis!" Tony's voice was hoarse and not too steady. "Jarvis, call the Presbyterian. Tell them if they don't have a surgeon ready by the time I get there, I'll tear the place down myself!"
"I have already done so, sir," Jarvis' smooth voice answered. "They are preparing as we speak."
Shaking his teammates' loosened hold off him, Tony was at Harry's side in an instant, flipping his visor up and unceremoniously shoving Loki out of the way.
"You cannot move him," Loki cautioned, and Tony glared at the demigod with every bit of contempt he could muster. Alien invasion he could forgive; he had never been big on patriotism – that was Cap's job, though he obviously wouldn't stand aside as the world went down the drain – but if this psycho ruler-of-the-Earth-wannabe killed the only friend he had, intentional or no, Tony would make sure there wasn't enough pieces left of him for even the sonofabitch's father to recognize.
"Then stabilize him," He hissed instead. "Do your magic voodoo and let me take him to the hospital!"
Loki only hesitated for a moment – and that was already a moment too long in Tony's book – before pressing bloodied hands to Harry's injury again. A blue glow shot around the wound and the staff before one of the demigod's hand extended and swiftly removed the scepter. The cry that tore from Harry's throat made Tony jerk forward, hands hovering helplessly over the mechanic as remained unaware.
"Was that really necessary?" Tony snapped.
Loki gave him a cursory glance. "You asked me to stabilize the wound. This is impossible; he is too far gone. I am freezing the area instead, for approximately five minutes. Get him to the hospital within that time or he will die."
No one voiced the fact that Harry could very well die anyway as Tony scooped the mechanic up and took off at full speed, thrusters at maximum as he raced to the hospital.
"So what the hell happened?" Steve asked, looking to Loki as Natasha helped a shaken Erik Selvig to his feet and escorted him away from the balcony. "And does anyone have a tranquilizer?"
Below them, furious roars and shouts punctuated the air amidst the loud crashes inside Stark Tower.
"None that would affect the Hulk," Clint sighed, absently rubbing at a patch of blood on the back of his hand. He didn't know Harry all that well but the wizard had saved his life and it just wouldn't sit well with him if he went and died now.
"Well he'll tear all of Manhattan apart if we don't stop him," Steve glanced down and just managed to catch the two figures of his teammates still wrestling around.
"Thor seems to have a pretty good handle on Banner right now," Natasha interjected. "And the rest of the city's gone underground, so let's just leave it to him for the moment. I wanna know what happened here. I thought Loki was supposed to lead the scepter to the cube?" She ended with an accusing look at the demigod.
Loki stared coolly back. "The Chitauri led a small platoon here and fired off shots. Several caught the balcony, Dr. Selvig fell and my brother went after him. I was... not paying attention when the scepter broke through your warrior's magic and he pushed out of the way."
"He saved you," Clint stared in disbelief. "Why?"
Loki didn't glare but he gave off an air of sullen irritation, snapping back, "How should I know? The workings of your human minds are beyond me."
A slightly stilted silence followed as Clint turned away with an angry huff, picking up his bow in the process. He had not forgiven Loki for playing with his mind and even if the demigod was on their side now, he still couldn't understand why Harry would sacrifice himself like that.
"Let's just go to the hospital," Natasha finally suggested wearily. "SHIELD will handle this..." She gestured at the mess around them. "And we need to find a way to calm the Hulk."
"Banner always seemed calmer around Harry," Steve recalled. "Maybe his magic had something to do with it? We could-"
They all jumped when Thor crashed back onto the balcony, shaking it precariously as he skidded to a stop near the edge.
"Thor!" Steve took a step forward, only to stop when the Hulk literally burst through the floor of the penthouse, expression feral.
Releasing a howl, the Hulk charged as Thor hauled himself up again and flung his hammer at it, throwing the green beast back.
"Run!" Thor shouted, but none of them could fly and they were on the edge of a several-hundred-foot drop. There was nowhere to run.
"Give me your quiver," Loki suddenly spoke up, hand extending to Clint.
Clint glared at him. "And what are you gonna do, shoot him? Sorry to disappoint you but my arrows won't work on the Hulk."
"No, you asinine human," Loki shot back with annoyance. "But I can sense your warrior's magic in your weapons and your Captain over there is the one who mentioned its calming effect. Throw it to the beast unless you want all of us to die right here!"
Clint blinked before hastily removing his quiver. Would wonders never cease; Loki was actually trying to help them.
"Throw it here!"
Clint tossed it to Thor who quickly slid it over to the Hulk. He winced when the entire thing was flattened under the Hulk's foot but just when he thought their gamble had failed, it came to an abrupt halt, still growling, still untamed, but unmoving.
"Is it working?" Natasha whispered, her gun held in front of her.
They all backed up a few paces when the Hulk took another step towards them, but it seemed to be struggling now, as if Banner had regained a footing and was fighting for control now.
And then, with an enraged roar, the Hulk turned and stormed away, crashing into furniture and debris as it headed further into the building and out of sight. They could hear its bellows lessen, decreasing in volume before ceasing altogether, leaving a ringing silence around them as it fell silent at last.
"Okay," Steve breathed out on a sigh of relief. "Alright, Romanov, get S.H.I.E.L.D. down here for cleanup. Barton, go get the chopper and come pick us up. Thor, you take care of Loki and the Tesseract. Dr. Selvig, just stay put until the jet gets here. Don't wanna break that leg. I'll take care of Banner."
The team, weary from war but still high on adrenaline, separated to their tasks, trying not to think about the wizard, now practically one of their own after the chaotic conflict, was still fighting his own battle miles away in an Emergency Room.
"How is he?"
Tony looked up at Natasha's voice, managing a half-shrug before looking back down again. He had removed his suit, which was packed away again into a scratched suitcase by his feet. "Still touch-and-go," He replied, voice monotonous. "...Where's Thor?"
"Accompanying the Tesseract and Loki back to the Helicarrier," Clint reported, taking a seat next to Tony. Natasha sat down next to him and Steve and Bruce both took up a portion of wall to lean against.
Tony arched his eyebrows briefly in acknowledgement before glancing over at Bruce. "Back with us then, big guy? Guess I'm gonna have to completely rebuild Stark Tower after this, huh?" He offered a weak smile but dropped it when Bruce just looked down at the floor.
Nobody said anything more for the next twenty minutes, the clock's second hand ticking by with annoying consistency until even Barton snapped and hurled an arrow at it, cracking the plastic and sending the clock to the ground. The nurses who witnessed this took one look at their grimy apparel and grim expressions and pretended not to notice.
Finally, the light above the ER blinked off and every Avenger surged to their feet as a doctor came out to meet them.
On hindsight, the grave lines on the surgeon's face was all the answer anyone needed, yet every one of them waited with bated breath as the man opened his mouth.
"I'm sorry," The doctor told them regretfully. "We tried everything we could but the injury was too deep and he lost too much blood. The weapon went straight through his left lung and part of his heart as well. He bled out before we could repair even part of the damage."
Stunned silence greeted his statement. The doctor looked around uneasily as Steve turned away, leaning an arm against the wall and resting his forehead against it. Bruce simply buried his face in his hands, fingers tightening in his hair until his knuckles were white. Natasha looked down at her lap, hands clasped together as Clint curled an arm around her shoulders, his own features blank as he frowned hard at the far wall.
It was Tony who spoke first, taking an almost wavering step forward. "That- That's not possible," He insisted, and the desperation in his eyes had even the doctor looking away. "Harry's a wi- he's strong. He wouldn't just-"
The billionaire stopped, mouth opening and closing but nothing came out. He finally swallowed and looked around, taking in the pity everyone seemed to be directing at him.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," The surgeon said sympathetically, and that was the last straw.
Making an abrupt turn, Tony strode straight out of the hospital, feeling numb as he made his way out through the white hallways, ignoring the distantly alarmed voices calling after him.
He needed to get away. He couldn't stand another minute suffocating in a place so full of death.
"Thor's going to want to know," Steve said tiredly after they thanked the doctor for trying. "And... a funeral, I guess? ...Doctor?"
Bruce had risen to his feet, jaw clenched in restrained anger, but his voice was clear when he spoke. "I'll tell him. Does anyone have a..." He trailed off when Clint produced a phone, dialling a number before handing it over.
"That's the Director's number," Clint informed him. "If Thor's still there, Fury can get a hold of him."
Bruce nodded his thanks and headed outside as well. He needed some fresh air to clear his head. Or clear it as much as he could. The foil for his anger was no longer alive after all.
"Thor, call for you."
Thor turned from his brother, who was currently sitting in a cell with unspoken indifference, and warily accepted the communication device from Fury.
"It's Banner," The Director said with a shrug. "He didn't say what about. Are any of you gonna give me a full report on what happened anytime soon?"
Thor just brought the phone up and turned away from Fury, ignoring the annoyed sigh this got from the Director and waiting until he vacated the room again before speaking, absently noting the way Loki had leaned forward, eyes much more intent now.
"Banner," Thor greeted. "What news do you bring?"
"...He's dead," Bruce told him, and Thor felt as if he had swallowed Mjolnir. His brother must have read the answer on his face because Loki's shoulders slumped instantly though his face smoothed over into an expressionless mask.
"I see," Thor closed his eyes for a moment. He had lost comrades before and it never got any easier, but Harry's death somehow seemed... worse. After all, he had been there, he had been right there, only a few steps away, and if he had been just a second faster, if he had summoned his hammer just a heartbeat sooner, would Harry still be dead?
"Thor, you can't blame yourself for this," Bruce said from the other end. "It's just- just one of those things that happen because it's war. People die in war."
Thor swallowed. Yes, he knew that. He had been in plenty of battles himself and his father had taught him as much but it didn't stop it from hurting any less.
He drew in a fortifying breath and thought back to the conversations he had had with Harry, the suspicions that had been piling up for some time now, and the chance he had been thinking of taking ever since Harry had fallen.
If he was wrong, quite a few people would be upset with him for giving them false hope, but if he was right... if he was right, he owed it to himself to try or he would forever question his decision in this matter.
"Banner," Thor said urgently and caught Loki's frown as his brother heard the purpose in his voice. "Leave the body. Do not allow a burial to take place."
"What? What are you talking about? The Captain's gone to make preparations already."
"Then stop him," Thor instructed. "Harry might still make it."
There was a long pause on the other end. "...Thor, Harry's dead. He's not going to come-"
"He might," Thor said bluntly. "Please. Trust me on this."
Another contemplative silence fell before a resigned sigh echoed down the line. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you," Thor closed the device and met Loki's wide-eyed stare.
"I know of no race that can rise from the dead, brother," Loki murmured quietly.
"Perhaps," Thor acknowledged. "But I should think you would realize by now that you do not know everything."
"I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to just let me move on?" Harry asked conversationally.
Death stared back coolly, looking almost amused. "A futile thought since mortal you are not."
Harry sighed deeply and fell back onto his back on the bench. It was King's Cross all over again but there was no train forward, just one ready and waiting to take him back.
"You no longer wish to live?" Death asked in a mild tone, somehow sitting in the air. "Is that not somewhat counterproductive?"
Harry shot him a flat stare. "I will never see my mother or father or Sirius or Remus ever again. I'm cursed to watch the world go by as everyone I have ever cared about grows old dies. What kind of existence is that?"
"A higher form," Death informed him calmly. "What use are bonds to the world of men when compared to you they are merely ink from pen? Faded with time as they pass their prime, and when Death comes to call, nought but memories remain of them all."
"They may mean only that much to you," Harry said bitterly. "But not to me. It's just plain cruel to keep me alive like this."
Death laughed as it repeated, "Death is honest, Death is fair, but kindness – that I do not care."
"Yeah, no kidding," Harry scoffed, staring up at the ceiling.
"And what if I offer a way," Death mused aloud, the glint in its eyes sharpening when Harry involuntarily jerked up. "To see your loved ones day after day? If I give you the dead and they stay at your side, will you agree to your fate and take it all in your stride?"
"You can give me back Sirius? And Remus?" Harry couldn't help but blurt out, heart pounding. "And I can see my parents?"
Death just grinned, sly and dark, before sweeping a hand behind him, and Harry almost fell off the bench when the familiar form of his godfather, tall and handsome, and younger by far than Harry had seen him in life. With his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face, Harry's heart ached as he stared at the much-missed figure of Sirius Black.
"Sirius!" He stumbled to his feet and staggered forward, not quite believing his eyes. "How-" He half-glanced back at Death, not daring to take his eyes off his godfather. "How is he-"
"A visit," Death said smoothly, but there was a hard edge to its voice that hadn't been there before and it had dropped the playful rhymes it usually spun as it talked. "Did you forget, young Master? You possess the Resurrection Stone. As part of your magical core, you do have the ability to bring back the dead. Your deceased godfather is simply a shade at the moment, much like how he was during the final battle when you recalled him to your side, but with the stone," Its voice darkened. "With the stone, your power would be immense. With the stone, you could bring him back, right here, right now."
And for just a moment, Harry wanted to believe. To believe that it was this simple, that as the Master of Death, raising the dead would be no problem, that he would get Sirius and Remus back, and he would get his parents back. He could live forever if his loved ones were beside him.
Harry stopped just short of Sirius' now open arms, searching the welcoming smile on his godfather's face and swallowing hard once before forcing himself to turn away.
"What are you doing?" Death asked. "Do you not wish to greet your godfather? Is he not what you want?"
"What I want," Harry said in a near-whisper. "What I want is to live a good life and die a good death. What I want is to see my family again, my real family, not a shadow of one. Not this."
Death's expression was cold. "He is your godfather's shade. A single touch would bring him back and he would be yours."
"My godfather's shade," Harry repeated, shaking his head and taking another step away from the apparition behind him. "But I don't want a shade, nor do I want a living shade. That's not Sirius. Sirius loved me, that's true; there was a time when he loved me more than anything else in the world, which is why that is not him. The real Sirius would never want me to bring him back, no matter how much I wanted it or he wanted it. Truly raising the dead isn't possible, you told me yourself. And Death is honest, didn't you say? He's at peace now, and it would be wrong to drag him back. Don't use my emotions to try and trick me. I won't fall for that."
Death stared at him, long and hard, and it was several seconds before Harry sensed the shade's disappearance. It took everything he had to ignore the pain now gripping his heart after seeing his godfather's face.
"You are a strange one," Death said. "I will not release you from your duties as my Master. You have the option of walking the mortal world alone, or walking it with the shades of your lost loved ones. Your decision?"
Harry took a deep breath to pull himself together before looking Death straight in the eye. "I promised you a long time ago, when you first came to me and told me of my role, that I would never use the Resurrection Stone for any purpose at all," He tilted his chin out in a defiant gesture. "I stand by my word, so you can take your options and stuff it. It looks like I only have one choice, after all."
And with that said, he wheeled around and stalked off towards the black train waiting on the tracks.
If he had the choice of suffering or watching his loved ones suffer in his stead, he'd rather live alone, because the latter would only make him suffer more.
Stepping onto the train, Harry didn't see the smile on Death's face, no longer horrible or cruel, but approving above all.
"One test you have conquered, two more to go," It murmured to itself. "Oh Master, my Master, how long until you know?"
Harry couldn't be dead, he just couldn't be. Who was Tony supposed to go out for drinks with if the mechanic was dead? Whose house would he stay in when he just wanted to get away from Stark Tower for a while? He would have nobody to go to if Harry was dead.
Which was why, when he finally picked up Bruce's tenth call to his cell, Tony immediately pulled all the stops, paying off the hospital staff left and right to keep their mouths shut, closing down Stark Industries on the account of renovations, phoning Pepper to tell her to stay in DC on the pretense that he wanted the whole fiasco to blow over first, and ignoring any and all calls Fury or Coulson or any other S.H.I.E.L.D. member made, reinforcing Stark Tower with every technological defense he and Jarvis could think of until it was probably easier to break in to the President's White House in broad daylight, stark naked and through the front door on a Wednesday morning than it was to put a toe inside his tower.
And then he proceeded to monitor Harry's condition, day in and day out, ignoring the other Avengers' attempts to let them take over for a few hours. After all, Harry could wake up any moment. Tony had to be there.
"It's been a week," Steve said flatly. "This is ridiculous. We need to tell the Director and get a move on with the funeral before Stark does something drastic. This is killing him."
It had been a week since the battle against the Chitauri. The entire team had holed up in what remained of Stark Tower, each running interference with Fury and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. every time the Director asked for a report on the fight. Harry's body had been placed in an empty observation room in one of the labs and Tony had barely left it since Thor had insisted on keeping the entire thing quiet.
Clutching at straws and not able to ignore the desperation on Tony's face, the Avengers had agreed, some more reluctant than others, but they had banded together, paid off any hospital staff that wouldn't remain silent, and spent the last week walking back and forth through the halls of Stark Tower waiting for a miracle. The only reason no one had given up earlier was because Harry's body, injury stitched up and cold, was not decaying. It was as if someone had placed it in stasis.
"At least let the body start decaying first," Bruce objected. "You suggest that to him right now when it looks like he's still alive-"
"He's not breathing," Natasha pointed out.
"-and he'll lose it," Bruce continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Humans decay when they die-"
"Maybe wizards don't," Clint muttered.
"-and there are no exceptions," Bruce said doggedly. "We know Harry's magic doesn't work anymore. Your arrows don't produce fire anymore and we even checked Harry's place. The safe house is gone, so it can't be his magic keeping his body in stasis. And a wizard without magic is just as human as the rest of us, so his body should be decaying, but it's not. We leave him."
"Doctor, are you sure you're not just grasping at straws?" Steve asked wearily, running a hand through his hair. "If he can come back, why hasn't he yet?"
"Perhaps it takes time," Thor cut in. The demigod looked tired, having run himself ragged splitting his time between Harry, Loki, the Tesseract, and Selvig and his attempts at making a device that would work in tandem with the cube to transport himself and Loki back to Asgard.
"But a week?" Natasha questioned doubtfully. "Surely he would've-"
"Guys!" Tony's voice cut the air and they all turned to look at the open doorway that led to Harry's observation room. "Guys, get in here!"
There was a moment where nobody moved, frozen to the ground as hope warred with disbelief because that hadn't heard Tony sound so alive since the hospital, and then there was a stampede for the door, most of them getting stuck in the doorway as they tried to shove through all at once, until Natasha huffed an annoyed breath and, being the slimmest of them all, managed to duck down and wriggle through, leaving the men to fight their way in.
"Stark?" Natasha came to a stop next to the billionaire, who was leaning over the monitor attached to the wizard. Her eyes widened when he moved aside.
There was a heartbeat.
"Are you serious?" She whispered before seizing a thin wrist and scrambling for the pulse. And there it was, faint but steady, as if Harry was slowly coming back.
And as the others assembled around the bed, they watched in amazement as Harry's chest began to move, slow and uneven at first before steadying, and they almost jumped when green eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused but very much alive.
"Harry?" Tony whispered leaning over the mechanic. "Harry, can you hear me?"
It took a few seconds but soon enough, Harry managed to focus on Tony's haggard features. "Where'm I?" He mumbled.
Tony released a relieved laugh that was almost a sob as the others fell into the chairs around the room, boneless with gratification as they slouched in their seats.
"You're at Stark Tower," Tony told him. "You know, you didn't need to go and die on me to get a free pass in here. I've been trying you to get you to come over for months."
Harry offered a vague smile so Tony assumed that Harry was still adjusting to, well, being alive again.
"You could've told me wizards could come back to life," Tony continued at a fast babble, not noticing the shadow surfacing briefly in Harry's eyes at those words. "I would've been a lot less worried. Not that we weren't all worried, we were. Very. But Thor was the one who guessed you might come back so we've kept you hidden for a week-"
"A week?" Harry's hoarse rasp interrupted him.
Tony blinked. "Er, yeah. You've been... dead for a week."
"...Oh," Harry shifted a little. "It wasn't that long last time."
"Last time?" Bruce jumped in, one hand resting against Harry's wrist as if reassuring himself that the wizard was indeed alive.
"Died before," Harry said tiredly. "Only took a few minutes to come back then."
"You were killed before?" Natasha frowned worriedly.
Harry quirked a humourless smile at her. "You could say that."
"Anyone still coming after you?" The female agent pressed, fingering a gun. "I could... discourage them."
Harry actually managed a chuckle at that. "No, don't worry. It's in the past." He coughed a little before struggling into a sitting position. Tony and Bruce immediately helped him up, cranking up the bed to support him.
"So, did we win?" Harry looked around.
"Yeah," Steve nodded, pulling his chair closer. "The portal closed, the Chitauri dropped like flies, and the Tesseract is inactive again. Fury's going crazy because all of us keep avoiding him or giving him a straight answer about the battle, and he doesn't know about you being dead and everything by the way. Oh, and Loki's in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody."
Harry jerked a little and found Thor's gaze. "What..."
Thor shook his head. "The Director has agreed to let me take both Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard. He will face our father there." He paused and then offered a smile. "I believe he will be glad to hear of your revival."
Harry nodded silently. He had a feeling Thor wouldn't let anything too bad happen to Loki.
"But enough of that," Clint peered at him curiously. "How did you come back to life? Can all wizards do that? Are there certain circumstances to it or are you immortal?"
The gazes around him became expectant and Harry averted his gaze to the blanket laid out over his lap.
What could he say? This was a perfect the perfect opportunity to confess everything, to tell them about being the Master of Death and of the curse it brought. But to what end? He knew Tony well enough now that he could foresee the billionaire throwing himself into pointless research to try and find a way out for him, and he had a feeling Bruce would probably join him. It wouldn't be fair to either man because Harry knew they would never rest until they found a cure, but this wasn't something mere science could fix. Not even magic could fix it.
And both Natasha and Clint were, at the very least, contract-bound to inform S.H.I.E.L.D. of Harry's status. It was a miracle they hadn't told Fury about his temporary death but it was too much to hope that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would keep something as big as this from him as well.
Steve could probably be convinced to keep quiet about it but Harry didn't know the Captain well enough yet to place absolute faith in him. He didn't want to risk it and the last thing he wanted was to perform a memory charm on the super soldier.
Thor would probably understand. Hell, the demigod would take it in stride and probably invite him to Asgard in the process, but Harry would have to decline. As much as he hated the prospect of spending the rest of eternity in the land of the living, Earth was his home and he could never just leave it. And he still had his garage here, and his cars, and he'd miss Tony more than he would admit if he left. And now that he remembered, this would actually be a major problem in a few years' time when he had to leave.
And underneath it all was the gut-wrenching fear of getting too close. If he lied now, if he backed off from telling the truth, he would essentially be putting a lie between them all and that would be distance, distance he wouldn't have if he revealed his secret.
He raised his head and looked hard at each of them. Apparently, risking your life alongside other people tended to give you a sense of camaraderie with them. Somehow, he had come to care about each of these people, even Natasha and Clint and even Steve, whom he didn't know as well as the others. But that would have to stop. He couldn't do it. If he told them, even if all his aforementioned fears were unfounded, there would still remain the fact that Tony, if no one else, would ever let him go. Heck, the billionaire would probably follow him to Antarctica when Harry left, and the alternative, staying and watching the others grow old, outliving even Thor, was not something Harry could stand.
So, "All wizards can," He lied easily, ignoring the pain twisting his heart when he noticed that no one looked skeptical, only interested. "It's sort of a safety measure for us but it's not well-known and only the most powerful can do it. Not all the time either. Basically, my magical core placed my body in a healing stasis before I died, which then healed me while I was... well, dead. It's complicated to explain, but it takes a lot of energy and if I had shot off a few more spells during the battle, I probably wouldn't have been able to do it."
His explanation was met with smiles and questions and he did his best to fabricate answers for them. Let them think he was just a normal wizard. Let them smile at him without worry. It would at least give him a few more years to spend with the Avengers before he had to move on.
Finished! Stupid Harry, still keeping the truth from them, but I have a general idea as to where this is going and I can't have the Avengers knowing yet. Anyway, the *movie* is over so next chapter will start on the aftermath of it all. Hint: shawarma.
Chapter Text
Not finished yet people; that's why it doesn't say complete. From this point on, I'll be going off on my own storyline. It WON'T follow the comics because I haven't really read any of them, although I do know the gist of it.
Query Post:
-For those of you who don't know what shawarma is (I didn't either; had to look it up after watching the movie), it is a Levantine Arab meat preparation, where lamb, goat, chicken, turkey, beef, or mixed meats are placed on a spit (commonly a vertical spit in restaurants), and may be grilled for as long as a day. Shavings are cut off the block of meat for serving, and the remainder of the block of meat is kept heated on the rotating spit. Although it can be served in shavings on a plate (generally with accompaniments), "shawarma" also refers to a pita bread sandwich or wrap made with shawarma meat. Shawarma is eaten with tabbouleh, fattoush, taboon bread, tomato, and cucumber.
-Someone has already guessed what I'm planning to do with Loki but I won't say here and you'll find out in a few chapters.
-Some people have asked so I'll give a rough estimate: this fic will be about twenty chapters in total, give or take a few.
-I'll definitely include the scene when Thor and Loki leave and the Avengers see them off.
-For my fic, though the Hulk is crazy strong and almost impossible to kill, he can die, and will eventually since Bruce is still a part of him and he does age. The Asgardians also live long life times but they are not immortal. I actually looked that up: The Asgardian gods are extremely long-lived, but not immortal like the Olympians; they age very slowly upon reaching adulthood.
-Yes, Harry could've just said that he's a phoenix animagus which was why he could be reborn, but that would tell them that he's immortal, which he doesn't want. His explanation implies that he does have a way back but it doesn't mean he has to live forever. Bruce and Tony has already seen his animagus form and Bruce knows that phoenixes can be reborn but since Harry can change back to human, it's easy for Bruce to assume that this wouldn't apply to Harry, especially after he said that he wasn't immortal.
-Once again, this WILL NOT follow the comics' storyline.
-Some Loki-Harry interaction in this chapter.
Think that's it so enjoy!
Chapter 14 – To Relax Or To Not Relax
Harry was back on his feet within the next few days, although the usual lethargy he would feel after Death sent him back stayed with him for twice as long. Unfortunately, Tony had noticed this, which meant all the other Avengers also knew this, and Harry had quite a bit of difficulty getting time to himself. He had wanted to return home immediately but no one would hear a word of it and Tony had been inordinately pleased at being universally agreed with for once.
So, resigned to spend at least the next week at Stark Tower, he had given Natasha a key to his house so she and Clint could pick up his things. Somehow, this twenty-minute retrieval had turned into a six-hour trip when Clint had found Harry's no-longer-magically-hidden basement and called him immediately to beg some time with the motorcycle. Harry had agreed and he hadn't seen either one of them again until that evening.
Inside Stark Tower, repairs had started at last. Once Tony had realized just how unorganized an easily-distracted inventor, a still-recovering wizard, a scientist who still had bursts of anger management issues when aforementioned wizard wasn't around, a demigod who couldn't tell a phone from a fax machine, a super soldier who found literally all the technology in Stark Tower a novelty, and two master assassins who were better at breaking things than fixing them could be, he had called up Pepper and begged for her immediate return.
So Pepper had come back, promptly returning some order to the chaotic mess inside Stark Tower. The entire team had been impressed with the secretary's efficiency and had no problem obeying her orders when she directed them to different parts of the building for maintenance.
Four days after Harry had woken up, his magic had finally settled enough to work properly, and Tony had very nearly cried when Harry had walked into the penthouse one morning, waved a hand, and the walls and furniture had all began fixing themselves. By late afternoon, the penthouse was as good as new.
But while repairs were being made all over Manhattan and Stark Tower was no different in that aspect, any stranger walking by the place would most likely wonder at the most obvious change to the building, or rather, the people within it. Where before they had only seen Tony Stark, his secretary Pepper Potts, and a handful of other employees coming and going from the building, now there were six other people, each noticeably different from each other, coming around the place more often than the repairmen working on the ground floor.
It had started with Bruce Banner. After learning that Harry would be staying at Stark Tower for at least a week or two, he had finally accepted Tony's invitation to move in, and as the billionaire had promised, he had felt right at home in the tower's labs, not even needing to worry about losing complete control again with Harry so close at hand.
Consequently, this had also placed Harry, Tony, and Bruce all in the same area, and Fury had swiftly hoisted the study of the Tesseract on them, giving orders that a teleportation/containment device was to be made in conjunction with the cube. This had led to Thor sticking around more often than not, stubbornly insisting that he was simply observing the progress they were making with the Tesseract while he spent most of his time there helping out with maintenance, exploring Tony's 'empire', and taking most of his meals there with the three scientists.
Then there was Steve's sense of responsibility; the super soldier had claimed it was his duty to assist with the repairs as well, his superior strength coming in handy when Harry wasn't there to levitate something. With how big the tower was, that was actually a lot, but the Captain had also ended up staying for dinner one night, a storm had rolled in, and Tony had generously offered up another guest bedroom. Somehow, Steve had neglected to vacate the tower since then and the billionaire had conveniently forgotten to kick him out, so the arrangement was settled.
And of course, with their correspondence with S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha and Clint also came around more often, apparently in charge of giving frequent updates to Fury, only to find their way to the weapons room and the garage respectively and spending several hours experimenting. Seeing no need to go out for food when there was plenty at Stark Tower, they had also stayed for breakfast and lunch, and needless to say, Tony had invited them to dinner as well.
So one way or another, the entire team had found their way back to the very place the battle of New York had ended in, and everyone had pretended not to notice the glaring fact that Tony-with-the-Russia-sized-ego Stark had yet to put his name back on his tower, even though a wave of Harry's hand would fix the damage in a heartbeat.
So the 'A' remained, and the city of New York, whispering of monsters and heroes, some believing, some not, wondered exactly what had taken place during the alien invasion.
"Hey Stark, this one says that you were rock-climbing in Alaska when the whole invasion took place," Steve announced from one of the chairs in the lab as he scanned the latest newspaper. "Says that your 'arrogant attitude and flair for dramatics' wouldn't allow you to stay silent if you really did have a hand in stopping the attack," Steve looked over at the billionaire with a grin. "Well what do you know? A tabloid I actually agree with!"
Tony shot him wry look before pulling out his iphone. "And here's one that says Captain America doesn't even exist in this day and age and that even if he does, he is nothing but 'a war hero long past his prime and should be looking into retirement'," Tony looked up again, smug. "At least I was rock-climbing in Alaska. You don't even exist, T-Rex."
Steve scowled and leaned back in his chair again as Tony smirked triumphantly and returned to his work. He and Tony had reached something of an understanding after the war, and their bickering was always taken with a pinch of salt now.
"If you two are finished flirting with each other, mind sending me the next set of calculations, Mr. Stark?" Bruce's polite voice came from across the room.
Tony sent him the data, along with a very giant unhappy face as he peered over the top of one of his computer screens at the scientist. "I did not need that mental image in my mind, Doctor, but I suppose congratulations are in order since you actually managed to give gramps over there a heart-attack."
Heart-attack was quite a bit of an exaggeration but Steve was certainly more than a little red as he spluttered wordlessly at Bruce.
"If all three of you are finished acting like children, Thor and I are going to do a food run to the Quiznos down the street. Anyone want anything?" Harry stood in the doorway, Thor at his shoulder looking mildly amused at the exchange.
The lab's occupants sheepishly gave their preferences, Steve last after going over the menu Harry produced from thin air.
"Right," Harry said briskly as he turned to go. "We'll be back soon."
While Harry was technically going to Quiznos, he was also making a detour before that.
"Why does your brother want to see me again?" Harry asked as they made their way down one corridor of the grounded Helicarrier.
Fury had decided to use the Helicarrier as its main base from now on just in case another incident like Loki occurred again and they would be able to react much faster, especially since the Avengers were now literally a call away.
"Well, he did not state he wanted to see you in so many words," Thor hedged. "But he implied it. Vaguely."
Harry gave him a sardonic look. "So basically, he really didn't say anything of the sort but you decided to bring me over here anyway."
Thor blinked and then shrugged. "Basically," And at Harry's sigh, he added, "But I do think he wishes to see you. He is my brother; I know him better than anyone. Even if he doesn't say it aloud, I can guess quite accurately."
Harry sighed again but nodded nonetheless. "Let's just get this over with then."
He wasn't particularly looking forward to a conversation with Loki. For one, even though the demigod had been stupid enough to try the whole world domination thing, he was actually a pretty smart individual in general. The problem here was that Harry couldn't really remember what had been said during his last moments alive back on the balcony, only that Loki had been the last face he had seen, the last person he had spoken to, before he had lost consciousness. He fervently hoped he hadn't given away anything too important.
"In here," Thor led him through a door and down to a glass cell much like the one S.H.I.E.L.D. had placed Loki in the first time.
As Harry stepped into the room, eyes adjusting to the brighter lights, he noted that there was actually a chair and a bed inside the cell, as well as a side door that probably led to a bathroom.
"Comfy," Harry observed dryly.
"Absolute paradise compared to last time," Loki's equally sardonic voice agreed as the side door opened and the demigod himself stepped out. "Hello again, warrior. I see my brother was telling the truth. Your recovery is truly... miraculous."
The version they had all agreed on, and one that Thor had anxiously pressed Loki to stick to if asked, was that Harry had been badly injured during the battle and had spent a week recovering in Stark Tower. Knowing how protective Tony could get over Harry, it hadn't taken a lot of convincing on their part to get Fury to believe it. And once Fury believed something, the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. pretty much followed without question.
"Leave us, brother," Loki continued as he waved a dismissive hand. "I see enough of your face every day during your normal visiting hours as it is."
Thor just released a long-suffering sigh before glancing at Harry, though a smile lurked just behind his eyes. Harry nodded, and the demigod left the room, leaving Harry alone with Loki.
"So," Harry drew closer, conjuring a chair from thin air before settling in front of the glass cell. "I hear you wanted to talk to me."
"Did you?" Loki sounded faintly amused as he sat down as well. "And here I was under the impression that you wished to talk to me."
They stared at each other for a moment before Harry snorted and Loki shook his head.
"It seems my brother simply wanted to acquire company for me," Loki arched an eyebrow. "Though why he thought bringing you of all people here would be a sound idea is beyond me."
"Beats me," Harry settled comfortably back into his chair. "But now that I'm here, we might as well kill some time. How are you? I hear you weren't injured but Agent Barton's not your biggest fan at the moment."
Loki blinked at him, that same searching gaze Harry remembered the demigod giving him before he had been injured surfacing again.
"I was uninjured for the most part," He said abruptly. "You know of my heritage? A war against humans would hardly deal damage to my person."
"Right," Harry shifted a little, feeling slightly embarrassed. He knew that from Thor, of course, but it had seemed only polite to ask.
They fell into a noticeably awkward silence as neither were terrific conversationalists nor were they accustomed to making idle small talk. Surprisingly enough though, it was Loki who broke it first, expression determinedly indifferent even as he asked, "As strange as you humans can be, I do wonder if all of you have that distinct lack of self-preservation you showed during the battle?"
Harry flushed a little but he flicked up a few privacy wards around them just in case before answering steadily, "You would've died if that staff had run you through, even if you are from Asgard. I wouldn't have; didn't, obviously."
"I highly doubt anyone else would've saved me even if they knew they wouldn't die," Loki pointed out sharply.
"Thor would've," Harry immediately refuted, frowning when Loki scoffed. "He would. He loves you. Before I talked to him, just after the Chitauri came through and we were all at my house, Mjolnir stopped working for him," He paused for a moment when Loki's eyes widened. "He didn't know what to do. He wanted to save Earth, but he wanted to save you more. I think he was planning on simply grabbing you and the Tesseract and somehow returning home, regardless of what would happen to this world."
"Earth means everything to my brother," Loki said in a clipped tone. "He would never have-"
"But you're his brother," Harry said resolutely. "Family. There was never a chance of him leaving you behind."
Something flickered across Loki's face, an emotion too fast for Harry to identify, but he knew the demigod believed him.
"Very well," Loki continued stiffly instead. "Thor I understand, but you I do not. We were enemies."
"Technically, at that point, we weren't," Harry pointed out.
"Semantics," Loki dismissed impatiently. "We were strangers then, circumstantial acquaintances at most, yet you-"
"I take it you're not sorry?" Harry interrupted. "Look, it wasn't as if I stopped to consider whether or not you were worth saving. I did it because you were clearly in danger, and it wasn't as if I really ever considered you an enemy in the first place. I promised Thor that we'd save both you and the Earth; kind of pointless if you ended up dying right after you came over to our side. And it isn't just you either. If some little girl or a random stranger on the street was about to be shot or cut down, I'd do just as much to save them."
Loki was silent for a long while after this and Harry stared back stubbornly, refusing to let the demigod believe he thought his own actions to be wrong.
"Tell me, warrior," Loki finally said. "Would that stand true for all people? Should Earth be threatened again, you would fight to the death if need be for 'random strangers'?"
"Don't know about the death part," Harry tried not to let the bitterness seep into his voice. "But yeah, I suppose I would. I'm not someone who would just stand by while someone is killed in front of me."
"Then why do you not join the Avengers?" Loki challenged. "My brother has told me of your numerous refusals to officially ally yourself with S.H.I.E.L.D.."
Harry shrugged. "I don't like following anyone's orders, and Fury would be able to send me on all sorts of missions if I join. No, I'd rather just help out when a real crisis comes around. I don't have the best experience with adhering to organizations."
Again, Loki considered him with assessing eyes for a long minute before finally gesturing around them. "No one can hear us?"
Harry blinked at the sudden change of topic. "Err, yes. Can't see us either. I could walk across the room and they'd still see us sitting here."
Loki nodded, leaning forward with a more sombre expression this time. "A word of warning then, warrior: there is a being in this universe. He goes by the name of Thanos and he is the one who provided me with the Chitauri army. Beware of his cunning, his intellect, and his thirst for war, for he is approaching, and nought but the strongest will be able to stop him."
Harry gaped at him for a moment before demanding, "Wait, are you serious? Why are you telling me this? You didn't even want to talk to me in the first place. What if I hadn't agreed to come?"
Loki shrugged. "I had not decided until this moment to reveal this threat. While I no longer wish to rule this world, I am not my brother either. If this planet burned, the most I would feel is passing regret as it seems you provide the only minimally intelligent conversation I have come across in years."
Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to be offended or not so he ignored this and pressed, "So why now? And why me?"
Loki tilted his head. "I was not certain earlier; the Tesseract's energy was interfering with my senses, but I am quite convinced now. You have Death's mark on you."
Harry instantly froze, mind already to racing to find a way out. How did Loki know? How could Loki know? Thor didn't know! Did he?
"My brother does not know," Loki assured him, and Harry guessed some of his panic must have appeared on his face. "He has never held much stock in sorcery. But I have spent many years studying it, and there is only one other being so touched by Death, rumoured to be legends only. They call him the Master of Death. Would that be you?" Harry knew Loki had to swallow a triumphant smile when he winced at the accusation. "Do not worry, warrior. Only the most adept at magic can sense it, especially since I have come across it before."
"Before?" Harry stiffened. "On... Thanos?"
Loki nodded. "Both of you have shaken Death's hand. Both of you know Death like no one else. Thanos is a Titan, fascinated with nihilism and Death. There are whispers throughout the universe that he has even fallen in love with her, and she is the reason for his destructive rampage. He kills many, all without mercy, perhaps to impress her."
"Death is a she," Harry said faintly. "Well you learn something new every day," His gaze sharpened. "But if he's coming here and you obviously had no intention of telling anyone, why tell me? You should know I'll tell the Avengers."
"Do what you will with this information," Loki rose to his feet, half-turning away. "But I believe it will be interesting," The demigod's eyes glinted. "Two beings touched by Death, standing on opposite sides of the battlefield. Death's Master against Death's Champion. I wonder: who will remain standing in the end?"
Harry stood up abruptly, swallowing hard. He had fought basilisks and dragons, acromatulas and dementors, dark wizards and a dark lord, and now he could even claim to have faced extra-terrestrials, and always, he had come out on top. But somehow, the prospect of facing this Thanos, also touched by Death and quite probably liked by her more, he wasn't sure he could win.
"Thank you for telling me," Harry said abruptly, turning to leave. An immediate scuffle from inside the cell made him look back, and he just managed to catch the flash of alarm cross Loki's face before it was hidden away again.
"You are leaving?" Loki asked, and Harry was struck by how alone and caged the demigod must feel, never seeing anyone save his brother a few times a day and perhaps a SHIELD employee who delivered him meals. Perhaps Thor had made the right call in tricking Harry here.
"I'll be there to see you off when you and Thor head back to Asgard," Harry offered a slight smile.
Loki nodded and Harry made to leave once more when the demigod spoke again. "I will see you again after that? Perhaps one day?"
Harry paused, contemplating his options for a long moment before making up his mind. A secret for a secret, even though he knew Loki would most likely never tell anyone what Harry was about to show him.
He turned back fully, strengthening the wards around them before letting his animagus form take over for a few seconds, enjoying the astounded expression on Loki's face as he dropped a single feather on the ground.
"Here," Harry picked up the feather after he changed back, laying it flat on his palm as it burst into a ball of ghostly blue flames, disappearing and reappearing inside the cell in front of Loki. The demigod plucked it out of the air after a hesitant pause, an almost reverent look in his eyes. Harry smiled again when Loki glanced back up at him.
"A promise," Harry told him, nodding at the feather. "I'll definitely see you again, even after you return to Asgard."
And Harry knew Loki believed him.
"We should go for shawarma tonight."
Natasha raised an eyebrow at Tony's suggestion as she swallowed another bite of her sandwich. "Really, Stark? I thought you were joking. Do you even know what shawarma is?"
"Do you?" Tony countered, unperturbed by the lack of enthusiasm all around. "No; exactly, which is why we have to go try it. The teleportation device is almost finished and Thor and his brother have to leave tomorrow. There won't be another time, so it's tonight or never."
"I vote never," Clint mumbled around his sub. "Shawarma sounds like some branch of yoga, not a food. I mean, if you've never even been there, how do you know it's a restaurant?"
"I've driven by it before," Tony leaned forward. "So how 'bout it? Shawarma for dinner?"
Gradually, grudging consent was given from the rest of the team, if only to stop Tony's wheedling. Satisfied, the billionaire finally turned to their unofficial Avenger. "Harry? Shawarma? It'll be fun. The restaurant's not even one of those extravagant places you hate so much. ...Harry?"
The wizard started a little, turning startled eyes at Tony. He hadn't touched his lunch. "Hmm?" Harry looked around distractedly. "Uh, shawarma? Sounds good. Great," He cleared his throat and pushed his sub away. "Look, I think I'm going to go have a bit of a lie-down. Didn't get much sleep last night. Just wake me before dinner." Flashing what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile at them all, Harry rose and disappeared from the room, footsteps quiet as he hurried away.
Tony waited until Harry had gone before rounding on Thor. "Alright, what happened?"
Thor blinked at him, though there was worry lurking underneath his confused expression. "I'm afraid I do not know what you mean."
Tony scowled. "I usually send Pepper or one of the grunts around here to get me food but even I know a trip to Quiznos doesn't change someone into a walking zombie. He's been out of it all day, so what happened?"
Thor looked down at the table while the rest of the team stared at him. "I took him to see Loki," He finally admitted.
There was an immediate reaction. Tony's scowl darkened, Clint, having just taken a sip of beer, inhaled at the same time and ended up choking on it, and even Bruce frowned. Pounding Clint on the back, Steve demanded, "Why would you do that? What did he say to him?"
"I do not know. Loki wished to speak to Harry alone and Harry agreed."
"And you just did that?" Natasha glanced at the door Harry had left through.
"They wished for privacy," Thor said loftily. "And my brother would not hurt Harry. He would not even be able to."
"How would you know?" Clint asked, still a little red in the face. "Your brother was hurting people not two weeks ago."
"Loki owes Harry a debt," Thor said sharply. "And he will honour it. I understand that a person's word is more easily broken here, but on Asgard, a life debt is sacred. It is a promise, and only those without self-respect, without a shred of dignity, would disregard it."
This sufficiently shut them all up for a moment, but Tony spoke up again within seconds. "Well Loki said something to him. I highly doubt Harry would be this distracted if they were planning afternoon tea."
"Let's just wait until Harry tells us," Bruce suggested, reaching out for Harry's sandwich and heading to the adjoining kitchen to plastic-wrap it. "If it's something important, I'm sure he wouldn't keep it to himself for long."
"And what if he doesn't?" Tony called after him.
Steve snorted. "Then we set you on him. There's only so much whining even Harry can take."
He would tell them after Loki was gone, Harry decided as he flopped back on his bed. He knew Loki had told him all he knew of Thanos and there was no point giving S.H.I.E.L.D. a reason to keep the demigod locked up for any longer than necessary. Before he had left, he had asked Loki to tell Thor once they were back on Asgard so the thunder god would know to come back. After some back-and-forth debating, Loki had sighed and agreed, leaving Harry the responsibility of telling the other Avengers.
"How many wars do I have to go through before I can finally get some peace?" Harry asked the room in general. Not surprisingly, there was no answer.
"Here we are!" Tony swept an arm at the restaurant in front of them. "It looks great, doesn't it?"
"It looks like a bomb site," Natasha pointed out bluntly.
And indeed, the restaurant was almost half-gone, though the part that was still there seemed to be open to public.
"Don't be ridiculous," Tony led the way inside. "Bomb sites don't have shawarma."
The rest of the team looked doubtfully at each other but twenty minutes later, they were seated around a wooden table, each with a plate of shawarma in front of them.
Tony, of course, tried it first, while the other Avengers and Harry all sat back waiting for his verdict.
"It's..." He chewed, and Harry swore there was a moment where the billionaire wanted to spit it back out. "Different."
This already seemed to put Natasha and Clint off the food as both assassins stared down at their dinner with wariness usually reserved for a nuclear missile.
Steve mustered up his bravery next and took a bite, chewing as everyone else watched him with trepidation.
"It's not bad," Steve finally announced, taking another bite. "Just a lot of meat."
Natasha looked a little sick. "Fat?"
"Some, yeah," Steve nodded, unconcerned.
Natasha swallowed and continued staring at her dinner.
Harry was beginning to feel a little sick himself. He was no vegetarian but he was used to lighter foods and this was so heavy it was visibly greasy.
"It's okay, I suppose," Bruce said as he munched on his shawarma. Thor was also chewing on one, an odd expression on his face.
Harry sighed and picked his up. He had already paid for it; he might as well try it.
It took one hard swallow and several deep breaths to not throw up after the first bite. Placing it down, he automatically reached for his water. Glancing up, he caught Natasha's eye and she promptly lowered the shawarma that had been halfway to her mouth. Beside her, Clint was chugging down water like it was going out of style.
Harry supposed that for someone like Steve or Bruce or even Thor, the shawarma would be nothing to their systems, but he knew there was no way he could finish it. Looking around, he spotted salvation across the street and looked back at Tony.
"Tony?" He started carefully. Natasha and Clint immediately perked up hopefully.
"Yes Harry?" Tony asked in a strained tone as finished another bite. Harry was silently impressed.
"There's a pizza parlour across the street," Harry pointed out, and even Thor brightened. Pizza was one of the foods the demigod knew and liked.
"What about it?" Tony took another stubborn bite.
"Well, it's open, but it looks even worse off than this place, so it'll probably close soon, if only for repairs. Maybe even permanently," Harry continued.
"And?" Tony finally put his shawarma down, gulping down some water after it.
"And, well," Harry scratched his head. "It would be a shame not to try it before it renovates, and I haven't had pizza for a month."
Natasha instantly caught on. "I haven't had it for two months," She announced, already half out of her seat.
"I can't remember the taste of pizza," Clint added with feeling, also leaping to his feet. "And it would be so sad to see the place go without trying it first."
"Exactly," Harry beamed brightly at the rest of the table. "So Agent Romanov, Agent Barton, and I will just have simple pizza for dinner while you gentlemen wine and dine here. Don't get up on our account."
And with that said, all three of them sped out the restaurant without a backwards glance, leaving a very disgruntled Tony behind.
"...I believe pizza is what I would prefer as well," Thor said as he lowered his half-eaten shawarma. "I have not had it since the last time I came to Earth and I wish to eat it before I return to Asgard tomorrow. If you'll excuse me," The demigod rose and disappeared out the door before any of them could call him back.
The remaining three Avengers looked at each other.
"I think it's pretty good," Steve said after another mouthful. Beside him, Bruce nodded, completely serious.
Tony looked from one to the other before releasing a defeated sigh and rising to his feet as well, pushing Natasha's plate over to them. "Knock yourselves out, Cast-Iron. I'm going for pizza."
And then the billionaire hurried off as well, leaving two puzzled Avengers behind to enjoy their shawarma.
"'Til later then," Tony clapped a friendly hand on Thor's shoulder as the Asgardian prepared to leave. "Don't forget to write."
Steve rolled his eyes and elbowed Tony out of the way to shake Thor's hand. "Until we meet again," He glanced at Loki standing quietly next to his brother, mostly unbound after giving his word that he wouldn't do anything dangerous. "Be safe."
Thor smiled, looking around at the team of humans he had become familiar with. All of them had come to see him off, and as his eyes landed on Harry, he wondered just how different things would be if Harry hadn't stepped in when he had attacked Tony, or when he had contemplated taking Loki and the Tesseract and simply left.
He didn't miss the loaded exchange between the wizard and his brother, and his mind flashed back to the heaviness that had stayed with Harry ever since his conversation with Loki. He hoped it wasn't anything too bad, and that if it was, his brother would tell him soon.
So, with a slight inclination of his head, he held up the device now connected to the Tesseract and felt a thrill of pleasure when Loki grabbed it without hesitation. As the cube's blue energy swirled around them, he wondered if Odin would let him come back, even if there wasn't a crisis about to hit Earth. He would certainly miss the company of these people.
"Well then," Tony clapped his hands together. "Back to Stark Tower?"
"Don't you mean Avengers' Tower?" Steve asked, amusement colouring his voice. "You still haven't fixed it."
Tony waved a hand. "Haven't had the time. And really, all that money-"
"Potter's magic," Clint coughed and beside him, Bruce couldn't hide a faint smile.
"-would be a huge waste," Tony finished, ignoring the interruption. "I might as well just leave it like that."
"Whatever you say, Stark," Natasha brushed past him and headed for the S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued car with Clint. "Clint and I will go report in to the Director-"
They all turned to Harry, who had been very quiet all day. They noted the tired bags under his eyes and the grim tilt of his mouth and instantly straightened, giving the wizard their full attention.
"I need to talk to you," Harry continued. "There's another threat coming to Earth. Very soon."
Finished! A bit of a bridge between arcs this time.
On a side note, for those of you who like shawarma, no offense was meant if any was taken, but everyone has their tastes and I thought I would just split it amongst the team.
Chapter Text
Alright, so here's the kick-off to the next arc. This will be the LAST CHAPTER in Finding Home. I'll be starting a sequel very soon leading on from this.
Chapter 15 – To the Next Arc
"And you know this how?" Fury demanded.
"He told me he would," Harry responded.
"Will it hurt them?" Fury countered.
"Good, now-"
"Harry? Hey, c'mon, wait up!"
"Watch your tongue, Human," Death hissed.
"Where are you getting your information, Potter?"
"You know-" Steve started.
Harry bit back a chuckle as Tony snorted.
Hopefully, she explained. This would include Thanos.
Finished! Complete! Look out for the sequel I'll be posting in a couple days.
Chapter Text
Finding Home Sequel - Falling Skies
Now posted on Locked Owle's account on fanfiction!
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Review of CSS3 Hyperlink WD 20040224
From: olivier Thereaux <ot@w3.org>
Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2004 07:35:57 -0400 (EDT)
Message-Id: <DA951767-8E07-11D8-BE1E-000393A63FC8@w3.org>
To: www-style@w3.org
Dear CSS Working Group.
Below is a short review of the first public working draft for
css3-hyperlinks (2004-02-24).
The document is globally very pleasant to read, very well presented,
especially for a first WD. I will try to give this review a "QA"
approach, even though most of the comments were made by simply thinking
as an implementor[*] rather than just having strict QA in mind.
[* for the context: QA Tools => CSS validator ]
I am purposefully including comments which will be naturally addressed
as the document evolves and matures, as I believe it would be an
important benefit for the spec and implementors if they were addressed
at an early stage of the spec development (hence the first WD review).
[1] The most notable aspect of this WD is its dependency on a
specification that does not exist yet. The abstract mentions rapidly
that this is a CSS3 module, without explaining how this module would
interact with others. Nor is there a definition of what a CSS3 module
is would make early implementation (attempts) possible, but that does
not seem possible at that stage, and will not be until there is a
master document clearly defining conformance for CSS3 in general and
integration of modules in this big picture.
[2] The Dependencies section (1.) states that this module depends on
CSS2.1 but does not explain in which way.
[3] The Dependencies section (1.) does not make any mention of
dependencies on CSS3-syntax. Is that on purpose?
[4] The Dependencies section (1.) mentions references, without
explaining how these differ from the list of references given in
"References" at the end of the document. This is not necessarily a bad
idea, but an explanation would make it more useful and less confusing
[5][edit] Requirements and Principles (2.) would probably benefit from
more context and a smoother beginning. Add context.
[6] Requirements and Principles (2.) is actually, mostly, about giving
the scope of the module. Marking this up more clearly (in scope - NOT
in scope) would be beneficial
[7] Requirements and Principles (2.) bullet 1,3 and 8 are very similar
in their idea. Regrouping them in some way could make the text clearer,
especially if, as the text states, it is supposed to be "summarizing"
the principles.
[8] Requirements and Principles (2.) has a lot of principles that seem
very generic. Is there a plan to coordinate all CSS3 documents to
achieve consistency on how high level principles are addressed?
[9][edit] Missing a transition between Requirements and Principles (2.)
and Target Properties (3.)
[10][edit] in (3.3#example), "she" is a very contemporary form of
Politically correct talk that may well be obsolete before CSS3 is.
Consider neutral form for such sentences maybe?
[11] Conformance (4.) is obviously still at an early stage, but it's
great to already have a mention of a future test suite. Would be good,
for next draft maybe(?), to have a planned timeline and modalities for
the test deliverables.
[12] Conformance (4.) has no information on conformance per se. What
class of products does CSS3-hyperlink apply to? How does a product or
document conform to CSS3-hyperlink? The spec so far is very declarative
"this property is suchandsuch", which is hardly implementable if there
is no explanation on what course to follow to implement this
specification. See related comment [1].
[13][edit] Default style sheet, Index and Property index give a good
example and outline, but may benefit from being clearly marked as
appendices, and given an introduction.
Thanks for your good and very promising work on CSS3,
olivier Thereaux
Received on Thursday, 15 April 2004 04:20:43 GMT
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285 U.S. 515 (52 S.Ct. 454, 76 L.Ed. 914)
No. 576.
Argued: March 14, 1932.
Decided: April 11, 1932.
Mr. Justice ROBERTS delivered the opinion of the Court.
The petitioner was indicated under section 593(b) of the Tariff Act of 1922, 1 for aiding and abetting the importation of intoxicating liquors contrary to law, the specified illegality being violation of Title 2, § 3, of the National Prohibition Act. 2 In support of a demurrer he asserted the indictment set forth an offense under the Prohibition Act and failed to charge one under the cited section of the Tariff Act; and was duplicitous as including offenses under both statutes. The demurrer was overruled, trial and conviction followed, and petitioner was sentenced under section 593(b). The Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed the judgment, and this court granted certiorari.
The petitioner urges that the National Prohibition Act deals specifically with intoxicating liquor, prohibits its importation, and provides a penalty therefor; whereas, the Tariff Act is concerned with a wholly separate subject and the penal section 593(b) aimed at unlawful importation should not be construed as repealing the earlier special statute. Ex parte Crow Dog, 109 U. S. 556, 570, 3 S. Ct. 396, 27 L. Ed. 1030; Rodgers v. United States, 185 U. S. 83, 87-89, 22 S. Ct. 582, 46 L. Ed. 816; Washington v. Miller, 235 U. S. 422, 428, 35 S. Ct. 119, 59 L. Ed. 295. This argument overlooks the fact that the National Prohibition Act prescribes no special penalty for importation in violation of its provisions. Section 29 of Title 2, an omnibus section fixing penalties for violations for which no special penalty is prescribed, is the only one under which punishment could be imposed for illegal importation. 4 The language used is sufficiently broad to include specific penalties fixed in other sections of the statute and also such as might be imposed by separate legislation. The Tariff Act, a later statute, fixes a definite penalty for one of the violations grouped in the penal section of the earlier act. In this respect it superseded the general provisions of the prior statute embracing the same subject. Cook County National Bank v. United States, 107 U. S. 445, 2 S. Ct. 561, 27 L. Ed. 537; Walla Walla v. Walla Walla Water Co., 172 U. S. 1, 22, 19 S. Ct. 77, 43 L. Ed. 341. The indictment charged an offense under the Tariff Act, and the judgment must be affirmed. 5
So ordered.
CC∅ | Transformed by Public.Resource.Org
U. S. C. tit. 19, § 497 (19 USCA § 497). 'If any person fraudulently or knowingly imports or brings into the United States, or assists in so doing, any merchandise, contrary to law * * * the offender shall be fined in any sum not exceeding $5,000 nor less than $50, or be imprisoned for any time not exceeding two years, or both. * * *'
U. S. C. tit. 27, § 12 (27 USCA § 12). 'No person shall * * * import * * * any intoxicating liquor except as authorized in this chapter. * * * Liquor for nonbeverage purposes * * * may be * * * imported * * * but only as herein provided, and the commissioner may, upon application, issue permits therefor. * * *'
Section 401 of the Tariff Act (U. S. C., tit. 19, § 231 (19 USCA § 231)) provides: 'The word 'merchandise' means goods, wares, and chattels of every description and includes merchandise the importation of which is prohibited.'
U. S. C. tit. 27, § 46 (27 USCA § 46). 'Any person * * * who * * * violates any of the provisions of this chapter, for which offense a special penalty is not prescribed, shall be fined for a first offense not more than $500. * * *'
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Occidental Engineering
Occidental Engineering Case Study: Part 1
Author(s): Michael McFarland, S.J.
Originally published by the Markkula Center for Applied Ethics
Wayne Davidson is a software engineer in the aerospace division of Occidental Engineering, a large engineering firm. For the past two years he has been working as a test engineer for Operation Safe Skies, a project to build a prototype of the next generation air traffic control system. This project, which is funded by a contract from the Federal Aviation Agency (FAA), is a very important one for Occidental. With all the cutbacks in defense spending, the aerospace division has been losing business. The Safe Skies project has provided much needed business, and could lead to a much larger contract if successful. Mindful of its strategic importance, the company had bid very aggressively for the original contract. In fact they had "low-balled" it, bidding less than it would take to do the work properly. They felt that was the only way they could beat out their competitors, who were just as hungry for the work. Because of their somewhat shaky financial position, the company was not willing to take a loss on the project, so the project has been underfunded and understaffed. Nevertheless those working on the project have made a heroic effort, working eighteen hour days seven days a week to meet the deadline, because they know how much it means to the company, not to mention their own jobs. They are now very close to success.
A version of the prototype has been completed and turned over to Wayne for testing. He has run extensive simulations on it and found that it works as it should except for one little problem. When there are too many aircraft in the system, it will sometimes lose track of one or more of them. The "forgotten" aircraft will simply disappear from the screen, there will be no trace of it anywhere, and it will be ignored by all of the collision avoidance and other safety tests. Wayne has been working with the software designers to identify the cause of the problem, and they have traced it to a subtle error in memory allocation and reuse. They are confident that they can fix it, but it will take a month or more to do the redesign, coding and testing.
Wayne meets with his boss, Deborah Shepherd, the project manager, to discuss the implications. She tells him that what he is asking for is impossible. The contract requires that the company deliver a fully certified, working version of the software in three days for system integration and test. The government has developed a new, get-tough policy on missed deadlines and cost overruns, and Occidental is afraid that if they miss this deadline, the government will make an example of them. They would be subject to fines and the loss of the remainder of the prototype contract; and they might not be allowed to bid on the contract for the full system. This would have a devastating effect on the aerospace division, resulting in thousands of lost jobs.
They consider whether they can do a quick patch to the software before turning it over, but Wayne adamantly refuses to release any code that has not been tested thoroughly. There is always a chance that the patch would interact with some other part of the program to create a new bug.
"Then we'll have to deliver the software as is," Deborah says. "I can't jeopardize this project or the jobs of my people by missing that deadline."
"We can't do that!" exclaims Wayne. "That's like delivering a car with defective brakes."
"Don't worry," Deborah reassures him. "We have contacts in the FAA, so we know their testing plans. They will do a lot of simulations to make sure the software works with the hardware and has all the functionality in the specs. Then they will do live tests, but only at a small airport, with a backup system active at all times. There is no way they will overload the system in any of this. After that they will have some change requests. Even if they don't, we can give them an updated version of the program. We can slip the bug fix in there. They will never see the problem. Even if they do, we can claim it was a random occurrence that would not necessarily show up in our tests. The important thing is no one is in any danger."
"Maybe they won't find the bug, but I know it's there. I would be lying if I said the system passed all the necessary tests. I can't do that. Anyway, it would be illegal and unprofessional."
"You can certify that it is safe, because it is, the way they are going to use it."
And so he does. In the end Wayne signs off on the software. It is delivered to the FAA and makes it through all the preliminary tests, including live tests at a small airport in the Midwest. As a result of these tests, the FAA requests some changes in the user interface, and when Occidental delivers the new software it includes a robust solution to the problem of the disappearing aircraft. No one outside of Deborah's group ever learns of the problem. In fact Occidental's success with the prototype leads to major contracts for air traffic control software, giving much-needed business to the aerospace division. This saves hundreds of jobs, and allows the company to add hundreds more.
Wayne Davidson, however, takes early retirement once the prototype project is finished, in order to write a book on software testing. He feels that the book should have a chapter on ethics, but he can never bring himself to write it.
What do you think about Wayne's decision? Was it ethical?
Next: Tutorial on Ethical Decision Making
Related Resources
Cite this page: "Occidental Engineering" Online Ethics Center for Engineering 8/17/2012 National Academy of Engineering Accessed: Saturday, March 08, 2014 <www.onlineethics.org/Resources/Cases/OccidentalEng.aspx>
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Convert Your HD DVDs to Blu-Ray
If you're an early adopter who got burned by Blu-Ray's victory over HD DVD, Wired's How-To Wiki details how to convert your old-and-busted HD DVDs to the victorious Blu-Ray format. The catch is that the process, from start to finish, is a major pain, and you'll need both an HD DVD drive and a Blu-Ray burner on your PC. In all the conversion is probably more of a hassle and just as expensive as re-purchasing your HD DVDs in Blu-Ray or buying a dual-format player, so if you're really considering going through this process, you may want to take that into account that before diving in. If you were stung by the demise of the HD DVD, let's hear how you plan to cope in the comments.
Convert Your HD DVDs to Blu-Ray [Wired How-To Wiki]
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WoW Insider has the latest on the Mists of Pandaria!
Posts with tag stereotypes
The top 5 misconceptions about WoW roleplaying
Imagine walking through a park or tranquil forest and coming across the scene in the video above. What would your reaction be? What would you think about it? Live action roleplaying, or LARPing as it's commonly called, looks just a little strange to anyone who isn't familiar with the concept. But the truth is, it's just a bunch of people playing a game. Sure, the game's got different rules than most, and the uniforms are definitely not your standard fare, but in the end it boils down to this: It's a game people like to play.
World of Warcraft isn't like your standard video game. There isn't one set goal. There isn't a big "the end" when you finish everything, because you can't really finish everything in it. There are different focuses within the game -- fighting in scripted encounters for loot, fighting other players, doing quests, and for some players, roleplaying. To everyone else, roleplaying looks just as strange as that video above, and a lot of people tend to make a lot of false assumptions not just about roleplaying itself but about roleplayers, too.
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Filed under: All the World's a Stage (Roleplaying)
All the World's a Stage: Attitudes about roleplaying for the first time
We've talked before about getting started in roleplaying, as well as how to find the right group to roleplay with. But there's also another aspect the question of roleplaying for the first time, which is that inner attitude people feel towards it.
I often see people leaving comments on All the World's a Stage, saying that they have some sort of story for their character inside their heads, but they don't let it out, for various reasons. Some don't feel that they have the right social space to let it out, and find it difficult to connect with others in such a way that their internal idea can actually take shape in reality. Others feel as though roleplaying isn't for them, even though they clearly seem to have the gift for it. In both cases, their roleplaying is limited to their own mind, where no one else can hear it or benefit from it at all. For every one who posts something about it on a site like this one, how many more just think about it, and never say anything to anyone?
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Local news on WoW lingo
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New report: Gamers are not lonely losers
Gamers seem to get a lot of bad press. From controversial episodes in the early days of Dungeons and Dragons to WoW addictions that are more shameful than online porn. Anyone who doesn't know us might actually believe that we're 10 million basement-dwelling social troglodytes. The American Medical Association is even considering the addition of video game addictions to their big book of mental problems (also known as the Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders).
A new study by Victoria University found just the opposite. They found that about 15% of their 621 participants qualified as problem gamers, that is they spent more than 50 hours a week playing games. Even among that 15 percent, only one percent showed signs of poor social skills. While there are some who have a major problem gaming habit most of us are normal people who unwind with a video game.
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THE DEVIL'S ODDS by Milton T. Burton
By Milton T. Burton
Pub Date: Feb. 28th, 2012
ISBN: 978-0-312-64335-5
Publisher: Minotaur
In Burton’s fourth novel (Nights of the Red Moon, 2010, etc.), a Texas Ranger lassos Mafiosos.
December 1942. As the U.S. wages war in Europe and the South Pacific, suddenly there’s an unsettling sound of saber rattling much closer to home. Mobbed-up thugs from New Orleans have sussed out big opportunities in Galveston’s gambling operation and are preparing to move in. Not so fast, though: The locals like what they have and are disinclined to share. This is the mess young Virgil Tucker, Texas Ranger, gets drawn into sideways. A pretty redhead named Madeline Kimbell is scared silly because she’s been the inadvertent witness to a murder. The killers know what she’s seen and are coming after her. As a favor to a friend, young Virgil, on whom friendship confers compulsory obligations, is about to offer her his protection, even though he has no idea what he’s supposed to protect her from. At first, he thinks he faces nothing worse than Nolan Dunning, Madeline’s disenchanted boyfriend, who’s irate because his love has recently become unrequited. But Madeline is a girl with secrets, and Nolan, it turns out, is connected. Soon enough Virgil finds himself confronting other, much more dangerously connected people. As the gangster war heats up, body bags fill, and intrepid Virgil will need all his brains, resolve and resourcefulness to stay out of one.
Likable characters in a negligible story.
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Infomotions, Inc.The Girl of the Golden West / Belasco, David, 1853-1931
Author: Belasco, David, 1853-1931
Title: The Girl of the Golden West
Publisher: Project Gutenberg
Tag(s): rance; sonora; nick; johnson; girl; jack rance; sidney duck; wells fargo; polka saloon; cloudy mountain
Services: find in a library; evaluate using concordance
Rights: GNU General Public License
Size: 75,792 words (short) Grade range: 8-11 (high school) Readability score: 66 (easy)
Identifier: etext16551
Delicious Bookmark this on Delicious
The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Girl of the Golden West, by David Belasco
with this eBook or online at
Title: The Girl of the Golden West
Author: David Belasco
Release Date: August 19, 2005 [eBook #16551]
Language: English
E-text prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
"In those strange days, people coming from God knows where,
joined forces in that far Western land, and, according to the
rude custom of the camp, their very names were soon lost and
unrecorded, and here they struggled, laughed, gambled, cursed,
killed, loved and worked out their strange destinies in a
manner incredible to us of to-day. Of one thing only are we
sure--they lived!"
_Early History of California_
Lolling back on the rear seat of the stage, her eyes half closed,--the
and baskets containing _rebozos_, silken souvenirs, and other finery
purchased in the shops of the old town,--the Girl was mentally reviewing
and dreaming of the delights of her week's visit there,--a visit that
swaying through the movements of the fandango to the music of guitars
and castanets; the great _rodeo_ with its hundreds of _vaqueros_, which
Still ringing in her ears was the piercing note of the bugle which
instantly silenced the expectant throng; the hoarse roar that greeted
the entrance of the bull, and the thunder of his hoofs when he made his
first mad charge. She saw again, with marvellous fidelity, the whole
colour-scheme just before the death of the big, brave beast: the huge
arena in its unrivalled setting of mountain, sea and sky; the eager
multitude, tense with expectancy; the silver-mounted bridles and
trappings of the horses; the many-hued capes of the _capadors_; the
gaily-dressed _banderilleros_, poising their beribboned barbs; the red
flag and long, slender, flashing sword of the cool and ever watchful
_matador_; and, most prominent of all to her eyes, the brilliant,
gold-laced packets of the gentlemen-_picadors_, who, after the Mexican
fashion,--so she had been told,--deemed it in nowise beneath them to
enter the arena in person.
And so it happened that now, as the stage swung round a corner, and a
horseman suddenly appeared at a point where two roads converged, and
was evidently spurring his horse with the intent of coming up with the
stage, it was only natural that, even before he was near enough to be
identified, the _caballero_ should already have become a part of the
pageant of her mental picture.
Up to the moment of the stranger's appearance, nothing had happened to
break the monotony of her long return journey towards Cloudy Mountain
Camp. Far back in the distance now lay the Mission where the passengers
of the stage had been hospitably entertained the night before; still
further back the red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls of the little
pueblo of San Jose,--a veritable bower of roses; and remotest of all,
the crosses of San Carlos and the great pines, oaks and cypresses, which
bordered her dream-memory of the white-beach crescent formed by the
waves of Monterey Bay.
The dawn of each day that swept her further from her week in wonderland
had ushered in the matchless spring weather of California,--the
brilliant sunshine, the fleecy clouds, the gentle wind with just a
tang in it from the distant mountains; and as the stage rolled slowly
northward through beautiful valleys, bright with yellow poppies and
silver-white lupines, every turn of the road varied her view of the
hills lying under an enchantment unlike that of any other land. Yet
strange and full of interest as every mile of the river country should
have been to a girl accustomed to the great forest of the Sierras,
she had gazed upon it for the most part with unseeing eyes, while
her thoughts turned, magnet-like, backward to the delights and the
bewilderment of the old Mexican town. So now, as the pursuing horseman
swept rapidly nearer, each swinging stride of the powerful horse, each
rhythmic movement of the graceful rider brought nearer and more vivid
the vision of a handsome _picador_ holding off with his lance a
thoroughly maddened bull until the crowd roared forth its appreciation.
"See, Senorita," said the horseman, at last galloping close to the coach
and lifting his sombrero, "A beautiful bunch of syringa," and then, with
his face bent towards her and his voice full of appeal, he added in
lower tone: "for you!"
For a brief second, the Girl was too much taken back to find the
adequate words with which to accept the stranger's offering.
Notwithstanding that in his glance she could read, as plainly as though
he had spoken: "I know I am taking a liberty, but please don't be angry
with me," there was something in his sweeping bow and grace of manner
that, coupled with her vague sense of his social advantage, disconcerted
her. A second more, however, and the embarrassment had passed, for on
lifting her eyes to his again she saw that her memory had not played
her false; beyond all chance of a mistake, he was the man who, ten days
earlier, had peered into the stage, as she was nearing Monterey, and
later, at the bull-fight, had found time to shoot admiring glances
at her between his daring feats of horsemanship. Therefore, genuine
admiration was in her eyes and extreme cordiality in her voice when,
after a word or two of thanks, she added, with great frankness:
"But it strikes me sort o' forcible that I've seen you before." Then,
with growing enthusiasm: "My, but that bull-fight was jest grand! You
were fine! I'm right glad to know you, sir."
The _caballero's_ face flushed with pleasure at her free-and-easy
reception of him, while an almost inaudible "_Gracias_" fell from his
lips. At once he knew that his first surmise, that the Girl was an
American, had been correct. Not that his experience in life had
furnished him with any parallel, for the Girl constituted a new and
unique type. But he was well aware that no Spanish lady would have
received the advances of a stranger in like fashion. It was inevitable,
therefore, that for the moment he should contrast, and not wholly to her
advantage, the Girl's unconventionality with the enforced reserve of the
_dulcineas_ who, custom decrees, may not be courted save in the presence
of _duennas_. But the next instant he recalled that there were, in
Sacramento, young women whose directness it would never do to mistake
for boldness; and,--to his credit be it said,--he was quick to perceive
that, however indifferent the Girl seemed to the customary formality of
introduction, there was no suggestion of indelicacy about her. All that
her frank and easy manner suggested was that she was a child of nature,
spontaneous and untrammelled by the dictates of society, and normally
and healthily at home in the company of the opposite sex.
"And she is even more beautiful than I supposed," was the thought that
went through his mind.
And yet, the Girl was not beautiful, at least if judged by Spanish or
Californian standards. Unlike most of their women, she was fair, and her
type purely American. Her eyes of blue were lightly but clearly browed
and abundantly fringed; her hair of burnished gold was luxuriant and
wavy, and framed a face of singularly frank and happy expression, even
though the features lacked regularity. But it was a face, so he told
himself, that any man would trust,--a face that would make a man the
better for looking at it,--a face which reflected a soul that no
environment could make other than pure and spotless. And so there was,
perhaps, a shade more of respect and a little less assurance in his
manner when he asked:
"And you like Monterey?"
"I love it! Ain't it romantic--an', my, what a fine time the girls there
must have!"
The man laughed; the Girl's enthusiasm amused him.
"Have you had a fine trip so far?" he asked, for want of something
better to say.
"Mercy, yes! This 'ere stage is a pokey ol' thing, but we've made not
bad time, considerin'."
"I thought you were never going to get here!"
The Girl shot a coquettish glance at him.
"How did you know I was comin' on this 'ere stage?"
"I did not know,"--the stranger broke off and thought a moment. He may
have been asking himself whether it were best for him to be as frank
as she had been and admit his admiration for her; at last, encouraged
perhaps by a look in the Girl's blue eyes, he ventured: "But I've been
riding along this road every day since I saw you. I felt that I must see
you again."
"You must like me powerful well . . .?" This remark, far from being a
question, was accompanied with all the physiognomical evidences of an
The stranger shot a surprised glance at her, out of the corner of his
eye. Then he admitted, in all truthfulness:
"Of course I do. Who could help . . .?"
"Have you tried not to?" questioned the Girl, smiling in his face now,
and enjoying in the full this stolen intimacy.
"Ah, Senorita, why should I . . .? All I know is that I do."
The Girl became reflective; presently she observed:
"How funny it seems, an' yet, p'r'aps not so strange after all. The
boys--all my boys at the camp like me--I'm glad you do, too."
Meanwhile the good-natured and loquaciously-inclined driver had turned
his head and was subjecting the man cantering alongside of his stage to
a rigid inspection. With his knowledge of the various types of men in
California at that time, he had no difficulty in placing the status
of this straight-limbed, broad-shouldered, young fellow as a native
Californian. Moreover, it made no difference to him whether his
passenger had met an old acquaintance or not; it was sufficient for him
to observe that the lady, as well as himself--for the expression on her
face could by no means be described as bored or scornful--liked the
stranger's appearance; and so the better to take in all the points
of the magnificent horse which the young Californian was riding, not
to mention a commendable desire to give his only passenger a bit of
pleasant diversion on the long journey, he slowed his horse down to a
"But where do you live? You have a rancho near here?" the Girl was now
"My father has--I live with him."
"Any sisters?"
"No,--no sisters or brothers. My mother was an American; she died a few
years ago." And so saying, his glance sought and obtained an answering
one full of sympathy.
"I'm downright sorry for you," said the Girl with feeling; and then in
the next breath she added:
"But I'm pleased you're--you're half American."
"And you, Senorita?"
"I'm an orphan--my family are all dead," replied the Girl in a low
voice. "But I have my boys," she went on more cheerfully, "an' what more
do I need?" And then before he had time to ask her to explain what she
meant by the boys, she cried out: "Oh, jest look at them wonderful
berries over yonder! La, how I wish I could pick 'em!"
"Perhaps you may," the stranger hastened to say, and instantly with his
free hand he made a movement to assist her to alight, while with the
other he checked his horse; then, with his eyes resting appealingly upon
the driver, he inquired: "It is possible, is it not, Senor?"
Curiously enough, this apparently proper request was responsible for
changing the whole aspect of things. For, keenly desirous to oblige
him, though she was, there was something in the stranger's eyes as they
now rested upon her that made her feel suddenly shy; a flood of new
impressions assailed her: she wanted to evade the look and yet foster
it; but the former impulse was the stronger, and for the first time she
was conscious of a growing feeling of restraint. Indeed, some inner
voice told her that it would not be quite right for her to leave the
stage. True, she belonged to Cloudy Mountain Camp where the conventions
were unknown and where a rough, if kind, comradery existed between the
miners and herself; nevertheless, she felt that she had gone far enough
with a new acquaintance, whose accent, as well as the timbre of his
voice, gave ample evidence that he belonged to another order of society
than her own and that of the boys. So, hard though it was not to accede
to his request and, at the same time, break the monotony of her journey
with a few minutes of berry-picking with him in the fields, she made
no move to leave the stage but answered the questioning look of the
obliging driver with a negative one. Whereupon, the latter, after
declaring to the young Californian that the stage was late as it was,
called to his horses to show what they could do in the way of getting
over the ground after their long rest.
The young man's face clouded with disappointment. For two hundred yards
or more he spoke not a word, though he spurred his horse in order to
keep up with the now fast-moving stage. Then, all of a sudden, as the
silence between them was beginning to grow embarrassing, the Girl made
out the figure of a man on horseback a short distance ahead, and uttered
an exclamation of surprise. The stranger followed the direction of the
Girl's eyes and, almost instantly, it was borne in upon them that the
horseman awaited their coming. The Girl turned to speak, but the tender,
sorrowful expression that she saw on the young man's face kept her
"That is one of my father's men," he said, somewhat solemnly. "His
presence here may mean that I must leave you. The road to our ranch
begins there. I fear that something may be wrong."
The Girl shot him a look of sympathetic inquiry, though she said
nothing. To tell the truth, the first thought that entered her mind
at his words was one of concern that their companionship was likely
to cease abruptly. During the silence that preceded his outspoken
premonition of trouble, she had been studying him closely. She found
herself admiring his aquiline features, his olive-coloured skin with its
healthful pallor, the lazy, black Spanish eyes behind which, however
tranquil they generally were, it was easy for her to discern, when he
smiled, that reckless and indomitable spirit which appeals to women all
the world over.
As the stage approached the motionless horseman, the young man cried out
to the _vaquero_, for such he was, and asked in Spanish whether he had a
message for him; an answer came back in the same language, the meaning
of which the Girl failed to comprehend. A moment later her companion
turned to her and said:
"It is as I feared."
Once more a silence fell upon them. For a half-mile or so, apparently
deep in thought, he continued to canter at her side; at last he spoke
what was in his mind.
"I hate to leave you, Senorita," he said.
In an instant the light went out of the Girl's eyes, and her face was as
serious as his own when she replied:
"Well, I guess I ain't particularly crazy to have you go neither."
The unmistakable note of regret in the Girl's voice flattered as well as
encouraged him to go further and ask:
"Will you think of me some time?"
The Girl laughed.
"What's the good o' my thinkin' o' you? I seen you talkin' with them
gran' Monterey ladies an' I guess you won't be thinkin' often o' me.
Like 's not by to-morrow you'll 'ave clean forgot me," she said with
forced carelessness.
"I shall never forget you," declared the young man with the intense
fervour that comes so easily to the men of his race.
At that a half-mistrustful, half-puzzled look crossed the Girl's face.
Was this handsome stranger finding her amusing? There was almost a
resentful glitter in her eyes when she cried out:
"I 'mos' think you're makin' fun o' me!"
"No, I mean every word that I say," he hastened to assure her, looking
straight into her eyes where he could scarcely have failed to read
something which the Girl had not the subtlety to conceal.
"Oh, I guess I made you say that!" she returned, making a child-like
effort to appear to disbelieve him.
The stranger could not suppress a smile; but the next moment he was
serious, and asked:
"And am I never going to see you again? Won't you tell me where I can
find you?"
Once more the Girl was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment. Not that
she was at all ashamed of being "The Girl of The Polka Saloon," for that
never entered her mind; but she suddenly realised that it was one thing
to converse pleasantly with a young man on the highway and another to
let him come to her home on Cloudy Mountain. Only too well could she
imagine the cool reception, if it stopped at that, that the boys of the
camp there would accord to this stylish stranger. As a consequence, she
was torn by conflicting emotions: an overwhelming desire to see him
again, and a dread of what might happen to him should he descend upon
Cloudy Mountain with all his fine airs and graces.
"I guess I'm queer--" she began uncertainly and then stopped in sudden
surprise. Too long had she delayed her answer. Already the stage had
left him some distance behind. Unperceived by her a shade of annoyance
had passed over the Californian's face at her seeming reluctance to
tell him where she lived. The quick of his Spanish pride was touched;
and with a wave of his sombrero he had pulled his horse down on his
haunches. Of no avail now was her resolution to let him know the
whereabouts of the camp at any cost, for already his "_Adios, Senorita_"
was sounding faintly in her ears.
With a little cry of vexation, scarcely audible, the young woman flung
herself back on the seat. She was only a girl with all a girl's ways,
and like most of her sex, however practical her life thus far, she
was not without dreams of a romance. This meeting with the handsome
_caballero_ was the nearest she had come to having one. True, there was
scarcely a man at Cloudy but what had tried at one time or another to go
beyond the stage of good comradeship; but none of them had approached
the idealistic vision of the hero that was all the time lying dormant in
her mind. Of course, being a girl, and almost a queen in her own little
sphere, she accepted their rough homage in a manner that was befitting
to such an exalted personage, and gave nothing in return. But now
something was stirring within her of which she knew nothing; a feeling
was creeping over her that she could not analyse; she was conscious only
of the fact that with the departure of this attractive stranger, who had
taken no pains to conceal his admiration for her, her journey had been
robbed of all its joy.
A hundred yards further on, therefore, she could not resist the
temptation to put her head out of the stage and look back at the place
where she had last seen him.
He was still sitting quietly on his horse at the place where they had
parted so unceremoniously, his face turned in her direction--horse and
rider silhouetted against the western sky which showed a crimson hue
below a greenish blue that was sapphire farther from the horizon.
Not until a turn of the road hid the stage from sight did the stranger
fix his gaze elsewhere. Even then it was not easy for him, and there had
been a moment when he was ready to throw everything to the winds and
follow it. But when on the point of doing so there suddenly flashed
through his mind the thought of the summons that he had received. And
so, not unlike one who had come to the conclusion that it was indeed a
farewell, he waved his hand resignedly in the direction that the stage
had taken and, calling to his _vaquero_, he gave his horse a thrust of
the long rowel of his spur and galloped off towards the foothills of the
For some miles the riders travelled a road which wound through beautiful
green fields; but master and man were wholly indifferent, seeing neither
the wild flowers lining each side of the road nor the sycamores and live
oaks which were shining overhead from the recent rains. In the case of
the young man every foot of the way to his father's rancho was familiar.
All hours of the day and night he had made the trip to the highway, for
with the exception of the few years that had been given to his education
in foreign lands, his whole life had been passed on the rancho. Scarcely
less acquainted with the road than his young master was the _vaquero_,
so neither gave a glance at the country through which they were passing,
but side by side took the miles in silence.
An hour passed with the young man still wrapt in thought. The truth was,
though he was scarcely ready to admit it, he had been hard hit. In more
ways than one the Girl had made a deep impression on him. Not only had
her appearance awakened his interest to the point of enthusiasm, but
there was something irresistibly attractive to him in her lack of
affectation and audacious frankness. Over and over again he thought
of her happy face, her straightforward way of looking at things and,
last but not least, her evident pleasure in meeting him. And when he
reflected on the hopelessness of their ever meeting again, a feeling of
depression seized him. But his nature--always a buoyant one--did not
permit him to remain downcast very long.
By this time they were nearing the foothills. A little while longer and
the road that they were travelling became nothing more than a bridle
path. Indeed, so dense did the _chaparral_ presently become that it
would have been utterly impossible for one unacquainted with the way to
keep on it. Animal life was to be seen everywhere. At the approach of
the riders innumerable rabbits scurried away; quail whirred from bush
to bush; and, occasionally, a deer broke from the thickets.
At the end of another hour of hard riding they were forced to slacken
their pace. In front of them the ground could be seen, in the light of a
fast disappearing moon, to be gradually rising. Another mile or two and
vertical walls of rock rose on each side of them; while great ravines,
holding mountain torrents, necessitated their making a short detour for
the purpose of finding a place where the stream could be safely forded.
Even then it was not an easy task on account of the boulder-enclosing
whirlpools whose waters were whipped into foam by the wind that swept
through the forest.
At a point of the road where there was a break in the _chaparral_, a
voice suddenly cried out in Spanish:
"Who comes?"
"Follow us!" was the quick answer without drawing rein; and, instantly,
on recognition of the young master's voice, a mounted sentinel spurred
his horse out from behind an overhanging rock and closed in behind
them. And as they were challenged thus several times, it happened that
presently there was quite a little band of men pushing ahead in the
darkness that had fallen.
And so another hour passed. Then, suddenly, there sprung into view
the dark outlines of a low structure which proved to be a corral, and
finally they made their way through a gate and came upon a long adobe
house, situated in a large clearing and having a kind of courtyard in
front of it.
In the centre of this courtyard was what evidently had once been a
fountain, though it had long since dried up. Around it squatted a group
of _vaqueros_, all smoking cigarettes and some of them lazily twisting
lariats out of horsehair. Close at hand a dozen or more wiry little
mustangs stood saddled and bridled and ready for any emergency. In
colour, one or two were of a peculiar cream and had silver white manes,
but the rest were greys and chestnuts. It was evident that they had
great speed and bottom. All in all, what with the fierce and savage
faces of the men scattered about the courtyard, the remoteness of the
adobe, and the care taken to guard against surprise, old Bartolini's
_hacienda_ was an establishment not unlike that of the feudal barons
or a nest of banditti according to the point of view.
At the sound of the fast galloping horses, every man on the ground
sprang to his feet and ran to his horse. For a second only they stood
still and listened intently; then, satisfied that all was well and that
the persons approaching belonged to the rancho, they returned to their
former position by the fountain--all save an Indian servant, who caught
the bridle thrown to him by the young man as he swung himself out of
the saddle. And while this one led his horse noiselessly away, another
of the same race preceded him along a corridor until he came to the
_Maestro's_ room.
Old Ramerrez Bartolini, or Ramerrez, as he was known to his followers,
was dying. His hair, pure white and curly, was still as luxuriant as
when he was a young man. Beneath the curls was a patrician, Spanish
face, straight nose and brilliant, piercing, black eyes. His gigantic
frame lay on a heap of stretched rawhides which raised him a few inches
from the floor. This simple couch was not necessarily an indication of
poverty, though his property had dwindled to almost nothing, for in most
Spanish adobes of that time, even in some dwellings of the very rich,
there were no beds. Over him, as well as under him, were blankets. On
each side of his head, fixed on the wall, two candles were burning, and
almost within reach of his hand there stood a rough altar, with crucifix
and candles, where a padre was making preparations to administer the
Last Sacraments.
In the low-studded room the only evidence remaining of prosperity
were some fragments of rich and costly goods that once had been piled
up there. In former times the old Spaniard had possessed these in
profusion, but little was left now. Indeed, whatever property he had at
the present time was wholly in cattle and horses, and even these were
comparatively few.
There had been a period, not so very long ago at that, when old Ramerrez
was a power in the land. In all matters pertaining to the province of
Alta California his advice was eagerly sought, and his opinion carried
great weight in the councils of the Spaniards. Later, under the Mexican
regime, the respect in which his name was held was scarcely less; but
with the advent of the _Americanos_ all this was changed. Little by
little he lost his influence, and nothing could exceed the hatred which
he felt for the race that he deemed to be responsible for his downfall.
It was odd, in a way, too, for he had married an American girl, the
daughter of a sea captain who had visited the coast, and for many years
he had held her memory sacred. And, curiously enough, it was because of
this enmity, if indirectly, that much of his fortune had been wasted.
Fully resolved that England--even France or Russia, so long as Spain
was out of the question--should be given an opportunity to extend a
protectorate over his beloved land, he had sent emissaries to Europe
and supplied them with moneys--far more than he could afford--to give
a series of lavish entertainments at which the wonderful richness and
fertility of California could be exploited. At one time it seemed as
if his efforts in that direction would meet with success. His plan had
met with such favour from the authorities in the City of Mexico that
Governor Pico had been instructed by them to issue a grant for several
million of acres. But the United States Government was quick to perceive
the hidden meaning in the extravagances of these envoys in London, and
in the end all that was accomplished was the hastening of the inevitable
American occupation.
From that time on it is most difficult to imagine the zeal with which he
endorsed the scheme of the native Californians for a republic of their
own. He was a leader when the latter made their attack on the Americans
in Sonoma County and were repulsed with the loss of several killed.
One of these was Ramerrez' only brother, who was the last, with the
exception of himself and son, of a proud, old, Spanish family. It was a
terrible blow, and increased, if possible, his hatred for the Americans.
Later the old man took part in the battle of San Pasquale and the Mesa.
In the last engagement he was badly wounded, but even in that condition
he announced his intention of fighting on and bitterly denounced his
fellow-officers for agreeing to surrender. As a matter of fact, he
escaped that ignominy. For, taking advantage of his great knowledge of
the country, he contrived to make his way through the American lines
with his few followers, and from that time may be said to have taken
matters into his own hand.
Old Ramerrez was conscious that his end was merely a matter of hours, if
not minutes. Over and over again he had had himself propped up by his
attendants with the expectation that his command to bring his son had
been obeyed. No one knew better than he how impossible it would be to
resist another spasm like that which had seized him a little while after
his son had ridden off the rancho early that morning. Yet he relied once
more on his iron constitution, and absolutely refused to die until he
had laid upon his next of kin what he thoroughly believed to be a stern
duty. Deep down in heart, it is true, he was vaguely conscious of a
feeling of dread lest his cherished revenge should meet with opposition;
but he refused to harbour the thought, believing, not unnaturally, that,
after having imposed his will upon others for nearly seventy years, it
was extremely unlikely that his dying command should be disobeyed by
his son. And it was in the midst of these death-bed reflections that he
heard hurried footsteps and knew that his boy had come at last.
When the latter entered the room his face wore an agonised expression,
for he feared that he had arrived too late. It was a relief, therefore,
to see his father, who had lain still, husbanding his little remaining
strength, open his eyes and make a sign, which included the padre as
well as the attendants, that he wished to be left alone with his son.
"Art thou here at last, my son?" said the old man the moment they were
"Ay, father, I came as soon as I received your message."
"Come nearer, then, I have much to say to you, and I have not long to
live. Have I been a good father to you, my lad?"
The young man knelt beside the couch and kissed his father's hand, while
he murmured an assent.
At the touch of his son's lips a chill struck the old man's heart. It
tortured him to think how little the boy guessed of the recent history
of the man he was bending over with loving concern; how little he
divined of the revelation that must presently be made to him. For a
moment the dying man felt that, after all, perhaps it were better to
renounce his vengeance, for it had been suddenly borne in upon him that
the boy might suffer acutely in the life that he intended him to live;
but in another moment he had taken himself to task for a weakness that
he considered must have been induced by his dying condition, and he
sternly banished the thought from his mind.
"My lad," he began, "you promise to carry out my wishes after I am
"Ay, father, you know that I will. What do you wish me to do?"
The old man pointed to the crucifix.
"You swear it?"
"I swear it."
No sooner had the son uttered the wished-for words than his father fell
back on the couch and closed his eyes. The effort and excitement left
him as white as a sheet. It seemed to the boy as if his father might be
sinking into the last stupor, but after a while he opened his eyes and
called for a glass of _aguardiente_.
With difficulty he gulped it down; then he said feebly:
"My boy, the only American that ever was good was your mother. She was
an angel. All the rest of these cursed gringos are pigs;" and his voice
growing stronger, he repeated: "Ay, pigs, hogs, swine!"
The son made no reply; his father went on:
"What have not these devils done to our country ever since they came
here? At first we received them most hospitably; everything they wanted
was gladly supplied to them. And what did they do in return for our
kindness? Where now are our extensive ranchos--our large herds of
cattle? They have managed to rob us of our lands through clever laws
that we of California cannot understand; they have stolen from our
people thousands and thousands of cattle! There is no infamy that--"
The young man hastened to interrupt him.
"You must not excite yourself, father," he said with solicitude. "They
are unscrupulous--many of them, but all are not so."
"Bah!" ejaculated the old man; "the gringos are all alike. I hate them
all, I--" The old man was unable to finish. He gasped for breath. But
despite his son's entreaties to be calm, he presently cried out:
"Do you know who you are?" And not waiting for a reply he went on with:
"Our name is one of the proudest in Spain--none better! The curse of a
long line of ancestors will be upon you if you tamely submit--not make
these Americans suffer for their seizure of this, our rightful land--our
beautiful California!"
More anxiously than ever now the son regarded his father. His inspection
left no doubt in his mind that the end could not be far off. With great
earnestness he implored him to lie down; but the dying man shook his
head and continued to grow more and more excited.
"Do you know who I am?" he demanded. "No--you think you do, but you
don't. There was a time when I had plenty of money. It pleased me
greatly to pay all your expenses--to see that you received the best
education possible both at home and abroad. Then the gringos came.
Little by little these cursed _Americanos_ have taken all that I had
from me. But as they have sown so shall they reap. I have taken my
revenge, and you shall take more!" He paused to get his breath; then in
a terrible voice he cried: "Yes, I have robbed--robbed! For the last
three years, almost, your father has been a bandit!"
The son sprang to his feet.
"A bandit? You, father, a Ramerrez, a bandit?"
"Ay, a bandit, an outlaw, as you also will be when I am no more, and
rob, rob, rob, these _Americanos_. It is my command and--you--have--
sworn . . ."
The son's eyes were rivetted upon his father's face as the old man fell
back, completely exhausted, upon his couch of rawhides. With a strange
conflict of emotions, the young man remained standing in silence for
a few brief seconds that seemed like hours, while the pallor of death
crept over the face before him, leaving no doubt that, in the solemnity
of the moment his father had spoken nothing but the literal truth.
It was a hideous avowal to hear from the dying lips of one whom from
earliest childhood he had been taught to revere as the pattern of
Spanish honour and nobility. And yet the thought now uppermost in young
Ramerrez's mind was that oddly enough he had not been taken by surprise.
Never by a single word had any one of his father's followers given him
a hint of the truth. So absolute, so feudal was the old man's mastery
over his men that not a whisper of his occupation had ever reached his
son's ears. Nevertheless, he now told himself that in some curious,
instinctive way, he had _known_,--or rather, had refused to know,
putting off the hour of open avowal, shutting his eyes to the
accumulating facts that day by day had silently spoken of lawlessness
and peril. Three years, his father had just said; well, that explained
how it was that no suspicions had ever awakened until after he had
completed his education and returned home from his travels. But since
then a child must have noted that something was wrong: the grim,
sinister faces of the men, constantly on guard, as though the old
_hacienda_ were in a state of siege; the altered disposition of his
father, always given to gloomy moods, but lately doubly silent and
saturnine, full of strange savagery and smouldering fire. Yes, somewhere
in the back of his mind he had known the whole, shameful truth; had
known the purpose of those silent, stealthy excursions, and equally
silent returns,--and more than once the broken heads and bandaged arms
that coincided so oddly with some new tale of a daring hold-up that
he was sure to hear of, the next time that he chanced to ride into
Monterey. For three years, young Ramerrez had known that sooner or later
he would be facing such a moment as this, called upon to make the choice
that should make or mar him for life. And now, for the first time he
realised why he had never voiced his suspicions, never questioned, never
hastened the time of decision,--it was because even now he did not know
which way he wished to decide! He knew only that he was torn and racked
by terrible emotions, that on one side was a mighty impulse to disregard
the oath he had blindly taken and refuse to do his father's bidding;
and on the other, some new and unguessed craving for excitement and
danger, some inherited lawlessness in his blood, something akin to the
intoxication of the arena, when the thunder of the bull's hoofs rang in
his ears. And so, when the old man's lips opened once more, and shaped,
almost inaudibly, the solemn words:
"You have sworn,--" the scales were turned and the son bowed his head in
A moment later and the room was filled with men who fell on their knees.
On every face, save one, there was an expression of overwhelming grief
and despair; but on that one, ashen grey as it was with the agony of
approaching death, there was a look of contentment as he made a sign to
the padre that he was now ready for him to administer the last rites of
his church.
The Polka Saloon!
How the name stirs the blood and rouses the imagination!
No need to be a Forty-Niner to picture it all as if there that night:
the great high and square room lighted by candles and the warm, yellow
light of kerosene lamps; the fireplace with its huge logs blazing and
roaring; the faro tables with the little rings of miners around them;
and the long, pine bar behind which a typical barkeeper of the period
was busily engaged in passing the bottle to the men clamorous for whisky
in which to drink the health of the Girl.
And the spirit of the place! When and where was there ever such a fine
fellowship--transforming as it unquestionably did an ordinary saloon
into a veritable haven of good cheer for miners weary after a long and
often discouraging day in the gulches?
In a word, the Polka was a marvellous tribute to its girl-proprietor's
sense of domesticity. Nothing that could insure the comfort for her
patrons was omitted. Nothing, it would seem, could occur that would
disturb the harmonious aspect of the scene.
But alas! the night was yet young.
Now the moment for which not a few of that good-humoured and
musically-inclined company were waiting arrived. Clear above the babel
of voices sounded a chord, and the poor old concertina player began
singing in a voice that was as wheezy as his instrument:
"Camp town ladies sing this song
Dooda! Dooda!
Camp town race track five miles long
Dooda! Dooda! Day!"
Throughout the solo nothing more nerve-racking or explosive than an
occasional hilarious whoop punctuated the melody. For once, at any rate,
it seemed likely to go the distance; but no sooner did the chorus, which
had been taken up, to a man, by the motley crowd and was rip-roaring
along at a great rate, reach the second line than there sounded the
reports of a fusillade of gun-shots from the direction of the street.
The effect was magical: every voice trailed off into uncertainty and
then ceased.
Instantly the atmosphere became charged with tension; a hush fell upon
the room, the joyous light of battle in every eye, if nothing else,
attesting the approach of the foe; while all present, after listening
contemptuously to a series of wild and unearthly yells which announced
an immediate arrival, sprang to their feet and concentrated their
glances on the entrance of the saloon through which there presently
burst a party of lively boys from The Ridge.
A psychological moment followed, during which the occupants of The
Polka Saloon glared fiercely at the newcomers, who, needless to say,
returned their hostile stares. The chances of war, judging from past
performances, far outnumbered those of peace. But as often happens in
affairs of this kind when neither side is unprepared, the desire for
gun-play gave way to mirthless laughter, and, presently, the hilarious
crowd from the rival camp, turning abruptly on their heels, betook
themselves en masse into the dance-hall.
For the briefest of periods, there was a look of keen disappointment on
the faces of the Cloudy Mountain boys as they gazed upon the receding
figures of their sworn enemies; but almost in as little time as it takes
to tell it there was a tumultuous lining up at the bar, the flat surface
of which soon resounded with the heavy blows dealt it by the fists of
the men desirous of accentuating the rhythm when roaring out:
"Gwine to run all night,
Gwine to run all day,
Bet my money on a bob-tail nag,
Somebody bet on the bay!"
Among those standing at the bar, and looking out of bleared eyes at a
flashy lithograph tacked upon the wall which pictured a Spanish woman
in short skirts and advertised "Espaniola Cigaroos," were two miners:
one with curly hair and a pink-and-white complexion; the other, tall,
loose-limbed and good-natured looking. They were known respectively as
Handsome Charlie and Happy Halliday, and had been arguing in a maudlin
fashion over the relative merits of Spanish and American beauties. The
moment the song was concluded they banged their glasses significantly
on the bar; but since it was an unbroken rule of the house that at the
close of the musician's performance he should be rewarded by a drink,
which was always passed up to him, they needs must wait. The little
barkeeper paid no attention to their demands until he had satisfied
the thirst of the old concertina player who, presently, could be seen
drawing aside the bear-pelt curtain and passing through the small,
square opening of the partition which separated the Polka Saloon from
its dance-hall.
"Not goin', old Dooda Day, are you?" The question, almost a bellow,
which, needless to say, was unanswered, came from Sonora Slim who, with
his great pal Trinidad Joe, was playing faro at a table on one side of
the room. Apparently, both were losing steadily to the dealer whose
chair, placed up against the pine-boarded wall, was slightly raised
above the floor. This last individual was as fat and unctuous looking as
his confederate, the Look-out, was thin and sneaky; moreover, he bore
the sobriquet of The Sidney Duck and, obviously, was from Australia.
"Say, what did the last eight do?" Sonora now asked, turning to the
"Well, let the tail go with the hide," returned Sonora, resignedly.
"And the ace--how many times did it win?" inquired Trinidad.
"Four times," was the case-keeper's answer.
All this time a full-blooded Indian with long, blue-black hair, very
thick and oily, had been watching the game with excited eyes. His dress
was part Indian and part American, and he wore all kinds of imitation
jewelry including a huge scarf-pin which flashed from his vivid red tie.
Furthermore, he possessed a watch,--a large, brassy-looking article,--
which he brought out on every possible occasion. When not engaged in
helping himself to the dregs that remained in the glasses carelessly
left about the room, he was generally to be found squatted down on the
floor and playing a solitaire of his own devising. But now he reached
over Sonora's shoulder and put some coins on the table in front of the
"Give Billy Jackrabbit fer two dolla' Mexican chip," he demanded in a
guttural voice.
The Sidney Duck did as requested. While he was shuffling the cards for
a new deal, the players beat time with their feet to the music that
floated in from the dance-hall. The tune seemed to have an unusually
exhilarating effect on Happy Halliday, for letting out a series of
whoops he staggered off towards the adjoining room with the evident
intention of getting his fill of the music, not forgetting to yell
back just before he disappeared:
"Root hog or die, boys!"
Happy's boisterous exit caused a peculiar expression to appear
immediately on Handsome's face, which might be interpreted as one of
envy at his friend's exuberant condition; at all events, he proceeded
forthwith to order several drinks, gulping them down in rapid
Meanwhile, at the faro table, the luck was going decidedly against the
boys. In fact, so much so, that there was a dangerous note in Sonora's
voice when, presently, he blurted out:
"See here, gambolier Sid, you're too lucky!"
"You bet!" approved Trinidad, and then added:
"More chips, Australier!"
But Trinidad's comment, as well as his request, only brought forth the
oily smile that The Sidney Duck always smiled when any reference was
made to his game. It was his policy to fawn upon all and never permit
himself to think that an insult was intended. So he gathered in
Trinidad's money and gave him chips in return. For some seconds the men
played on without anything disturbing the game except the loud voice of
the caller of the wheel-of-fortune in the dance-hall. But the boys were
to hear something more from there besides, "Round goes the wheel!" For,
all at once there came to their ears the sounds of an altercation in
which it was not difficult to recognise the penetrating voice of Happy
"Now, git, you loafer!" he was saying in tones that left no doubt in the
minds of his friends that Happy was hot under the collar over something.
A shot followed.
"Missed, by the Lord Harry!" ejaculated Happy, deeply humiliated at his
failure to increase the mortuary record of the camp.
The incident, however, passed unnoticed by the faro players; not a man
within sound of the shot, for that matter, inquired what the trouble
was about; and even Nick, picking up his tray filled with glasses and a
bottle, walked straightway into the dance-hall looking as if the matter
were not worth a moment's thought.
At Nick's going the Indian's face brightened; it gave him the
opportunity for which he had been waiting. Nobly he maintained his
reputation as a thief by quietly going behind the bar and lifting from
a box four cigars which he stowed away in his pockets. But even that,
apparently did not satisfy him, for when he espied the butt of a cigar,
flung into the sawdust on the floor by a man who had just come in, he
picked it up before squatting down again to resume his card playing.
The newcomer, a man of, say, forty years, came slowly into the
room without a word of salutation to anyone. In common with his
fellow-miners, he wore a flannel shirt and boots. The latter gave every
evidence of age as did his clothes which, nevertheless, were neat.
His face wore a mild, gentle look and would have said that he was
companionable enough; yet it was impossible not to see that he was not
willingly seeking the cheer of the saloon but came there solely because
he had no other place to go. In a word, he had every appearance of a man
down on his luck.
Men were continually coming in and going out, but no one paid the
slightest attention to him, even though a succession of audible sighs
escaped his lips. At length he went over to the counter and took a sheet
or two of the paper,--which was kept there for the few who desired to
write home,--a quill-pen and ink; and picking up a small wooden box he
seated himself upon it before a desk--which had been built from a rude
packing-case--and began wearily and laboriously to write.
"The lone star now rises!"
It was the stentorian voice of the caller of the wheel-of-fortune.
One would have thought that the sound would have had the effect of a
thunder-clap upon the figure at the desk; but he gave no sign whatever
of having heard it; nor did he see the suspicious glance which Nick,
entering at that moment, shot at Billy Jackrabbit who was stealing
noiselessly towards the dance-hall where the whoops were becoming so
frequent and evincing such exuberance of spirits that the ubiquitous, if
generally unconcerned, Nick felt it incumbent to give an explanation of
"Boys from The Ridge cuttin' up a bit," he tendered apologetically, and
took up a position at the end of the bar where he could command a view
of both rooms.
As a partial acknowledgment that he had heard Nick's communication,
Sonora turned round slightly in his seat at the faro table and shot a
glance towards the dance-hall. Contempt showed on his rugged features
when he turned round again and addressed the stocky, little man sitting
at his elbow.
"Well, I don't dance with men for partners! When I shassay, Trin, I want
a feminine piece of flesh an' blood"--he sneered, and then went on to
amplify--"with garters on."
"You bet!" agreed his faithful, if laconic pal, on feeling the other's
playful dig in his ribs.
The subject of men dancing together was a never-ceasing topic of
conversation between these two cronies. But whatever the attitude of
others Sonora knew that Trinidad would never fail him when it came
to nice discriminations of this sort. His reference to an article of
feminine apparel, however, was responsible for his recalling the fact
that he had not as yet received his daily assurance from the presiding
genius of the bar that he stood well in the estimation of the only lady
in the camp. Therefore, leaving the table, he went over to Nick and
"Has the Girl said anythin' about me to-day, Nick?"
Now the role of confidential adviser to the boys was not a new one to
the barkeeper, nor was anyone in the camp more familiar than he with
their good qualities as well as their failings. Every morning before
going to work in the placers it was their custom to stop in at The Polka
for their first drink--which was, generally, "on the house." Invariably,
Nick received them in his shirt-sleeves,--for that matter he was the
proud possessor of the sole "biled shirt" in the camp,--and what with
his red flannel undershirt that extended far below the line of his
cuffs, his brilliantly-coloured waistcoat and tie, and his hair combed
down very low in a cow-lick over his forehead, he was indeed an odd
little figure of a man as he listened patiently to the boys' grievances
and doled out sympathy to them. On the other hand, absolutely devoted to
the fair proprietress of the saloon,--though solely in the character of
a good comrade,--he never ceased trying to advance her interests; and
since one and all of her customers believed themselves to be in love
with her, one of his most successful methods was to flatter each one in
turn into thinking that he had made a tremendous impression upon her. It
was not a difficult thing to do inasmuch as long custom and repetition
had made him an adept at highly-coloured lying.
"Well, you got the first chance," asseverated Nick, dropping his voice
to a whisper.
Sonora grinned from ear to ear; he expanded his broad chest and held his
head proudly; and waving his hand in lordly fashion he sung out:
"Cigars for all hands and drinks, too, Nick!"
The genial prevaricator could scarcely restrain himself from laughing
outright as he watched the other return to his place at the faro table;
and when, in due course, he served the concoctions and passed around the
high-priced cigars, there was a smile on his face which said as plainly
as if spoken that Sonora was not the only person present that had reason
to be pleased with himself.
Then occurred one of those terpsichorean performances which never failed
to shock old Sonora's sense of the fitness of things. For the next
moment two Ridge boys, dancing together, waltzed through the opening
between the two rooms and, letting out ear-piercing whoops with every
rotation, whirled round and round the room until they brought up against
the bar where they, breathlessly, called for drinks.
An angry lull fell upon the room; the card game stopped. However, before
anyone seated there could give vent to his resentment at this boisterous
intrusion of the men from the rival camp, the smooth, oily and inviting
voice of the unprincipled Sidney Duck, scenting easy prey because of
their inebriated condition, called out in its cockney accent:
"'Ello, boys--'ow's things at The Ridge?"
"Wipes this camp off the earth!" returned a voice that was provocative
in the extreme--a reply that instantly brought every man at the faro
table to his feet. For a time, at least, it seemed as if the boys from
The Ridge would get the trouble they were looking for.
A murmur of angry amazement arose, while Sonora, his watery blue eyes
glinting, followed up his explosive, "What!" with a suggestive movement
towards his hip. But quick as he was Nick was still quicker and had The
Ridge boy, as well as Sonora, covered before their hands had even
reached their guns.
"You . . .!" the little barkeeper's sentence was bristled out and
contained along with the expletives some comparatively mild words which
gave the would-be combatants to understand that any such foolishness
would not be tolerated in The Polka unless he himself "'lowed it to be
Not unnaturally The Ridge boys failed to see anything offensive in
language that had a gun behind it; and realising the futility of any
further attempt to get away with a successful disturbance they wisely
yielded to superior quickness at the draw. With a whoop of resignation
they rushed back to the dance-hall where the voice of the caller was
exhorting the gents--whose partners were mostly big, husky, hairy-faced
men clumsily enacting parts generally assigned to members of the gentler
sex--to swing:
"With the right-hand gent, first partner swing with the left-hand gent,
first partner swing with the right-hand gent; first partner swing with
the left-hand gent, and the partner in the centre, and gents all
Back at the faro table now,--the incident having passed quickly into
oblivion,--Sonora called to the dealer for "a slug's worth of chips"--a
request that was promptly acceded to. But they had played only a few
minutes when a thin but somewhat sweet tenor voice was heard singing:
"Wait for the waggon,
Wait for the waggon,
Wait for the waggon,
And we'll all take a ride.
Wait for the waggon--"
"Here he is, gentlemen, just back from his triumphs of The Ridge!" broke
in Nick, whose province it was to act as master of ceremonies; and
coming forward as the singer emerged from the dance-hall he introduced
him to the assembled company in the most approved music-hall manner:
"Allow me to present to you, Jake Wallace the Camp favour-ite!" he said
with an exaggeratedly low bow.
"How-dy, Jake! Hello, Jake, old man! How be you, Jake!" were some of the
greetings that were hurled at the Minstrel who, robed in a long linen
duster, his face half-blacked, and banjo in hand, acknowledged the words
of welcome with a broad grin as he stood bowing in the centre of the
That Jake Wallace was a typical camp minstrel from the top of his dusty
stove-pipe hat to the sole of his flapping negro shoes, one could see
with half an eye as he made his way to a small platform--a musician's
stand--at one end of the bar; nor could there be any question about his
being a prudent one, for the musician did not seat himself until he had
carefully examined the sheet-iron shield inside the railing, which was
attached in such a way that it could be sprung up by working a spring in
the floor and render him fairly safe from a chance shot during a fracas.
"My first selection, friends, will be 'The Little--'," announced the
Minstrel with a smile as he begun to tune his instrument.
"Aw, give us 'Old Dog Tray,'" cut in Sonora, impatiently from his seat
at the card table.
Jake bowed his ready acquiescence to the request and kept right on
tuning up.
"I say, Nick, have you saw the Girl?" asked Trinidad in a low voice,
taking advantage of the interval to stroll over to the bar.
Mysteriously, Nick's eyes wandered about the room to see if anyone was
listening; at length, with marvellous insincerity, he said:
"You've got the first chance, Trin; I gave 'er your message."
Trinidad Joe fairly beamed upon him.
"Whisky for everybody, Nick!" he ordered bumptuously; and as before the
little barkeeper's face wore an expression of pleasure not a whit less
than that of the man whom, presently, he followed to the faro table with
a bottle and four glasses.
As soon as Trinidad had seated himself the Minstrel struck a chord and
announced impressively:
"'Old Dog Tray,' gents, 'or Echoes from Home'!" He cleared his throat,
and the next instant in quavering tones he warbled:
"How of-ten do I pic-ture
The old folks down at home,
And of-ten wonder if they think of me,
Would an-gel mother know me,
If back there I did roam,
Would old dog Tray re-member me."
At the first few words of his song the man at the desk who, up to this
time, had been wholly oblivious to what was taking place, arose from his
seat, put the ink-bottle back on the bar, opened a cigar-box there and
took from it a stamp, which he put on his letter. This he carried to
a mail-box attached to the door; then, returning, he threw himself
dejectedly down in a chair and put his head in his hands, where it
remained throughout the song.
At the conclusion of his solo, the Minstrel's emotions were seemingly
deeply stirred by his own melodious voice and he gasped audibly;
whereupon, Nick came to his relief with a stiff drink which, apparently,
went to the right spot, for presently the singer's voice rang out
vigorously: "Now, boys!"
No second invitation was needed, and the chorus was taken up by all, the
singers beating time with their feet and chips.
"Oh, mother, an-gel mother, are you waitin' there
beside the lit-tle cottage on the lea--"
"On the lea--"
"How of-ten would she bless me
in all them days so fair--
Would old dog Tray re-member me--"
"Re-member me."
All the while the miners had been singing, the sad and morose-looking
individual had been steadily growing more and more disconsolate; and
when Sonora rumbled out the last deep note in his big, bass voice, he
heaved a great sob and broke down completely.
In surprised consternation everyone turned in the direction from whence
had come the sound. But it was Sonora who, affected both by the pathos
of the song and the sight of the pathetic figure before them, quietly
went over and laid a hand upon the other's arm.
"Why, Larkins--Jim--what's the trouble--what's the matter?" he asked,
a thousand thoughts fluttering within his breast. "I wouldn't feel so
With a desperate effort Larkins, his face twitching perceptibly, the
lines about his eyes deepening, struggled to control himself. At last,
after taking in the astonished faces about him, he plunged into his tale
of woe.
"Say, boys, I'm homesick--I'm broke--and what's more, I don't care who
knows it." He paused, his fingers opening and closing spasmodically, and
for a moment it seemed as if he could not continue--a moment of silence
in which the Minstrel began to pick gently on his banjo the air of Old
Dog Tray.
"I want to go home!" suddenly burst from the unfortunate man's lips.
"I'm tired o' drillin' rocks; I want to be in the fields again; I want
to see the grain growin'; I want the dirt in the furrows at home; I
want old Pensylvanny; I want my folks; I'm done, boys, I'm done, I'm
done . . .!" And with these words he buried his face in his hands.
"Oh, mother, an-gel mother, are you waitin'--"
sang the Minstrel, dolefully.
Men looked at one another and were distressingly affected; The Polka had
never witnessed a more painful episode. Throwing a coin at the Minstrel,
Sonora stopped him with an impatient gesture; the latter nodded
understandingly at the same time that Nick, apparently indifferent
to Larkin's collapse, began to dance a jig behind the bar. A look
of scowling reproach instantly appeared on Sonora's face. It was
uncalled-for since, far from being heartless and indifferent to the
man's misfortunes, the little barkeeper had taken this means to distract
the miners' attention from the pitiful sight.
"Boys, Jim Larkins 'lows he's goin' back East," announced Sonora. "Chip
in every mother's son o' you."
Immediately every man at the faro table demanded cash from The Sidney
Duck; a moment later they, as well as the men who were not playing
cards, threw their money into the hat which Sonora passed around. It was
indeed a well-filled hat that Sonora held out to the weeping man.
"Here you are, Jim," he said simply.
The sudden transition from poverty to comparative affluence was too much
for Larkins! Looking through tear-dimmed eyes at Sonora he struggled for
words with which to express his gratitude, but they refused to come; and
at last with a sob he turned away. At the door, however, he stopped and
choked out: "Thank you, boys, thank you."
The next moment he was gone.
At once a wave of relief swept over the room. Indeed, the incident was
forgotten before the unfortunate man had gone ten paces from The Polka,
for then it was that Trinidad suddenly rose in his seat, lunged across
the table for The Sidney Duck's card-box, and cried out angrily:
"You're cheatin'! That ain't a square deal! You're a cheat!"
In a moment the place was in an uproar. Every man at the table sprung to
his feet; chairs were kicked over; chips flew in every direction; guns
came from every belt; and so occupied were the men in watching The
Sidney Duck that no one perceived the Lookout sneak out through the
door save Nick, who was returning from the dance-hall with a tray of
empty glasses. But whether or not he was aware that the Australian's
confederate was bent upon running away he made no attempt to stop him,
for in common with every man present, including Sonora and Trinidad, who
had seized the gambler and brought him out in front of his card-table,
Nick's eyes were fastened upon another man whom none had seen enter, but
whose remarkable personality, now as often, made itself felt even though
he spoke not a word.
"Lift his hand!" cried Sonora, looking as if for sanction at the
newcomer, who stood in the centre of the room, calmly smoking a huge
Forcing up The Sidney Duck's arms, Trinidad threw upon the table a deck
of cards which he had found concealed about the other's person, bursting
out with:
"There! Look at that, the infernal, good-for-nothin' cheat!"
"String 'im up!" suggested Sonora, and as before he shot a questioning
look at the man, who was regarding the scene with bored interest.
"You bet!" shouted Trinidad, pulling at the Australian's arm.
"For 'eaven's sake, don't, don't, don't!" wailed The Sidney Duck,
The Sheriff of Manzaneta County, for such was the newcomer's office,
raised his steely grey eyes inquisitorially to Nick's who, with a
hostile stare at the Australian, emitted:
"Chicken lifter!"
"String 'im! String 'im!" insisted Trinidad, at the same time dragging
the culprit towards the door.
"No, boys, no!" cried the unfortunate wretch, struggling uselessly to
break away from his captors.
At this stage the Sheriff of Manzaneta County took a hand in the
proceedings, and drawled out:
"Well, gentlemen--" He stopped short and seemingly became reflective.
Instantly, as was their wont whenever the Sheriff spoke, all eyes fixed
themselves upon him. Indeed, it needed but a second glance at this cool,
deliberate individual to see how great was his influence upon them.
He was tall,--fully six feet one,--thin, and angular; his hair and
moustache were black enough to bring out strongly the unhealthy pallor
of his face; his eyes were steel grey and were heavily fringed and
arched; his nose straight and his mouth hard, determined, but just, the
lips of which were thin and drawn tightly over brilliantly-white teeth;
and his soft, pale hands were almost feminine looking except for the
unusual length of his fingers. On his head was a black beaver hat with a
straight brim; a black broadcloth suit--cut after the "'Frisco" fashion
of the day--gave every evidence that its owner paid not a little
attention to it. From the bosom of his white, puffed shirt an enormous
diamond, held in place by side gold chains, flashed forth; while
glittering on his fingers was another stone almost as large. Below his
trousers could plainly be seen the highly-polished boots; the heels
and instep being higher than those generally in use. In a word, it was
impossible not to get the impression that he was scrupulously immaculate
and careful about his attire. And his voice--the voice that tells
character as nothing else does--was smooth and drawling, though
fearlessness and sincerity could easily be detected in it. Such was Mr.
Jack Rance, Gambler and Sheriff of Manzaneta County.
"This is a case for you, Jack Rance," suddenly spoke up Sonora.
"Yes," chimed in Trinidad; and then as he gave the Australian a rough
shake, he added: "Here's the Sheriff to take charge of you."
But Mr. Jack Rance, the Sheriff of Manzaneta County, was never known
to move otherwise than slowly, deliberately. Taking from his pocket a
smoothly-creased handkerchief he proceeded to dust languidly first one
and then the other of his boots; and not until he had succeeded in
flicking the last grain of dust from them did he take up the business
in hand.
"Gentlemen, what's wrong with the cyards?" he now began in his peculiar
drawling voice.
Sonora pointed to the faro table.
"The Sidney Duck's cheated!" he said--an accusation which was
responsible for a renewal of outcries and caused a number of men to
pounce upon the faro dealer.
Trinidad ran a significant hand around his collar.
"String 'im! Come on, you--!" once more he cried. But on seeing the
Sheriff raise a restraining hand he desisted from pulling the Australian
"Wait a minute!" commanded the Sheriff.
The miners with the prisoner in their midst stood stock-still. Now
the Sheriff's features lost some of their usual inscrutability and
for a moment became hard and stern. Slowly he let his eyes wander
comprehensively about the saloon: first, they travelled to a small
balcony--reached by a ladder drawn down or up at will--decorated with
red calico curtains, garlands of cedar and bittersweet, while the
railing was ornamented with a wildcat's skin and a stuffed fawn's head;
from the ceiling with its strings of red peppers, onions and apples
they fell on a stuffed grizzly bear, which stood at the entrance to
the dance-hall, with a little green parasol in its paw and an old silk
hat upon its head; from it they shifted to the gaudy bar with its
paraphernalia of fancy glasses, show-cases of coloured liquors and its
pair of scales for weighing the gold dust; and from that to a keg,
the top of which could be withdrawn without engendering the slightest
suspicion that it represented other than an ordinary receptacle for
liquor. Two notices tacked upon the wall also caught and held his
glance, his eyes dwelling most affectionately on the one reading:
"A Real Home For The Boys."
That there was such a thing as sentiment in the make-up of the
Sheriff of Manzaneta County few people, perhaps, would have believed.
Nevertheless, at the thought that this placard inspired, he dismissed
whatever inclination he might have had to deal leniently with the
culprit, and calmly observed:
"There is no reason, gentlemen, of being in a hurry. I've got something
to say about this. I don't forget, although I am the Sheriff of
Manzaneta County, that I'm running four games. But it's men like The
Sidney Duck here that casts reflections on square-minded, sporting men
like myself. And worse--far worse, gentlemen, he casts reflections on
The Polka, the establishment of the one decent woman in Cloudy."
"You bet!" affirmed Nick, indignantly.
"Yes, a lady, d'you hear me?" stormed Sonora, addressing the prisoner;
then: "You lily-livered skunk!"
"Oh, let's string 'im up!" urged Trinidad.
"Yes, come on, you . . .!" was Handsome's ejaculation, contriving, at
last, to get his hands on the faro dealer.
But again the Sheriff would have none of it.
"Hold on, hold on--" he began and paused to philosophise: "After all,
gents, what's death? A kick and you're off;" and then went on: "I've
thought of a worse punishment. Give him his coat."
Surprised and perplexed at this order, Handsome, reluctantly, assisted
the culprit into his coat.
"Put him over there," the Sheriff now ordered.
Whereupon, obedient to the instructions of that personage, The Sidney
Duck was roughly put down into a chair; and while he was firmly held
into it, Rance strolled nonchalantly over to the faro table and picked
out a card from the deck there. Returning, he quickly plucked a
stick-pin from the prisoner's scarf, saying, while he suited his action
to his words:
"See, now I place the deuce of spades over his heart as a warning. He
can't leave the camp, and he never plays cyards again--see?" And while
the men, awed to silence, stood looking at one another, he instructed
Handsome to pass the word through the camp.
"Ow, now, don't si that! Don't si that!" bawled out the card sharp.
The sentence met with universal approval. Rance waved an authoritative
hand towards the door; and the incident, a few seconds later, passed
into its place in the camp records. Albeit, in those seconds, and while
the men were engrossed in the agreeable task of ejecting The Sidney
Duck, The Polka harboured another guest, no less unwelcome, who made his
way unobserved through the saloon to become an unobtrusive spectator of
the doings in the dance-hall.
In the space of six months one can do little or much harm. The young
bandit,--for he had kept his oath to his father,--flattered himself
that he had done much. In all the mining camps of the Sierras the mere
mention of the name of Ramerrez brought forth execrations. Not a stage
started out with its precious golden freight without its passengers
having misgivings that they would be held up before reaching Sacramento.
Messengers armed with shotguns were always to be found at their post
beside the drivers; yet, despite all precautions, not a week passed
without a report that the stage out of this or that camp, had been
attacked and the passengers forced to surrender their money and
valuables. Under no circumstances, however, were any of Ramerrez's own
countrymen molested. If, by any chance, the road agent made a mistake
and stopped a party of native Californians or Mexicans, they were at
once permitted to proceed on their way with the bandit-leader's profuse
But it was altogether different with Americans. The men of that race
were compelled to surrender their gold; although so far as he was
concerned, their women were exempt from robbery. As a matter of fact, he
had few chances to show his chivalry, since few women were living, at
that time, in the Sierras. Nevertheless, it happened in rare instances
that a stage was held up which contained one or two of them, and they
were never known to complain of his treatment. And so far, at least, he
had contrived to avoid any serious bloodshed. Two or three messengers,
it is true, had been slightly wounded; but that was the most that his
worst enemies could charge against him.
As for Ramerrez's own attitude towards the life he was leading, it must
be confessed that, the plunge once taken, his days and nights were too
full of excitement and adventure to leave him time to brood. Somewhat
to his own surprise, he had inherited his father's power of iron
domination. Young as he was, not one of his father's seasoned band of
cut-throats ever questioned his right or his ability to command. At
first, no doubt, they followed him through a rude spirit of loyalty;
but after a short time it was because they had found in him all the
qualities of a leader of men, one whose plans never miscarried. Fully
two-thirds of the present band were vassals, as it were, in his family,
while all were of Spanish or Mexican descent. In truth, Ramerrez himself
was the only one among them who had any gringo blood in his veins.
And hence not a tale of the outlaw's doings was complete without the
narrator insisting upon it that the leader of the band--the road agent
himself--closely resembled an American. One and all of his victims
agreed that he spoke with an American accent, while the few who had been
able to see his features on a certain occasion when the red bandanna,
which he wore about his face, had fallen, never failed to maintain that
he looked like an American.
As a matter of fact, Ramerrez not only bore the imprint of his mother's
race in features and in speech, but the more he made war upon them, the
more he realised that it was without any real feeling of hostility. In
spite of his early training and in spite of his oath, he could not share
his father's bitterness. True, the gringos had wrecked the fortunes of
his house; it was due to them that his sole inheritance was an outlaw's
name and an outlaw's leadership. And yet, despite it all, there was
another fact that he could not forget,--the fact that he himself was one
half gringo, one half the same race as that of the unforgotten Girl whom
he had met on the road to Sacramento. Indeed, it had been impossible
to forget her, for she had stirred some depth in him, the existence of
which he had never before suspected. He was haunted by the thought of
her attractive face, her blue eyes and merry, contagious laugh. For the
hundredth time he recalled his feelings on that glorious day when he had
intercepted her on the great highway. And with this memory would come a
sudden shame of himself and occupation,--a realisation of the barrier
which he had deliberately put between the present and the past. Up to
the hour when he had parted from her, and had remained spellbound,
seated on his horse at the fork of the roads, watching the vanishing
coach up to the last minute, he was still a Spanish gentleman, still
worthy in himself,--whatever his father had done,--to offer his love and
his devotion to a pure and honest girl. But now he was an outlaw, a road
agent going from one robbery to another, likely at any time to stain his
hand with the life-blood of a fellow man. And this pretence that he was
stealing in a righteous cause, that he was avenging the wrongs that had
been done to his countrymen,--why, it was the rankest hypocrisy! He knew
in his heart that vengeance and race hatred had nothing whatever to do
with it. It was because he loved it like a game, a game of unforeseen,
unguessed danger. The fever of it was in his blood, like strong drink,--
and with every day's adventure, the thirst for it grew stronger.
Yet, however personally daring, Ramerrez was the last person in the
world to trust to chance for his operations, more than was absolutely
necessary. He handled his men with shrewd judgment and strict
discipline. Furthermore, never was an attack made that was not the
outcome of a carefully matured plan. A prime factor in Ramerrez' success
had from the first been the information which he was able to obtain from
the Mexicans, not connected with his band, concerning the places that
the miners used as temporary depositories for their gold; and it was
information of this sort that led Ramerrez and his men to choose a
certain Mexican settlement in the mountains as a base of operations:
namely, the tempting fact that a large amount of gold was stored nightly
in the Polka Saloon, at the neighbouring camp on Cloudy Mountain.
And there was still another reason.
Despite the fact that his heart had been genuinely touched by the many
and unusual attractions of the Girl, it is not intended to convey the
idea that he was austere or incapable of passion for anyone else. For
that was not so. Although, to give the bandit his due, he had remained
quite exemplary, when one considers his natural charm as well as the
fascination which his adventurous life had for his country-women.
Unfortunately, however, in one of his weak moments, he had foolishly
permitted himself to become entangled with a Mexican woman--Nina
Micheltorena, by name--whose jealous nature now threatened to prove a
serious handicap to him. It was a particularly awkward situation in
which he found himself placed, inasmuch as this woman had furnished him
with much valuable information. In fact, it was she who had called his
attention to the probable spoils to be had in the American camp near
by. It can readily be imagined, therefore, that it was not without a
premonition of trouble to come that he sought the Mexican settlement
with the intention of paying her a hundred-fold for her valuable
assistance in the past and then be through with her for good and all.
The Mexican or greaser settlements had little in them that resembled
their American neighbours. In the latter there were few women, for the
long distance that the American pioneers had to travel before reaching
the gold-fields of California, the hardships that they knew had to be
encountered, deterred them from bringing their wives and daughters. But
with the Mexicans it was wholly different. The number of women in their
camps almost equalled that of the men, and the former could always
be seen, whenever the weather permitted, strolling about or sitting
in the doorways chatting with their neighbours, while children were
everywhere. In fact, everything about the Mexican settlements conveyed
the impression that they had come to stay--a decided contrast to the
transient appearance of the camps of the Americans.
It was one evening late in the fall that Ramerrez and his band
halted just outside of this particular Mexican settlement. And after
instructing his men where they should meet him the following day, he
sent them off to enjoy themselves for the night with their friends. For,
Ramerrez, although exercising restraint over his band, never failed to
see to it that they had their pleasures as well as their duties--a trait
in his character that had not a little to do with his great influence
over his men. And so it happened that he made his way alone up the main
street to the hall where a dance was going on.
The scene that met his eyes on entering the long, low room was a gay
one. It was a motley crowd gathered there in which the Mexicans,
not unnaturally, predominated. Here and there, however, were native
Californians, Frenchmen, Germans and a few Americans, the latter
conspicuous by the absence of colour in their dress; for with the
exception of an occasional coatless man in a red or blue shirt, they
wore faded, old, black coats,--frequently frock-coats, at that,--which
certainly contrasted unfavourably, at least so far as heightening the
gaiety of the scene was concerned, with the green velvet jackets,
brilliant waistcoats with gold filigree and silver buttons and red
sashes of the Mexicans. That there was not a man present but what was
togged out in his best and was armed, it goes without saying, even
if the weapons of the Mexicans were in the form of murderous knives
concealed somewhere about their persons instead of belts with guns and
knives openly displayed, as was the case with the Americans.
At the time of the outlaw's entrance into the dance-hall the fandango
was over. But presently the fiddles, accompanied by guitars, struck up a
waltz, and almost instantly some twenty or more men and women took the
floor; those not engaged in dancing surrounding the dancers, clapping
their hands and shouting their applause. In order to see if the woman he
sought was present, it was necessary for Ramerrez to push to the very
front of the crowd of lookers-on, where he was not long in observing
that nearly all the women present were of striking appearance and danced
well; likewise, he noted, that none compared either in looks or grace
with Nina Micheltorena who, he had to acknowledge, even if his feelings
for her were dead, was a superb specimen of a woman.
Good blood ran in the veins of Nina Micheltorena. It is not in the
province of this story to tell how it was that a favourite in the best
circles of Monterey came to be living in a Mexican camp in the Sierras.
Suffice it to say that her fall from grace had been rapid, though her
dissolute career had in no way diminished her beauty. Indeed, her
features were well-nigh perfect, her skin transparently clear, if dark,
and her form was suppleness itself as she danced. And that she was the
undisputed belle of the evening was made apparent by the number of men
who watched her with eyes that marvelled at her grace when dancing, and
surrounded her whenever she stopped, each pleading with her to accept
him as a partner.
Almost every colour of the rainbow had a place in her costume for
the occasion: The bodice was of light blue silk; the skirt orange;
encircling her small waist was a green sash; while her jet-black hair
was fastened with a crimson ribbon. Diamonds flashed from the earrings
in her ears as well as from the rings on her fingers. All in all, it was
scarcely to be wondered at that her charms stirred to the very depths
the fierce passion of the desperate characters about her.
That Ramerrez dreaded the interview which he had determined to have with
his confederate can easily be understood by anyone who has ever tried to
sever his relations with an enamoured woman. In fact the outlaw dreaded
it so much that he decided to postpone it as long as he could. And so,
after sauntering aimlessly about the room, and coming, unexpectedly,
across a woman of his acquaintance, he began to converse with her,
supposing, all the time, that Nina Micheltorena was too occupied with
the worshippers at her shrine to perceive that he was in the dance-hall.
But it was decidedly a case of the wish being father to the thought: Not
a movement had he made since he entered that she was not cognisant of it
and, although she hated to acknowledge it to herself, deep down in her
heart she was conscious that he was not as thoroughly under the sway of
her dark eyes as she would have wished. Something had happened in the
last few weeks that had brought about a change in him, but just what it
was she was unable to determine. There were moments when she saw plainly
that he was much more occupied with his daring plans than he was with
thoughts of her. So far, it was true, there had been no evidences on his
part of any hesitation in confiding his schemes to her. Of that she was
positive. But, on the other hand, she had undoubtedly lost some of her
influence over him. It did not lessen her nervousness to realise that he
had been in the hall for some time without making any effort to see her.
Besides, the appointment had been of his own making, inasmuch as he had
sent word by one of his band that she should meet him to-night in this
place. Furthermore, she knew that he had in mind one of the boldest
projects he had yet attempted and needed, to insure success, every scrap
of knowledge that she possessed. In the meantime, while she waited for
him to seek her out, she resolved to show him the extent of her power
to fascinate others; and from that moment never had she seemed more
attractive and alluring to her admirers, in all of whom she appeared to
excite the fiercest of passions. In fact, one word whispered in an ear
by those voluptuous lips and marvellously sweet, musical voice, and the
recipient would have done her bidding, even had she demanded a man's
life as the price of her favour.
It is necessary, however, to single out one man as proving an exception
to this sweeping assertion, although this particular person seemed no
less devoted than the other men present. He was plainly an American and
apparently a stranger to his countrymen as well as to the Mexicans. His
hair was white and closely cropped, the eyebrows heavy and very black,
the lips nervous and thin but denoting great determination, and the
face was tanned to the colour of old leather, sufficiently so as to be
noticeable even in a country where all faces were tanned, swarthy, and
dark. One would have thought that this big, heavy, but extremely-active
man whose clothes, notwithstanding the wear and tear of the road, were
plainly cut on "'Frisco patterns," was precisely the person calculated
to make an impression upon a woman like Nina Micheltorena; and, yet,
oddly enough, he was the only man in the room whose attentions seemed
distasteful to her. It could not be accounted for on the ground of
his nationality, for she danced gladly with others of his race. Nor
did it look like caprice on her part. On the contrary, there was an
expression on her face that resembled something like fear when she
refused to be cajoled into dancing with him. At length, finding her
adamant, the man left the room.
But as time went by and still Ramerrez kept aloof, Nina Micheltorena's
excitement began to increase immeasureably. To such a woman the outlaw's
neglect could mean but one thing--another woman. And, finally, unable
to control herself any longer, she made her way to where the woman with
whom Ramerrez had been conversing was standing alone.
"What has the Senor been saying to you?" she demanded, jealousy and
ungovernable passion blazing forth from her eyes.
"Nothing of interest to you," replied the other with a shrug of her
"It's a lie!" burst from Nina's lips. "I heard him making love to you! I
was standing near and heard every tone, every inflection of his voice! I
saw how he looked at you!" And so crazed was she by jealousy that her
face became distorted and almost ugly, if such a thing were possible,
and her great eyes filled with hatred.
The other woman laughed scornfully.
"Make your man stay away from me then--if you can," she retorted.
At that the infuriated Nina drew a knife and cried:
"Swear to me that you'll not see him to-night, or--"
The sentence was never finished. Quick as lightning Ramerrez stepped in
and caught Nina's up-raised arm. For one instant her eyes flashed fire
at him; another, and submissive to his will, she slipped the knife
somewhere in the folds of her dress and the attention that she had
succeeded in attracting was diverted elsewhere. Those who had rushed up
expecting a tragedy returned, once more, to their dancing.
"I have been looking for you, Nina," he said, taking her to one side. "I
want to speak with you."
Nina laughed airily, but only another woman would have been able to
detect the danger lurking in that laugh.
"Have you just come in?" she inquired casually. "It is generally not
difficult to find me when there is dancing." And then with a significant
smile: "But perhaps there were so many men about me that I was
completely hidden from the view of the Senor."
Ramerrez bowed politely his belief in the truth of her words; then he
said somewhat seriously:
"I see a vacant table over in the corner where we can talk without
danger of being overheard. Come!" He led the way, the woman following
him, to a rough table of pine at the farther end of the room where,
immediately, a bottle and two glasses were placed before them. When they
had pledged each other, Ramerrez went on to say, in a low voice, that he
had made the appointment in order to deliver to her her share for the
information that led to his successful holdup of the stage at a place
known as "The Forks," a few miles back; and taking from his pocket a
sack of gold he placed it on the table before her.
There was a silence in which Nina made no movement to pick up the gold;
whereupon, Ramerrez repeated a little harshly:
"Your share."
Slowly the woman rose, picking up the sack as she did so, and with a
request that he await her, she made her way over to the bar where she
handed it to the Mexican in charge with a few words of instruction. In
another moment she was again seated at the table with him.
"Why did you send for me to meet you here?" she now asked. "Why did you
not come to my room--surely you knew that there was danger here?"
Carelessly, Ramerrez let his eyes wander about the room; no one was
paying the slightest attention to them and, apparently, there being
nothing to fear, he answered:
"From whom?"
For a brief space of time the woman looked at him as if she would ferret
out his innermost thoughts; at length, she said with a shrug of the
"Few here are to be thoroughly trusted. The woman you were with--she
knows you?"
"I never met her but once before," was his laconic rejoinder.
Nina eyed him suspiciously; at last she was satisfied that he spoke the
truth, but there was still that cold, abstracted manner of his to be
explained. However, cleverly taking her cue from him she inquired in
business-like tones:
"And how about The Polka Saloon--the raid on Cloudy Mountain Camp?"
A shade of annoyance crossed Ramerrez' face.
"I have decided to give that up--at least for a time."
Again Nina regarded him curiously; when she spoke there was a suspicious
gleam in her eyes, though she said lightly:
"Perhaps you're right--it will not be an easy job."
"Far from it," quickly agreed the man. "But the real reason is, that I
have planned to go below for a while."
The woman's eyes narrowed.
"You are going away then?"
"And what about me? Do I go with you?"
Ramerrez laughed uneasily.
"It is impossible. The fact is, it is best that this should be our last
meeting." And seeing the change that came over her face he went on in
more conciliatory tones: "Now, Nina, be reasonable. It is time that we
understood each other. This interview must be final."
"And you came here to tell me this?" blazed the woman, scowling darkly
upon him. And for the moment she looked all that she was reputed to
be--a dangerous woman!
Receiving no answer, she spoke again.
"But you said that you would love me always?"
The man flushed.
"Did I say that once? What a memory you have!"
"And you never meant it?"
"I suppose so--at the time."
"Then you don't love me any more?"
Ramerrez made no answer.
For some moments Nina sat perfectly still. Her mind was busy trying
to determine upon the best course to pursue. At length she decided to
make one more attempt to see whether he was really in earnest. And if
not . . .
"But to-night," she hazarded, leaning far over the table and putting her
face close to his, her eyes the while flooded with voluptuousness, "you
will come with me to my room?"
Ramerrez shook his head.
"No, Nina, all that is over."
The woman bit her lips with vexation.
"Are you made of stone? What is the matter with you to-night? Is there
anything wrong with my beauty? Have you seen anyone handsomer than I
"No . . ."
"Then why not come? You don't hate?"
"I don't hate you in the least, but I won't go to your room."
There was a world of meaning in that one word. For a while she seemed
to be reflecting; suddenly with great earnestness she said:
"Once for all, Ramerrez, listen to me. Rather than give you up to any
other woman I will give you up to death. Now do you still refuse me?"
"Yes . . ." answered Ramerrez not unkindly and wholly unmoved by her
threat. "We've been good pals, Nina, but it's best for both that we
should part."
In the silence that ensued the woman did some hard thinking. That a man
could ever tire of her without some other woman coming into his life
never once entered into her mind. Something told her, nevertheless, that
the woman with whom he had been conversing was not the woman that she
sought; and at a loss to discover the person to whom he had transferred
his affections, her mind reverted to his avowed purpose of withdrawing
from the proposed Cloudy Mountain expedition. The more Nina reflected
on that subject the more convinced she became that, for some reason or
other, Ramerrez had been deceiving her. It was made all the more clear
to her when she recalled that when Ramerrez' messenger had brought his
master's message that she was to meet him, she had asked where the
band's next rendezvous was to be, and that he, knowing full well that
his countrywoman had ever been cognizant of his master's plans, had
freely given the desired information. Like a flash it came to her now
that no such meeting-place would have been selected for any undertaking
other than a descent upon Cloudy Mountain Camp. Nor was her intuition or
reasoning at fault: Ramerrez had not given up his intention of getting
the miners' gold that he knew from her to be packed away somewhere in
The Polka Saloon; but what she did not suspect, despite his peculiar
behaviour, was that he had taken advantage of the proximity of the two
camps to sever his relation, business and otherwise, with her. And yet,
did he but know it, she was destined to play no small part in his life
for the next few weeks!
Nina Micheltorena had now decided upon her future course of action: She
would let him think that his desire to break off all relations with her
would not be opposed. Ever a keen judge of men and their ways, she was
well aware that any effort to reclaim him to-night would meet with
disaster. And so when Ramerrez, surprised at her long silence, looked
up, he was met with a smiling face and the words:
"So be it, Ramerrez. But if anything happens, remember you have only
yourself to blame."
Ramerrez was astounded at her cool dismissal of the subject. To judge by
the expression on his face he had indeed obtained his release far easier
than he had deemed it possible. As a matter of fact, her indifference
so piqued him that before he was conscious of his words he had asked
somewhat lamely:
"You wish me well? We part as friends?"
Nina regarded him with well-simulated surprise, and replied:
"Why, of course--the best of friends. Good luck, _amigo_!" And with that
she rose and left him.
And so it was that later that evening after assuring herself that
neither Ramerrez nor any of his band remained in the dance-hall, Nina,
her face set and pale, exchanged a few whispered words with that same
big man towards whom, earlier in the evening, she had shown such
The effect of these words was magical; the man could not suppress a
grunt of intense satisfaction.
"She says I'm to meet her to-morrow night at the Palmetto Restaurant,"
said Ashby to himself after the woman had lost herself in a crowd of
her own countrymen. "She will tell where I can put my hands on this
Ramerrez. Bah! It's too good to be true. Nevertheless, I'll be on hand,
my lady, for if anyone knows of this fellow's movements I'll wager you
At that moment Ashby, the Wells Fargo Agent, was nearer than ever before
to the most brilliant capture of all his career.
Late the following afternoon, some five miles from the Mexican
settlement, on a small tableland high above a black ravine which was
thickly timbered with the giant trees of the Sierras, Ramerrez' band was
awaiting the coming of the _Maestro_. It was not to be a long wait and
they stood around smoking and talking in low tones. Suddenly, the sound
of horses climbing was heard, and soon a horseman came in sight whose
appearance had the effect of throwing them instantly into a state of
excitement, one and all drawing their guns and making a dash for their
horses, which were tied to trees. A moment later, however, another
horseman appeared, and laughing boisterously at themselves they slid
their guns back into their belts and retied their horses, for the man
whom they recognised so quickly, the individual who saved the situation,
as it were, was none other than Jose Castro, an ex-_padrona_ of the
bull-fights and the second in command to Ramerrez. He was a wiry,
hard-faced and shifty-eyed Mexican, but was as thoroughly devoted to
Ramerrez as he had been to the young leader's father. On the other hand,
the man who had caused them to fear that a stranger had surprised them,
and that they had been trapped, was Ramerrez or Johnson--the name that
he had assumed for the dangerous work he was about to engage in--and
they had failed to know him, dressed as he was in the very latest
fashion prevailing among the Americans in Sacramento in '49. Nor was it
to be wondered at, for on his head was a soft, brown hat--large, but not
nearly the proportions of a sombrero; a plain, rough tweed coat and a
waistcoat of a darker tan, which showed a blue flannel shirt beneath it;
and his legs were encased in boots topped by dark brown leggings. In a
word, his get-up resembled closely the type of American referred to
disdainfully by the miners of that time as a Sacramento guy; whereas,
the night before he had taken great pains to attire himself as gaudily
as any of the Mexicans at the dance, and he had worn a short black
jacket of a velvety material that was not unlike corduroy and covered
with braid; his breeches were of the same stuff; above his boots were
leather gaiters; and around his waist was a red sash.
It was now close to four o'clock in the afternoon and the band began
their preparations for the raid. To the rear of the small, open space
where they had been waiting was a fairly good-sized cave, in the opening
of which they deposited various articles unnecessary for the expedition.
It took only a short time to do this, and within half an hour from the
time that their leader had so startled them by his strange appearance,
the outlaws were ready to take the trail for Cloudy Mountain. One
comprehensive glance the pseudo-American--and he certainly looked the
part--shot at his picturesque, if rough-looking followers, not a few of
whom showed red bandannas under their sombreros or around their necks--
and then with a satisfied expression on his face--for he had a leader's
pride in his men--he gave the signal and led the way along and down the
steep trail from the tableland. And as from time to time he glanced back
over his shoulders to where the men were coming along in single file, he
could see that in every eye was a glint of exultation at the prospect of
After they had gone about three miles they crossed the black ravine, and
from there they began to ascend. Up and up they went, the path very hard
on the horses, until finally they came to the top of a pass where it
had been arranged that the band should await further instructions, none
going on further save the two leaders. Here, saddle-girths and guns
were inspected, the last orders given, and with a wave of the hand in
response to the muttered wishes of good luck, Johnson,--for as such
he will be known from this time on,--followed by Castro, made his way
through the forest towards Cloudy Mountain.
For an hour or so Johnson rode along in that direction, checking the
speed of his horse every time the sun came into view and showed that
there was yet some time before sunset. Presently, he made a sign to
Castro to take the lead, for he had never been in this locality before,
and was relying on his subordinate to find a spot from which he could
reconnoitre the scene of the proposed raid without the slightest danger
of meeting any of the miners.
At a very sharp turn of the road to the left Castro struck off through
the forest to the right and, within a few minutes, reached a place where
the trees had thinned out and were replaced by the few scrubs that grew
in a spot almost barren. A minute or so more and the two men, their
horses tied, were able to get an uninterrupted view of Cloudy Mountain.
The scene before them was one of grandeur. Day was giving place to
night, fall to winter, and yet at this hour all the winds were stilled.
In the distance gleamed the snow-capped Sierras, range after range as
far as the eye could see to the northwest; in the opposite direction
there stood out against the steel-blue of the sky a succession of wooded
peaks ever rising higher and higher until culminating in the faraway
white mountains of the south; and below, they looked upon a ravine that
was brownish-green until the rays of the departing orb touched the
leaves with opal tints.
Now the fast-falling sun flung its banner of gorgeous colours across the
western sky. Immediately a wonderful light played upon the fleecy cumuli
gathered in the upper heavens of the east and changed them from pearl to
brilliant scarlet. For a moment, also, the purple hills became wonderful
piles of dull gold and copper; a moment more and the magic hand of the
King of Day was withdrawn.
In front of them now, dark, gloomy and threatening rose Cloudy Mountain,
from which the Mining Camp took its name; and on a plateau near its
base the camp itself could plainly be seen. It consisted of a group
of miners' cabins set among pines, firs and manzaneta bushes with two
larger pine-slab buildings, and scattered around in various places were
shafts, whose crude timber-hoists appeared merely as vague outlines in
the fast-fading light. The distance to the camp from where they stood
was not over three miles as the crow flies, but it appeared much less in
the rarefied atmosphere.
As the two bandits stood on the edge of the precipice looking across and
beyond the intervening gulch or ravine, here and there a light twinkled
out from the cabins and, presently, a much stronger illumination shot
forth from one of the larger and more pretentious buildings. Castro was
quick to call his master's attention to it.
"There--that place with the light is The Palmetto Hotel!" he exclaimed.
"And over there--the one with the larger light is The Polka Saloon!" For
even as he spoke the powerful kerosene lamp of The Polka Saloon, flanked
by a composition metal reflector, flashed out its light into the gloom
enveloping the desolate, ominous-looking mountains.
Johnson regarded this building long and thoughtfully. Then his eyes made
out a steep trail which zigzagged from The Polka Saloon up the barren
slopes of the mountain until it reached a cabin perched on the very top,
the steps and porch of which were held up by poles made of trees. There,
also, a light could be seen, but dimly. It was a strange place for
anyone to erect a dwelling-place, and he found himself wondering what
manner of person dwelt there. Of one thing he was certain: whoever it
was the mountains were loved for themselves, for no mere digger of gold
would think of erecting a habitation in view of those strange, vast, and
silent heights!
And as he meditated thus, he perceived that the far off Sierras were
forming a background for a sinuous coil of smoke from the cabin. For
some time he watched it curling up into the great arch of sky. It was as
if he were hypnotised by it and, in a vague, shadowy way, he had a sense
of being connected, somehow, with the little cabin and its recluse. Was
this feeling that he had a premonition of danger? Was this a moment of
foreboding and distrust of the situation yet to be revealed? For like
most venturesome men he always had a moment before every one of his
undertakings in which his instinct either urged him forward or held him
Suddenly he became conscious that his eyes no longer saw the smoke. He
stared hard to glimpse it, but it was gone. And with a supreme effort he
wrenched himself free from a sort of paralysis which was stealing away
his senses.
Now the light in the cabin disappeared, and since the shades of night,
for which he had been waiting, had fallen, he called to the impatient
and wondering Castro, and together they went back to the trail.
But even as they crossed the gulch and reached the outskirts of the camp
a great white moon rose from behind the Sierras. To Castro, hidden now
in the pines, it meant nothing so long as it did not interfere with his
purpose. As a matter of fact he was already listening intently to the
bursts of song and shouts of revelry that came every now and then from
the nearby saloon. But his master, unaccountably under the spell of the
moon's mystery and romance, watched it until it shed its silvery and
magic light upon the lone cabin on the top of Cloudy Mountain, which
Fate had chosen for the decisive scene of his dramatic life.
Inside The Polka, not a bit more, and not a bit less sardonic--it was
this imperturbability which made him so resistless to most people--than
he was prior to the banishment of The Sidney Duck, the Sheriff of
Manzaneta County waited patiently until the returning puppets of his
will had had time to compose themselves. It took them merely the
briefest of periods, but it served to increase visibly the long ash at
the end of Rance's cigar. At length he shot a hawk-like glance at Sonora
and proposed a little game of poker.
"This time, gentlemen--" he said, with a significant pause and accent--
"just for social recreation. What do you say?"
"I'm your Injun!" acquiesced Sonora, rubbing his hands together
gleefully at the prospect of winning from the Sheriff, whom he liked
none too well.
"That's me, too!" concurred Trinidad.
"Chips, then, Nick!" called out the Sheriff, quietly taking a seat at
the table; while Sonora, bubbling over with spirits, hitched up his
trousers in sailor fashion and executed an impromptu hornpipe, bellowing
in his deep, base voice:
"I shipped aboard of a liner, boys--"
"Renzo, boys, renzo," finished Trinidad, falling in place at the table.
At this point the outside door was unexpectedly pushed open, inward, and
the Deputy-Sheriff came into their midst.
"Ashby just rode in with his posse," he announced huskily to his
The Sheriff flashed a look of annoyance and inquired of the gaunt,
hollow-cheeked, muscular Deputy whose beaver overcoat was thrown open
so that his gun and powder-flask showed plainly in his belt:
"Why, what's he doing here?"
"He's after Ramerrez," answered the Deputy, eyeing him intently.
Rance received this information in silence and went on with his
shuffling of the cards; presently, unconcernedly, he remarked:
"Ramerrez--Oh, that's the polite road agent who has been visiting the
other camps?"
"Yes; he's just turned into your county," declared the Deputy,
"What?" Sonora looked dumbfounded.
The Deputy nodded and proceeded to the bar. And while he drained the
contents of his glass, the Minstrel played on his banjo, much to the
amusement of the men, who showed their appreciation by laughing
heartily, the last bars of, "Pop Goes the Weasel."
"Hello, Sheriff!" greeted Ashby, coming in just as the merriment over
the Minstrel's little joke had died away. Ashby's voice--quick, sharp
and decisive was that of a man accustomed to ordering men, but his
manner was suave, if a trifle gruff. Moreover, he was a man of whom it
could be said, paradoxical as it may seem, that he was never known to be
drunk nor ever known to be sober. It was plain from his appearance that
he had been some time on the road.
Rance rose and politely extended his hand. And, although the greeting
between the two men was none too cordial, yet in their look, as they
eyed each other, was the respect which men have for others engaged
more or less in the same business and in whom they recognise certain
qualities which they have in common. In point of age Ashby was, perhaps,
the senior. As far as reputation was concerned, both men were accounted
nervy and square. Rance introduced him to Sonora and the others, saying:
"Boys, Mr. Ashby of Wells Fargo."
The latter had a pleasant word or two for the men; then, turning to the
Deputy, he said:
"And how are you these days?"
"Fit. And yourself?"
"Same here." Turning now to the barkeeper, Ashby, with easy familiarity,
added: "Say, Nick, give us a drink."
"Sure!" came promptly from the little barkeeper.
"Everybody'll have the same?" inquired Ashby, turning once more to the
"The same!" returned the men in chorus.
Thereupon, Nick briskly slapped down a bottle and four glasses before
the Sheriff, and leaving him to do the honours, disappeared into the
"'Well, I trust the Girl who runs The Polka is well?" inquired Ashby,
pushing his glass near the bottle.
"Fine as silk," vouched Sonora, adding in the next breath: "But, say,
Mr. Ashby, how long you been chasm' up this road agent?"
"Oh, he only took to the road a few months ago," was Ashby's answer.
"Wells Fargo have had me and a posse busy ever since. He's a wonder!"
"Must be to evade you," complimented Sonora, much to the discomfort of
the Sheriff.
"Yes, I can smell a road agent in the wind," declared Ashby somewhat
boastfully. "But, Rance, I expect to get that fellow right here in your
The Sheriff looked as if he scouted the idea, and was about to speak,
but checked the word on his tongue. Then followed a short silence in
which the Deputy, smiling a trifle derisively, went out of the saloon.
"Is this fellow a Spaniard?" questioned the Sheriff, drawling as usual,
but at the same time jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards a
placard on the wall, which read:
(SIGNED) WELLS FARGO."
"No--can't prove it. The fact of his leading a crew of greasers and
Spaniards signifies nothing. His name is assumed, I suppose."
"They say he robs you like a gentleman," remarked Rance with some show
of interest.
"Well, look out for the greasers up the road!" was Ashby's warning as he
emptied his glass and put it down before him.
"We don't let them pass through here," shrugged Rance, likewise putting
down his glass on the table.
Ashby now picked up the whisky bottle and carried it over to the
deserted faro table before which he settled himself comfortably in a
"Well, boys, I've had a long ride--wake me up when The Pony Express goes
through!" he called over his shoulder as he put his coat over him.
But no sooner was he comfortably ensconced for a snooze than Nick
came bustling in with a kettle of boiling water and several glasses
half-filled with whisky and lemon. Stopping before Ashby he said in his
best professional manner:
"Re-gards of the Girl--hot whisky straight with lemming extract."
Ashby took up his glass, as did, in turn, the men at the other table.
But it was Rance who, with arm uplifted, toasted:
"The Girl, gentlemen, the only Girl in Camp, the Girl I mean to make
Mrs. Jack Rance!"
Confident that neither would catch him in the act, Nick winked first at
Sonora and then at Trinidad. That the little barkeeper was successful
in making the former, at least, believe that he possessed the Girl's
affections was manifested by the big miner's next remark.
"That's a joke, Rance. She makes you look like a Chinaman."
Rance sprang to his feet, white with rage.
"You prove that!" he shouted.
"In what particular spot will you have it?" taunted Sonora, as his hand
crept for his gun.
Simultaneously, every man in the room made a dash for cover. Nick ducked
behind the bar, for, as he told himself when safely settled there, he
was too old a bird to get anywhere near the line of fire when two old
stagers got to making lead fly about. Nor was Trinidad slow in arriving
at the other end of the bar where he caromed against Jake, who had
dropped his banjo and was frantically trying to kick the spring of the
iron shield in an endeavour to protect himself--a feat which, at last,
he succeeded in performing. But, fortunately, for all concerned, as
the two men stood eyeing each other, their hands on their hips ready
to draw, Nick, from his position behind the bar, glimpsed through the
window the Girl on the point of entering the saloon.
"Here comes the Girl!" he cried excitedly. "Aw, leave your guns alone--
take your drinks, quick!"
For a fraction of a second the men looked sheepishly at one another,
even Nick appearing a trifle uncomfortable, as he picked up the kettle
and went off with it.
"Once more we're friends, eh, boys?" said Rance, with a forced laugh;
and then as he lifted his glass high in the air, he gave the toast:
"The Girl!"
"The Girl!" repeated all--all save Ashby, whose snores by this time
could be heard throughout the big room--and drained their glasses.
There was a general movement towards the bar when the fair proprietress
of The Polka, who had lingered longer than usual in her little cabin on
top of the mountain, breezily entered the place by the main door. In a
coarse, blue skirt, and rough, white flannel blouse, cut away and held
in place at the throat by a crimson ribbon, the Girl made a pretty
picture; it was not difficult to see why the boys of Cloudy Mountain
Camp had a feeling which fell little short of adoration for this
sun-browned maid, with the spirit of the mountain in her eyes. That
each in his own way had given her to understand that he was desperately
smitten with her, goes without saying. But, although she accepted their
rough homage as a matter of course, such a thought as falling in love
with anyone of them had never entered her mind.
As far back, almost, as she could remember, the Girl had lived among
them and had ever been a true comrade, sharing their disappointments and
thrilling with their successes. Of a nature pure and simple, she was,
nevertheless, frank and outspoken. Moreover, she knew to a dot what was
meant when someone--bolder than his mates--stretched out his arms to
her. One such exhibition on a man's part she was likely to forgive and
forget, but the wrath and scorn that had blazed forth from her blue
eyes on such an occasion had been sufficient to prevent a repetition of
the offence. In short, unspoiled by their coarse flattery, and, to all
appearances, happy and care-free, she attended to the running of The
Polka wholly unsmirched by her environment.
But a keen observer would not have failed to detect that the Girl took
a little less pleasure in her surroundings than she had taken in them
before she had made the trip to Monterey. Downright glad, to use her own
expression, as she had been on her return to see the boys of the camp
and hear their boisterous shouts of welcome when the stage drew up in
front of The Polka, she had to acknowledge that her home-coming was not
quite what she expected. It was as if she had suddenly been startled out
of a beautiful dream wherein she had been listening to the soft music of
her lover's voice and brought face to face with the actualities of life,
which, in her case, to say the least, were very real.
For hours after leaving her admirer sitting motionless on his horse on
the great highway between Monterey and Sacramento, the Girl had indulged
in some pertinent thoughts which, if the truth were known, were anything
but complimentary to her behaviour. And, however successful she was
later on in persuading herself that he would eventually seek her out,
there was no question that at first she felt that the chances of her
ever setting eyes on him again were almost negligible. All the more
bitterly, therefore, did she regret her folly in not having told him
where she lived; particularly so since she assured herself that not only
was he the handsomest man that she had ever seen, but that he was the
only one who had ever succeeded in chaining her attention. That he had
been making love to her with his eyes, if not with words, she knew
only too well--a fact that had been anything but displeasing to her.
Indeed, far from having felt sorry that she had encouraged him, she,
unblushingly, acknowledged to herself that, if she had the thing to do
over again, she would encourage him still more.
Was she then a flirt? Not at all, in the common acceptation of the word.
All her knowledge of the ways of the world had been derived from Mother
Nature, who had supplied her with a quick and ready wit to turn aside,
with a smile, the protestations of the boys; had taught her how to live
on intimate terms with them and yet not be intimate; but when it came
to playing at love, which every city maid of the same age is an adept
at, she was strangely ignorant. Of a truth, then, it was something
far broader and deeper that had entered into her heart--love. Not
infrequently love comes as suddenly as this to young women who live
in small mining camps or out-of-the-way places where the men are
practically of a type; it is their unfamiliarity with the class which
a stranger represents when he makes his appearance in their midst that
is responsible, fully as much as his own personality, for their being
attracted to him. It is not impossible, of course, that if the Girl had
met him in Cloudy,--say as a miner there,--the result would have been
precisely the same. But it is much more likely that the attendant
conditions of their meeting aided him in appealing to her imagination,
and in touching a chord in her nature which, under other circumstances,
would not have responded in as many months as there were minutes on that
eventful day.
Little wonder then, that as each succeeding mile travelled by the stage
took her further and further away from him, something which, as yet, she
did not dare to name, kept tugging at her heartstrings and which she
endeavoured to overcome by listening to the stage driver's long-winded
reminiscences and anecdotes concerning the country through which
they were passing. But, although she made a brave effort to appear
interested, it did not take him long to realise that something was on
his passenger's mind and, being a wise man, he gradually relapsed into
silence, with the result that, before the long journey ended at Cloudy
Mountain, she had deceived herself into believing that she was certain
to see her admirer again.
But as the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months, and the Girl
neither saw nor heard anything of him, it was inevitable that the
picture that he had left on her mind should begin to grow dim.
Nevertheless, it was surprising what a knack his figure had of appearing
before her at various times of the day and night, when she never failed
to compare him with the miners in the camp, and, needless to say,
unflatteringly to them. There came a time, it is true, when she was
sorely tempted to tell one of them something of this new-found friend of
hers; but rightly surmising the effect that her praising of her paragon
would have upon the recipient of her confidences, she wisely resolved to
lock up his image in her heart.
Of course, there were moments, too, when the Girl regretted that there
was no other woman--some friend of her own sex in the camp--to whom she
could confide her little romance. But since that boon was denied her,
she took to seeking out the most solitary places to dream of him. In
such moods she would climb to a high crag, a few feet from her cabin,
and with a reminiscent and far-away look in her eyes she would sit for
hours gazing at the great canyons and gorges, the broad forests and
wooded hillsides, the waterfalls flashing silver in the distance, and,
above all, at the wonderously-grand and snow-capped peaks of the main
At other times she would take the trail leading from the camp to the
country below, and after wandering about aimlessly in the beautiful and
mysterious forests, she would select some little glen through which
a brook trickled and murmured underneath the ferns into a pool, and
seating herself on a clump of velvet moss, the great sugar pines and
firs forming a canopy over her head, she would whisper her secret
thoughts and wild hopes to the gorgeously-plumed birds and saucy
squirrels scampering all about her. The hours spent thus were as oases
in her otherwise practical existence, and after a while she would
return laden down with great bunches of ferns and wild flowers which,
eventually, found a place on the walls of The Polka.
* * * * * *
Glancing at the bar to see that everything was to her satisfaction, the
Girl greeted the boys warmly, almost rapturously with:
"Hello, boys! How's everythin'? Gettin' taken care of?"
"Hello, Girl!" sang out Sonora in what he considered was his most
fetching manner. He had been the first to reach the coveted position
opposite the Girl, although Handsome, who had followed her in, was
leaning at the end of the bar nearest to the dance-hall.
"Hello, Sonora!" returned the Girl with an amused smile, for it was
impossible with her keen sense of humour not to see Sonora's attempts
to make himself irresistible to her. Nor did she fail to observe that
Trinidad, likewise, had spruced himself up a little more than usual,
with the same purpose in mind.
"Hello, Girl!" he said, strolling up to her with a ludicrous swagger.
"Hello, Trin!" came from the Girl, smilingly.
There was an awkward pause in which both Sonora and Trinidad floundered
about in their minds for something to say; at length, a brilliant
inspiration came to the former, and he asked:
"Say, Girl, make me a prairie oyster, will you?"
"All, right, Sonora, I'll fix you right up," returned the Girl, smiling
to herself at his effort. But at the moment that she was reaching for a
bottle back of the bar, a terrific whoop came from the dance-hall, and
ever-watchful lest the boys' fun should get beyond her control, she
called to her factotum to quiet things down in the next room, concluding
"They've had about enough."
When the barkeeper had gone to do her bidding, the Girl picked up an
egg, and, poising it over a glass, she went on:
"Say, look 'ere, Sonora, before I crack this 'ere egg, I'd like to state
that eggs is four bits apiece. Only two hens left--" She broke off
short, and turning upon Handsome, who had been gradually sidling
up until his elbows almost touched hers, she repulsed him a trifle
"Oh, run away, Handsome!"
A flush of pleasure at Handsome's evident discomfiture spread over
Sonora's countenance, and comical, indeed, to the Girl, was the majestic
air he took on when he ordered recklessly:
"Oh, crack the egg--I'll stand for it."
But Sonora's fancied advantage over the others was of short duration,
for the next instant Nick, stepping quickly forward with a drink, handed
it to the Girl with the words:
"Regards of Blonde Harry."
Again Sonora experienced a feeling akin to jealousy at what he termed
Blonde Harry's impudence. It almost immediately gave way to a paroxysm
of chuckling; for, the Girl, quickly taking the glass from Nick's hand,
flung its contents into a nearby receptacle.
"There--tell 'im that it hit the spot!" She laughed.
Nick roared with the others, but on the threshold of the dance-hall he
paused, hesitated, and finally came back, and advised in a low tone:
"Throw around a few kind words, Girl--good for the bar."
The Girl surveyed the barkeeper with playful disapproval in her eye.
However advantageous might be his method of working up trade, she
disdained to follow his advice, and her laughing answer was:
"Oh, you Nick!"
The peal of laughter that rung in Nick's ears as he disappeared through
the door, awakened Ashby and brought him instantly to his feet. Despite
his size, he was remarkably quick in his movements, and in no time at
all he was standing before the bar with a glass, which he had filled
from the bottle that had stood in front of him on the table, and was
"Compliments of Wells Fargo."
"Thank you," returned the Girl; and then while she shook the prairie
oyster: "You see we live high-shouldered here."
"That's what!" put in Sonora with a broad grin.
"What cigars have you?" asked Ashby, at the conclusion of his round of
"Regalias, Auroras and Eurekas," reeled off the Girl with her eye upon
Billy Jackrabbit, who had quietly come in and was sneaking about in an
endeavour to find something worth pilfering.
"Oh, any will do," Ashby told her, with a smile; and while he was
helping himself from a box of Regalias, Nick suddenly appeared, calling
out excitedly:
"Man jest come in threatenin' to shoot up the furniture!"
"Who is it?" calmly inquired the Girl, returning the cigar-box to its
place on the shelf.
"Old man Watson!"
"Leave 'im shoot,--he's good for it!"
"Nick! Nick!" yelled several voices in the dance-hall where old man
Watson was surely having the time of his life.
And still the Girl paid not the slightest attention to the shooting or
the cries of the men; what did concern her, however, was the fact that
the Indian was drinking up the dregs in the whisky glasses on the faro
"Here, you, Billy Jackrabbit! What are you doin' here?" she exclaimed
sharply, causing that generally imperturbable redskin to start
perceptibly. "Did you marry my squaw yet?"
Billy Jackrabbit's face wore as stolid an expression as ever, when he
"Not so much married squaw--yet."
"Not so much married . . ." repeated the Girl when the merriment, which
his words provoked, had subsided. "Come 'ere, you thievin' redskin!" And
when he had slid up to the bar, and she had extracted from his pockets a
number of cigars which she knew had been pilfered, she added: "You git
up to my cabin an' marry my squaw before I git there." And at another
emphatic "Git!" the Indian, much to the amusement of all, started for
the Girl's cabin.
"Here--here's your prairie oyster, Sonora," at last said the Girl; and
then turning to the Sheriff and speaking to him for the first time, she
called out gaily: "Hello, Rance!"
"Hello, Girl!" replied the Gambler without even a glance at her or
ceasing to shuffle the cards.
Presently, Sonora pulled out a bag of gold-dust and told the Girl to
clear the slate out of it. She was in the act of taking the sack when
Nick, rushing into the room and jerking his thumb over his shoulder,
"Say, Girl, there's a fellow in there wants to know if we can help out
on provisions."
"Sure; what does he want?" returned the Girl with a show of willingness
to accommodate him.
"Bread? Does he think we're runnin' a bakery?"
"Then he asked for sardines."
"Sardines? Great Gilead! You tell 'im we have nothin' but straight
provisions here. We got pickled oysters, smokin' tobacco an' the best
whisky he ever saw," rapped out the Girl, proudly, and turned her
attention to the slate.
"You bet!" vouched Trinidad with a nod, as Nick departed on his errand.
Finally, the Girl, having made her calculations, opened the counter
drawer and brought forth some silver Mexican dollars, saying:
"Sonora, an' Mr. Ashby, your change!"
Ashby picked up his money, only to throw it instantly back on the bar,
and say gallantly:
"Keep the change--buy a ribbon at The Ridge--compliments of Wells
"Thank you," smiled the Girl, sweeping the money into the drawer, but
her manner showed plainly that it was not an unusual thing for the
patrons of The Polka to refuse to accept the change.
Not to be outdone, Sonora quickly arose and went over to the counter
where, pointing to his stack of silver dollars, he said:
"Girl, buy two ribbons at The Ridge;" and then with a significant glance
towards Ashby, he added: "Fawn's my colour."
And again, as before, the voice that said, "Thank you," was colourless,
while her eyes rested upon the ubiquitous Nick, who had entered with an
armful of wood and was intent upon making the room warmer.
Rance snorted disapprovingly at Sonora's prodigality. That he considered
that both his and Ashby's attentions to the Girl had gone far enough
was made apparent by the severe manner in which he envisaged them and
drawled out:
"Play cyards?"
But to that gentleman's surprise the men did not move. Instead, Ashby
raising a warning finger to the Girl, went on to advise that she should
bank with them oftener, concluding with:
"And then if this road agent Ramerrez should drop in, you won't lose so
"The devil you say!" cut in Sonora; while Trinidad broke out into a
scornful laugh.
"Oh, go on, Mr. Ashby!" smilingly scoffed the Girl. "I keep the
specie in an empty keg now. But I've took to bankin' personally in my
stockin'," she confided without the slightest trace of embarrassment.
"But say, we've got an awful pile this month," observed Nick, anxiously,
leaving the fireplace and joining the little ring of men about her. "It
makes me sort o' nervous--why, Sonora's got ten thousand alone fer safe
keepin' in that keg an'--"
"--Ramerrez' band's everywhere," completed Ashby with a start, his quick
and trained ear having caught the sound of horses' hoofs.
"But if a road agent did come here, I could offer 'im a drink an' he'd
treat me like a perfect lady," contended the Girl, confidently.
"You bet he would, the durned old halibut!" was Sonora's comment, while
Nick took occasion to ask the Girl for some tobacco.
"Solace or Honeydew?" she inquired, her hands already on the assortment
of tobacco underneath the bar.
"Dew," was Nick's laconic answer.
And then it was that the Girl heard for the first time the sound of
the galloping hoofs; startled for the moment, she inquired somewhat
"Who's this, I wonder?"
But no sooner were the words spoken than a voice outside in the darkness
sung out sharply:
"Hello!" instantly returned another voice, which the Girl recognised at
once as being that of the Deputy.
"Big holdup last night at The Forks!" the first voice was now saying.
"Holdup!" repeated several voices outside in tones of excitement.
"Ramerrez--" went on the first voice, at which ominous word all,
including Ashby, began to exchange significant glances as they echoed:
The name had barely died on their lips, however, than Nick precipitated
himself into their midst and announced that The Pony Express had
arrived, handing up to the Girl, at the same time, a bundle of letters
and one paper.
"You see!" maintained Ashby, stoutly, as he watched her sort the
letters; "I was right when I told you . . ."
"Look sharp! There's a greaser on the trail!" rang out warningly the
voice of The Pony Express.
"A greaser!" exclaimed Rance, for the first time showing any interest in
the proceedings; and then without looking up and after the manner of a
man speaking to a good dog, he told the Deputy, who had followed Nick
into the room:
"Find him, Dep."
For some time the Girl occupied herself with cashing in the chips which
Nick brought to her--a task which she performed with amazing correctness
and speed considering that her knowledge of the science of mathematics
had been derived solely from the handling of money at The Polka. Now she
went over to Sonora, who sat at a table reading.
"You got the newspaper, I see," she observed. "But you, Trin, I'm sorry
you ain't got nothin'," she added, with a sad, little smile.
"So long!" hollered The Pony Express at that moment; whereupon, Ashby
rushed over to the door and called after him:
"Pony Express, I want you!" Satisfied that his command had been heard he
retraced his footsteps and found Handsome peering eagerly over Sonora's
"So, Sonora, you've got a newspaper," Handsome was saying.
"Yes, but the infernal thing's two months old," returned the other
Handsome laughed, and wheeling round was just in time to see the door
flung open and a young fellow advance towards Ashby.
The Pony Express was a young man of not more than twenty years of
age. He was smooth-faced and unshaven and, needless to say, was light
of build, for these riders were selected for their weight as well
as for their nerve. He wore a sombrero, a buckskin hunting-shirt,
tight trousers tucked into high boots with spurs, all of which were
weather-beaten and faded by wind, rain, dust and alkali. A pair of Colt
revolvers could be seen in his holsters, and he carried in his hands,
which were covered with heavy gloves, a mail pouch--it being the
company's orders not to let his _muchilo_ of heavy leather out of his
hands for a second.
"You drop mail at the greaser settlement?" inquired Ashby in his
peremptory and incisive manner.
"Yes, sir," quickly responded the young man; and then volunteered:
"It's a tough place."
Ashby scrutinised the newcomer closely before going on with:
"Know a girl there named Nina Micheltorena?"
But before The Pony Express had time to reply the Girl interposed
"Nina Micheltorena? Why, they all know 'er! She's one o' them Cachuca
girls with droopy, Spanish eyes! Oh, ask the boys about 'er!" And with
that she started to leave the room, stopping on her way to clap both
Trinidad and Sonora playfully on the back. "Yes, ask the boys about 'er,
they'll tell you!" And so saying she fled from the room, followed by the
men she was poking fun at.
"Hold her letters, you understand?" instructed Ashby who, with the
Sheriff, was alone now with The Pony Express.
"Yes, sir," he replied earnestly. A moment later there being no further
orders forthcoming he hastily took his leave.
Ashby now turned his attention to Rance.
"Sheriff," said he, "to-night I expect to see this Nina Micheltorena
either here or at The Palmetto."
Rance never raised an eyebrow.
"You do?" he remarked a moment later with studied carelessness. "Well,
the boys had better look to their watches. I met that lady once."
Ashby shot him a look of inquiry.
"She's looking to that five thousand reward for Ramerrez," he told him.
Rance's interest was growing by leaps and bounds though he continued to
riffle the cards.
"What? She's after that?"
"Sure thing. She knows something . . ." And having delivered himself
of this Ashby strode over to the opposite side of the room where his
coat and hat were hanging upon an elk horn. While putting them on he
came face to face with the Girl who, having merely glanced in at the
dance-hall, was returning to take up her duties behind the bar. "Well,
I'll have a look at that greaser up the road," he said, addressing her,
and then went on half-jocularly, half-seriously: "He may have his eye on
the find in that stocking."
"You be darned!" was the Girl's parting shot at him as he went out into
the night.
There was a long and impressive pause in which, apparently, the Sheriff
was making up his mind to speak of matters scarcely incident to the
situation that had gone before; while fully conscious that she was to
be asked to give him an answer--she whose answer had been given many
times--the Girl stood at the bar in an attitude of amused expectancy,
and fussing with things there. At length, Rance, glancing shyly over his
shoulder to make sure that they were alone, became all at once grave and
his voice fell soft and almost caressingly.
"Say, Girl!"
The young woman addressed stole a look at him from under her lashes, all
the while smiling a wise, little smile to herself, but not a word did
she vouchsafe in reply.
Again Rance called to her over his shoulder:
"I say, Girl!"
The Girl took up a glass and began to polish it. At last she deigned to
favour him with "Hm?" which, apparently, he did not hear, for again a
silence fell upon them. Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer,
the Sheriff threw down his cards on the table, and facing her he said:
"Say, Girl, will you marry me?"
"Nope," returned the Girl with a saucy toss of the head.
Rance rose and strode over to the bar. Looking fixedly at her with his
steely grey eyes he demanded the reason.
"'Cause you got a wife in Noo Orleans--or so the mountain breezes say,"
was her ready answer.
Rance gave no sign of having heard her. Throwing away the cigar he was
smoking he asked in the most nonchalant manner:
"Give me some of them cigars--my kind."
Reaching for a box behind her the Girl placed it before him.
"Them's your kind, Jack."
From an inside pocket of his broadcloth coat Rance took out an elaborate
cigar-case, filled it slowly, leaving out one cigar which he placed
between his lips. When he had this one going satisfactorily he rested
both elbows on the edge of the bar, and said bluntly:
"I'm stuck on you."
The Girl's lips parted a little mockingly.
"Thank you."
Rance puffed away for a moment or two in silence, and then with sudden
determination he went on:
"I'm going to marry you."
"Think so?" questioned the Girl, drawing herself up proudly. And while
Rance proceeded to relight his cigar, it having gone out, she plumped
both elbows on the bar and looked him straight in the eye, and
announced: "They ain't a man here goin' to marry me."
The scene had precisely the appearance of a struggle between two
powerful wills. How long they would have remained with elbows almost
touching and looking into each other's eyes it is difficult to
determine; but an interruption came in the person of the barkeeper,
who darted in, calling: "One good cigar!"
Instantly the Girl reached behind her for the box containing the
choicest cigars, and handing one to Nick, she said:
"Here's your poison--three bits. Why look at 'em," she went on in
the next breath to Rance; "there's Handsome with two wives I know of
somewhere East. And--" She broke off short and ended with: "Nick, who's
that cigar for?"
"Tommy," he told her.
"Here, give that back!" she cried quickly putting out her hand for it.
"Tommy don't know a good cigar when he's smokin' it." And so saying she
put the choice cigar back in its place among its fellows and handed him
one from another box with the remark: "Same price, Nick."
Nick chuckled and went out.
"An' look at Trin with a widow in Sacramento. An' you--" The Girl broke
off short and laughed in his face. "Oh, not one o' you travellin' under
your own name!"
"One whisky!" ordered Nick, coming into the room with a rush. Without
a word the Girl took down a bottle and poured it out for him while he
stood quietly looking on, grinning from ear to ear. For Rance's weakness
was known to him as it was to every other man in Manzaneta County, and
he believed that the Sheriff had taken advantage of his absence to press
his hopeless suit.
"Here you be!" sang out the Girl, and passed the glass over to him.
"He wants it with water," returned Nick, with a snicker.
With a contemptuous gesture the Girl put the bottle back on the shelf.
"No--no you don't; no fancy drinks here!" she objected.
"But he says he won't take it without water," protested Nick, though
there was a twinkle in his eye. "He's a fellow that's jest rode in from
The Crossin', so he says."
The Girl folded her arms and declared in a tone of finality:
"He'll take it straight or git."
"But he won't git," contended Nick chuckling. There was an ominous
silence. Such behaviour was without a parallel in the annals of Cloudy.
For much less than this, as the little barkeeper very well knew, many a
man had been disciplined by the Girl. So, with his eyes fixed upon her
face, he was already revelling in the situation by way of anticipation,
and rejoicing in the coming requital for his own rebuff when the
stranger had declined to leave as ordered. It was merely a question of
his waiting for the words which would, as he put it, "take the fellow
down a peg." They were soon forthcoming.
"You jest send 'im to me," commanded the Girl. "I'll curl his hair for
Nick's face showed that the message was to his liking. It was evident,
also, that he meant to lose no time in delivering it. A moment after he
disappeared, Rance, who had been toying with a twenty dollar gold piece
which he took from his pocket, turned to the Girl and said with great
"Girl, I'll give you a thousand dollars on the spot for a kiss," which
offer met with no response other than a nervous little laugh and the
"Some men invite bein' played."
The gambler shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, what are men made for?" said he, flinging the gold piece down on
the bar in payment for the cigar.
"That's true," placidly commented the Girl, making the change.
Rance tried another tack.
"You can't keep on running this place alone; it's getting too big for
you; too much money circulating through The Polka. You need a man behind
you." All this was said in short, jerky sentences; moreover, when she
placed his change in front of him he pushed it back almost angrily.
"Come now, marry me," again he pleaded.
"My wife won't know it."
"Now, see here, there's just one--"
"Nope--take it straight, Jack, nope . . ." interrupted the Girl. She had
made up her mind that he had gone far enough; and firmly grabbing his
hand she slipped his change into it.
Without a word the Sheriff dropped the coins into the cuspidor. The
Girl saw the action and her eyes flashed with anger. The next moment,
however, she looked up at him and said more gently than any time yet:
"No, Jack, I can't marry you. Ah, come along--start your game again--go
on, Jack." And so saying she came out from behind the bar and went over
to the faro table with: "Whoop la! Mula! Go! Good Lord, look at that
faro table!"
But Rance was on the verge of losing control of himself. There was
passion in his steely grey eyes when he advanced towards her, but
although the Girl saw the look she did not flinch, and met it in a
clear, straight glance.
"Look here, Jack Rance," she said, "let's have it out right now. I run
The Polka 'cause I like it. My father taught me the business an', well,
don't you worry 'bout me--I can look after m'self. I carry my little
wepping"--and with that she touched significantly the little pocket of
her dress. "I'm independent, I'm happy, The Polka's payin', an' it's
bully!" she wound up, laughing. Then, with one of her quick changes of
mood, she turned upon him angrily and demanded: "Say, what the devil do
you mean by proposin' to me with a wife in Noo Orleans? Now, this is a
respectable saloon, an' I don't want no more of it."
A look of gloom came into Rance's eyes.
"I didn't say anything--" he began.
"Push me that Queen," interrupted the Girl, sharply, gathering up the
cards at the faro table, and pointing to one that was just beyond her
reach. But when Rance handed it to her and was moving silently away, she
added: "Ah, no offence, Jack, but I got other idees o' married life from
what you have."
"Aw, nonsense!" came from the Sheriff in a voice that was not free from
The Girl glanced up at him quickly. Her mind was not the abode of
hardened convictions, but was tender to sentiment, and something in his
manner at once softening her, she said:
"Nonsense? I dunno 'bout that. You see--" and her eyes took on a far
away look--"I had a home once an' I ain't forgot it--a home up over our
little saloon down in Soledad. I ain't forgot my father an' my mother
an' what a happy kepple they were. Lord, how they loved each other--it
was beautiful!"
Despite his seemingly callous exterior, there was a soft spot in the
gambler's heart. Every word that the Girl uttered had its effect on him.
Now his hands, which had been clenched, opened out and a new light came
into his eyes. Suddenly, however, it was replaced by one of anger, for
the door, at that moment, was hesitatingly pushed open, and The Sidney
Duck stood with his hand on the knob, snivelling:
"Oh, Miss, I--"
The Girl fairly flew over to him.
"Say, I've heard about you! You git!" she cried; and when she was
certain that he was gone she came back and took a seat at the table
where she continued, in the same reminiscent vein as before: "I can
see mother now fussin' over father an' pettin' 'im, an' father dealin'
faro--Ah, he was square! An' me a kid, as little as a kitten, under the
table sneakin' chips for candy. Talk 'bout married life--that was a
little heaven! Why, mother tho't so much o' that man, she was so much
heart an' soul with 'im that she learned to be the best case-keeper you
ever saw. Many a sleeper she caught! You see, when she played, she was
playin' for the ol' man." She stopped as if overcome with emotion, and
then added with great feeling: "I guess everybody's got some remembrance
o' their mother tucked away. I always see mine at the faro table with
her foot snuggled up to Dad's, an' the light o' lovin' in her eyes. Ah,
she was a lady . . .!" Impulsively she rose and walked over to the bar.
"No," she went on, when behind it once more, "I couldn't share that
table an' The Polka with any man--unless there was a heap o' carin' back
of it. No, I couldn't, Jack, I couldn't . . ."
By this time the Sheriff's anger had completely vanished; dejection was
plainly written on every line of his face.
"Well, I guess the boys were right; I am a Chinaman," he drawled out.
At once the Girl was all sympathy.
"Oh, no you're not, Jack!" she protested, speaking as tenderly as she
dared without encouraging him.
Rance was quick to detect the change in her voice. Now he leaned over
the end of the bar and said in tones that still held hope:
"Once when I rode in here it was nothing but Jack, Jack, Jack Rance. By
the Eternal, I nearly got you then!"
"Did you?" The Girl was her saucy self again.
Rance ignored her manner, and went on:
"Then you went on that trip to Sacramento and Monterey and you were
In spite of herself the Girl started, which Rance's quick eye did not
fail to note.
"Who's the man?" he blazed.
For answer the Girl burst out into a peal of laughter. It was forced,
and the man knew it.
"I suppose he's one o' them high-toned, Sacramento shrimps!" he burst
out gruffly; then he added meaningly: "Do you think he'd have you?"
At those words a wondering look shone in the Girl's eyes, and she asked
in all seriousness:
"What's the matter with me? Is there anythin' 'bout me a high-toned gent
would object to?" And then as the full force of the insult was borne in
upon her she stepped out from behind the bar, and demanded: "Look here,
Jack Rance, ain't I always been a perfect lady?"
Rance laughed discordantly.
"Oh, heaven knows your character's all right!" And so saying he seated
himself again at the table.
The girl flared up still more at this; she retorted:
"Well, that ain't your fault, Jack Rance!" But the words were hardly out
of her mouth than she regretted having spoken them. She waited a moment,
and then as he did not speak she murmured an "Adios, Jack," and took up
her position behind the bar where, if Rance had been looking, he would
have seen her start on hearing a voice in the next room and fix her eyes
in a sort of fascinated wonder, on a man who, after parting the pelt
curtain, came into the saloon with just a suggestion of swagger in his
"Where's the man who wanted to curl my hair?"
Incisive and harsh, with scarcely a trace of the musical tones she
recollected so well, as was Johnson's voice, it deceived the Girl not an
instant. Even before she was able to get a glimpse of his face it did
not fail to tell her that the handsome _caballero_, with whom she had
ridden on that never-to-be-forgotten day on the Monterey road, was
standing before her. That his attire now, as might be expected, was
wholly different from what it had been then, it never occurred to her to
note; for, to tell the truth, she was vainly struggling to suppress the
joy that she felt at seeing him again, and before she was aware of it
there slipped through her lips:
"Why, howdy do, stranger!"
At the sound of her voice Johnson wheeled round in glad surprise and
amazement; but the quick look of recognition that he flashed upon her
wholly escaped the Sheriff whose attitude was indicative of keen
resentment at this intrusion, and whose eyes were taking in the newcomer
from head to foot.
"We're not much on strangers here," he blurted out at last.
Johnson turned on his heel and faced the speaker. An angry retort rose
to his lips, but he checked it. Although, perhaps, not fully
appreciating his action, he was, nevertheless, not unaware that, from
the point of view of the Polka, his refusal to take his whisky straight
might be regarded as nothing less than an insult. And now that it was
too late he was inclined, however much he resented an attempt to
interfere in a matter which he believed concerned himself solely, to
regret the provocation and challenging words of his entrance if only
because of a realisation that a quarrel would be likely to upset his
plans. On the other hand, with every fraction of a second that passed he
was conscious of becoming more and more desirous of humbling the man
standing before him and scrutinising him so insolently; moreover, he
felt intuitively that the eyes of the Girl were on him as well as on the
other principal to this silent but no less ominous conflict going on,
and such being the case it was obviously impossible for him to withdraw
from the position he had taken. As a sort of compromise, therefore, he
said, tentatively:
"I'm the man who wanted water in his whisky."
"You!" exclaimed the Girl; and then added reprovingly: "Oh, Nick, this
gentleman takes his whisky as he likes it!"
And this from the Girl! The little barkeeper had all the appearance of a
man who thought the world was coming to an end. He did not accept the
Girl's ultimatum until he had drawn down his face into an expression of
mock solemnity and ejaculated half-aloud:
"Moses, what's come over 'er!"
Johnson took a few steps nearer the Girl and bowed low.
"In the presence of a lady I will take nothing," he said impressively.
"But pardon me, you seem to be almost at home here."
The girl leaned her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands, and
answered with a tantalising little laugh:
After a loud guffaw Nick took it upon himself to explain matters;
turning to Johnson he said:
"Why, she's the Girl who runs The Polka!"
Johnson's face wore a look of puzzled consternation; he saw no reason
for levity.
"You . . .?"
"Yep," nodded the Girl with a merry twinkle in her eyes.
Johnson's face fell.
"She runs The Polka," he murmured to himself. Of all places to have
chosen--this! So the thing he had dreaded had happened!
For odd as it unquestionably seemed to him that she should turn up as
the proprietress of a saloon after months of searching high and low for
her, it was not this reflection that was uppermost in his mind; on the
contrary, it was the deeply humiliating thought that he had come upon
her when about to ply his vocation. Regret came swiftly that he had not
thought to inquire who was the owner of The Polka Saloon. Bitterly he
cursed himself for his dense stupidity. And yet, it was doubtful whether
any of his band could have informed him. All that they knew of the place
was that the miners of Cloudy Mountain Camp were said to keep a large
amount of placer gold there; all that he had done was to acquaint
himself with the best means of getting it. But his ruminations were soon
dissipated by Rance, who had come so close that their feet almost
touched, and was speaking in a voice that showed the quarrelsome frame
of mind that he was in.
"You're from The Crossing, the barkeeper said--" he began, and then
added pointedly: "I don't remember you."
Johnson slowly turned from the Girl to the speaker and calmly corrected:
"You're mistaken; I said I rode over from The Crossing." And turning his
back on the man he faced the Girl with: "So, you run The Polka?"
"I'm the Girl--the girl that runs The Polka," she said, and to his
astonishment seemed to glory in her occupation.
Presently, much to their delight, an opportunity came to them to
exchange a word or two with each other without interruption. For, Rance,
as if revolving some plan of action in his mind, had turned on his heel
and walked off a little way. A moment more, however, and he was back
again and more malevolently aggressive than ever.
"No strangers are allowed in this camp," he said, glowering at Johnson;
and then, his remark having passed unheeded by the other, he sneered:
"Perhaps you're off the road; men often get mixed up when they're
visiting Nina Micheltorena on the back trail."
"Oh, Rance!" protested the Girl.
But Johnson, though angered, let the insinuation pass unnoticed, and
went on to say that he had stopped in to rest his horse and, perhaps, if
invited, try his luck at a game of cards. And with this intimation he
crossed over to the poker table where he picked up the deck that Rance
had been using.
Rance hesitated, and finally followed up the stranger until he brought
up face to face with him.
"You want a game, eh?" he drawled, coolly impudent. "I haven't heard
your name, young man."
"Name," echoed the Girl with a cynical laugh. "Oh, names out here--"
"My name's Johnson--" spoke up the man, throwing down the cards on the
"Is what?" laughed the Girl, saucily, and, apparently, trying to relieve
the strained situation by her bantering tone.
"--Of Sacramento," he finished easily.
"Of Sacramento," repeated the Girl in the same jesting manner as before;
then, quickly coming out from behind the bar, she went over to him and
put out her hand, saying:
"I admire to know you, Mr. Johnson o' Sacramento."
Johnson bowed low over her hand.
"Thank you," he said simply.
"Say, Girl, I--" began Rance, fuming at her behaviour.
"Oh, sit down, Rance!" The interruption came from the Girl as she pushed
him lightly out of her way; then, perching herself up on one end of the
faro table, at which Johnson had taken a seat, she ventured:
"Say, Mr. Johnson, do you know what I think o' you?"
Johnson eyed her uncertainly, while Rance's eyes blazed as she blurted
"Well, I think you staked out a claim in a etiquette book." And then
before Johnson could answer her, she went on to say: "So you think you
can play poker?"
"That's my conviction," Johnson told her, smilingly.
"Out o' every fifty men who think they can play poker one ain't
mistaken," was the Girl's caustic observation. The next instant,
however, she jumped down from the table and was back at her post, where,
fearful lest he should think her wanting in hospitality, she proposed:
"Try a cigar, Mr. Johnson?"
"Thank you," he said, rising, and following her to the bar.
"Best in the house--my compliments."
"You're very kind," said Johnson, taking the candle that she had lighted
for him; then, when his cigar was going, and in a voice that was
intended for her alone, he went on: "So you remember me?"
"If you remember me," returned the Girl, likewise in a low tone.
"What the devil are they talking about anyway?" muttered Rance to
himself as he stole a glance at them over his shoulder, though he kept
on shuffling the cards.
"I met you on the road to Monterey," said Johnson with a smile.
"Yes, comin' an' goin'," smiled back the Girl. "You passed me a bunch o'
wild syringa over the wheel; you also asked me to go a-berryin'--" and
here she paused long enough to glance up at him coquettishly before
adding: "But I didn't see it, Mr. Johnson."
"I noticed that," observed Johnson, laughing.
"An' when you went away you said--" The Girl broke off abruptly and
replaced the candle on the bar; then with a shy, embarrassed look on her
face she ended with: "Oh, I dunno."
"Yes, you do, yes, you do," maintained Johnson. "I said I'll think of
you all the time--well, I've thought of you ever since."
There was a moment of embarrassment. Then:
"Somehow I kind o' tho't you might drop in," she said with averted eyes.
"But as you didn't--" She paused and summoned to her face a look which
she believed would adequately reflect a knowledge of the proprieties.
"O' course," she tittered out, "it wa'n't my place to remember
"But I didn't know where you lived--you never told me, you know,"
contended the road agent, which contention so satisfied the Girl--for
she remembered only too well that she had not told him--that she
determined to show him further evidences of her regard.
Say, I got a special bottle here--best in the house. Will you . . .?"
The girl did not wait for him to finish his sentence, but quickly placed
a bottle and glass before him.
"My compliments," she whispered, smiling.
"You're very kind--thanks," returned the road agent, and proceeded to
pour out a drink.
Meanwhile, little of what was taking place had been lost on Jack Rance.
As the whispered conversation continued, he grew more and more jealous,
and at the moment that Johnson was on the point of putting the glass to
his lips, Rance, rising quickly, went over to him and deliberately
knocked the glass out of his hand.
With a crash it fell to the floor.
"Look here, Mr. Johnson, your ways are offensive to me!" he cried;
"damned offensive! My name is Rance--Jack Rance. Your business
here--your business?" And without waiting for the other's reply he
called out huskily: "Boys! Boys! Come in here!"
At this sudden and unexpected summons in the Sheriff's well-known voice
there was a rush from the dance-hall; in an instant the good-natured,
roistering crowd, nosing a fight, crowded to the bar, where the two men
stood glaring at each other in suppressed excitement.
"Boys," declared the Sheriff, his eye never leaving Johnson's face,
"there's a man here who won't explain his business. He won't tell--"
"Won't he?" cut in Sonora, blusteringly. "Well, we'll see--we'll make
There was a howl of execration from the bar. It moved the Girl to
instant action. Quick as thought she turned and strode to where the
cries were the most menacing--towards the boys who knew her best and
ever obeyed her unquestioningly.
"Wait a minute!" she cried, holding up her hand authoritatively. "I know
the gent!"
The men exchanged incredulous glances; from all sides came the explosive
"What's that? You know him?"
"Yes," she affirmed dramatically; and turning now to Rance with a swift
change of manner, she confessed: "I didn't tell you--but I know 'im."
The Sheriff started as if struck.
"The Sacramento shrimp by all that is holy!" he muttered between his
teeth as the truth slowly dawned upon him.
"Yes, boys, this is Mr. Johnson o' Sacramento," announced the Girl with
a simple and unconscious dignity that did not fail to impress all
present. "I vouch to Cloudy for Mr. Johnson!"
And then the situation vaguely dawning upon them there ensued an
outburst of cheering compared to which the previous howl of execration
was silence.
Johnson smiled pleasantly at the Girl in acknowledgment of her
confirmation of him, then shot a half-curious, half-amused look at the
crowd surrounding him and regarding him with a new interest. Apparently
what he saw was to his liking, for his manner was most friendly when
bowing politely, he said:
"How are you, boys?"
At once the miners returned his salutation in true western fashion:
every man in the place, save Rance, taking off his hat and sweeping it
before him in an arc as they cried out in chorus:
"Hello, Johnson!"
"Boys, Rance ain't a-runnin' The Polka yet!" observed Sonora with a
mocking smile on his lips, and gloating over the opportunity to give the
Sheriff a dig.
The men shouted their approval of this jibe. Indeed, they might have
gone just a little too far with their badgering of the Sheriff,
considering the mood that he was in; so, perhaps, it was fortunate that
Nick should break in upon them at this time with:
"Gents, the boys from The Ridge invites you to dance with them."
No great amount of enthusiasm was evinced at this. Nevertheless, it was
a distinct declaration of peace; and, taking advantage of it, Johnson
advanced toward the Girl, bowed low, and asked with elaborate formality:
"May I have the honour of a waltz?"
Flabbergasted and awed to silence by what they termed Johnson's "style,"
Happy and Handsome stood staring helplessly at one another; at length
Happy broke out with:
"Say, Handsome, ain't he got a purty action? An' ornamental sort o'
cuss, ain't he? But say, kind o' presumin' like, ain't it, for a fellow
breathin' the obscurity o' The Crossin' to learn gents like us how to
ketch the ladies pronto?"
"Which same," allowed Handsome, "shorely's a most painful, not to say
humiliatin' state o' things." And then to the Girl he whispered: "It's
up to you--make a holy show of 'im."
The Girl laughed.
"Me waltz? Me?" she cried, answering Johnson at last. "Oh, I can't waltz
but I can polky."
Once more Johnson bent his tall figure to the ground, and said:
"Then may I have the pleasure of the next polka?"
By this time Sonora had recovered from his astonishment. After giving
vent to a grunt expressive of his contempt, he blurted out:
"That fellow's too flip!"
But the idea had taken hold of the Girl, though she temporised shyly:
"Oh, I dunno! Makes me feel kind o' foolish, you know, kind o' retirin'
like a elk in summer."
Johnson smiled in spite of himself.
"Elks are retiring," was his comment as he again advanced and offered
his arm in an impressive and ceremonious manner.
"Well, I don't like everybody's hand on the back o' my waist," said the
Girl, running her hands up and down her dress skirt. "But, somehow--"
She stopped, and fixing her eyes recklessly on Rance, made a movement as
if about to accept; but another look at Johnson's proffered arm so
embarrassed her that she sent a look of appeal to the rough fellows, who
stood watching her with grinning faces.
"Oh, Lord, must I?" she asked; then, hanging back no longer, she
suddenly flung herself into his arms with the cry: "Oh, come along!"
Promptly Johnson put his arm around the Girl's waist, and breaking into
a polka he swung her off to the dance-hall where their appearance was
greeted with a succession of wild whoops from the men there, as well as
from the hilarious boys, who had rushed pell-mell after them.
Left to himself and in a rage Rance began to pace the floor.
"Cleaned out--cleaned out for fair by a high-toned, fine-haired dog
named Johnson! Well, I'll be--" The sentence was never finished, his
attention being caught and held by something which Nick was carrying in
from the dance-hall.
"What's that?" he demanded brusquely.
Nick's eyes were twinkling when he answered:
"Johnson's saddle."
Rance could control himself no longer; with a sweep of his long arm he
knocked the saddle out of the other's hand, saying:
"Nick, I've a great notion to walk out of this door and never step my
foot in here again."
Nick did not answer at once. While he did not especially care for Rance
he did not propose to let his patronage, which was not inconsiderable,
go elsewhere without making an effort to hold it. Therefore, he thought
a moment before picking up the saddle and placing it in the corner of
the room.
"Aw, what you givin' us, Rance! She's only a-kiddin' 'im," at last he
said consolingly.
The Sheriff was about to question this when a loud cry from outside
arrested him.
"What's that?" he asked with his eyes upon the door.
"Why that's--that's Ashby's voice," the barkeeper informed him; and
going to the door, followed by Rance, as well as the men who, on hearing
the cry, had rushed in from the dance-hall, he opened it, and they heard
again the voice that they all recognised now as that of the Wells Fargo
"Come on!" he was saying gruffly.
"What the deuce is up?" inquired Trinidad simultaneously with the
Deputy's cry of "Bring him in!" And almost instantly the Deputy,
followed by Ashby and others, entered, dragging along with him the
unfortunate Jose Castro. The rough handling that he had received had not
improved his appearance. His clothing, half Mexican, the rest of odds
and ends, had been torn in several places. He looked oily, greasy and
unwashed, while the eyes that looked around in affright had lost none of
their habitual trickiness and sullenness.
And precisely as Castro appeared wholly different than when last seen in
the company of his master, so, too, was Ashby metamorphosed. His hat was
on the back of his head; his coat looked as if he had been engaged in
some kind of a struggle; his hair was ruffled and long locks straggled
down over his forehead; while his face wore a brutal, savage, pitiless,
nasty look.
By this time all the regular habitues of the saloon had come in and were
crowding around the greaser with scowling, angry faces.
"The greaser on the trail!" gurgled Ashby in his glass, having left his
prisoner for a moment to fortify himself with a drink of whisky.
Whereupon, the Sheriff advanced and, with rough hands, jerked the
prisoner's head brutally.
"Here you," he said, "give us a look at your face."
But the Sheriff had never seen him before. And in obedience to his
commands to "Tie him up!" the Deputy and Billy Jackrabbit took a lariat
from the wall and proceeded to bind their prisoner fast. When this was
done Ashby called to Nick to serve him another drink, adding:
"Come on, boys!"
Instantly there was an exclamatory lining up at the bar, only Sonora,
apparently, seeming disinclined to accept, which Ashby was quick to
note. Turning to him quickly, he inquired:
"Say, my friend, don't you drink?"
But no insult had been intended by Sonora's omission; it was merely most
inconsiderate on his part of the feelings of others; and, therefore,
there was a note of apology in the voice that presently said:
"Oh, yes, Mr. Ashby, I'm with you all right."
During this conversation the eyes of the greaser had been wandering all
over the room. But as the men moved away from him to take their drinks
he started violently and an expression of dismay crossed his features.
"Ramerrez' saddle!" he muttered to himself. "_The Maestro_--he is
Just then there came a particularly loud burst of approval from the
spectators of the dancing going on in the adjoining room, and
instinctively the men at the bar half-turned towards the noise. The
prisoner's eyes followed their gaze and a fiendish grin replaced the
look of dismay on his face. "No, he is there dancing with a girl," he
said under his breath. A moment later Nick let down the bearskin
curtain, shutting off completely the Mexican's view of the dance-hall.
"Come, now, tell us what your name is?" The voice was Ashby's who,
together with the others, now surrounded the prisoner. "Speak up--who
are you?"
"My name ees Jose Castro;" and then he added with a show of pride:
"_Ex-padrona_ of the bull-fights."
"But the bull-fights are at Monterey! Why do you come to this place?"
All eyes instantly turned from the prisoner to Rance, who had asked the
question while seated at the table, and from him they returned to the
prisoner, most of the men giving vent to exclamations of anger in tones
that made the greaser squirm, while Trinidad expressed the prevailing
admiration of the Sheriff's poser by crying out:
"That's the talk--you bet! Why do you come here?"
Castro's face wore an air of candour as he replied:
"To tell the Senor Sheriff I know where ees Ramerrez."
Rance turned on the prisoner a grim look.
"You lie!" he vociferated, at the same time raising his hand to check
the angry mutterings of the men that boded ill for the greaser.
"Nay," denied Castro, strenuously, "pleanty Mexican _vaquero_--my friend
Peralta, Weelejos all weeth Ramerrez--so I know where ees."
Rance advanced and shot a finger in his face.
"You're one of his men yourself!" he cried hotly. But if he had hoped by
his accusation to take the man off his guard, it was eminently
unsuccessful, for the look on the greaser's face was innocence itself
when he declared:
"No, no, Senor Sheriff."
Rance reflected a moment; suddenly, then, he took another tack.
"You see that man there?" he queried, pointing to the Wells Fargo Agent.
"That is Ashby. He is the man that pays out that reward you've heard
of." Then after a pause to let his words sink in, he demanded gruffly:
"Where is Ramerrez' camp?"
At once the prisoner became voluble.
"Come with me one mile, Senor," he said, "and by the soul of my mother,
the blessed Maria Saltaja, we weel put a knife into hees back."
"One mile, eh?" repeated Rance, coolly.
The miners looked incredulous.
"If I tho't--" began Sonora, but Rance rudely cut in with:
"Where is this trail?"
"Up the Madrona Canyada," was the greaser's instant reply.
At this juncture a Ridge boy, who had pushed aside the bear-skin curtain
and was gazing with mouth wide open at the proceedings, suddenly cried
"Why, hello, boys! What's the--" He got no further. In a twinkling and
with cries of "Shut up! Git!" the men made for the intruder and bodily
threw him out of the room. When quiet was restored Rance motioned to the
prisoner to proceed.
"Ramerrez can be taken--too well taken," declared the Mexican, gaining
confidence as he went on, "if many men come with me--in forty minutes
Rance turned to Ashby and asked him what he thought about it.
"I don't know what to think," was the Wells Fargo Agent's reply. "But it
certainly is curious. This is the second warning--intimation that we
have had that he is somewhere in this vicinity."
"And this Nina Micheltorena--you say she is coming here to-night?"
Ashby nodded assent.
"All the same, Rance," he maintained, "I wouldn't go. Better drop in to
The Palmetto later."
"What? Risk losin' 'im?" exclaimed Sonora, who had been listening
intently to their conversation.
"We'll take the chance, boys, in spite of Ashby's advice," Rance said
decisively. It was with not a little surprise that he heard the shouts
with which his words were approved by all save the Wells Fargo Agent.
Now the miners made a rush for their coats, hats and saddles, while from
all sides came the cries of, "Come on, boys! Careful--there!
Gladly, cheerfully, Nick, too, did what he could to get the men started
by setting up the drinks for all hands, though he remarked as he did so:
"It's goin' to snow, boys; I don't like the sniff in the air."
But even the probability of encountering a storm--which in that altitude
was something decidedly to be reckoned with--did not deter the men from
proceeding to make ready for the road agent's capture. In an incredibly
short space of time they had loaded up and got their horses together,
and from the harmony in their ranks while carrying out orders, it was
evident that not a man there doubted the success of their undertaking.
"We'll git this road agent!" sung out Trinidad, going out through the
"Right you are, pard!" agreed Sonora; but at the door he called back to
the greaser: "Come on, you oily, garlic-eatin', red-peppery,
dog-trottin', sunbaked son of a skunk!"
"Come on, you . . .!" came simultaneously from the Deputy, now untying
the rope which bound the prisoner.
The greaser's teeth were chattering; he begged:
"One dreenk--I freeze . . ."
Turning to Nick the Deputy told him to give the man a drink, adding as
he left the room:
"Watch him--keep your eye on him a moment for me, will you?"
Nick nodded; and then regarding the Mexican with a contemptuous look, he
"What'll you have?"
The Mexican rose to his feet and began hesitatingly:
"Geeve me--" He paused; and then, starting with the thought that had
come to him, he shot a glance at the dance-hall and called out loudly,
rolling his r's even more pronouncedly than is the custom with his race:
"Aguardiente! Aguardiente!"
"Sit down!" ordered Nick, vaguely conscious that there was something in
the greaser's voice that was not there before.
The greaser obeyed, but not until he knew for a certainty that his voice
had been heard by his master.
"So you did bring in my saddle, eh, Nick?" asked the road agent, coming
quickly, but unconcernedly into the room and standing behind his man.
Up to this time, Nick's eyes had not left the prisoner, but with the
appearance on the scene of Johnson, he felt that his responsibility
ceased in a measure. He turned and gave his attention to matters
pertaining to the bar. As a consequence, he did not see the look of
recognition that passed between the two men, nor did he hear the
whispered dialogue in Spanish that followed.
"_Maestro! Ramerrez!_" came in whispered tones from Castro.
"Speak quickly--go on," came likewise in whispered tones from the road
"I let them take me according to your bidding," went on Castro.
"Careful, Jose, careful," warned his master while stooping to pick up
his saddle, which he afterwards laid on the faro table. It was while he
was thus engaged that Nick came over to the prisoner with a glass of
liquor, which he handed to him gruffly with:
At that moment several voices from the dance-hail called somewhat
impatiently: "Nick, Nick!"
"Oh, The Ridge boys are goin'!" he said, and seeming intuitively to know
what was wanted he made for the bar. But before acceding to their
wishes, he turned to Johnson, took out his gun and offered it to him
with the words: "Say, watch this greaser for a moment, will you?"
"Certainly," responded Johnson, quickly, declining the other's pistol by
touching his own holster significantly. "Tell the Girl you pressed me
into service," he concluded with a smile.
"Sure." But on the point of going, the little barkeeper turned to him
and confided: "Say, the Girl's taken an awful fancy to you."
"No?" deprecated the road agent.
"Yes," affirmed Nick. "Drop in often--great bar!"
Johnson smiled an assent as the other went out of the room leaving
master and man together.
"Now, then, Jose, go on," he said, when they were alone.
"_Bueno!_ Our men await the signal in the bushes close by. I will lead
the Sheriff far off--then I will slip away. You quietly rob the place
and fly--it is death for you to linger--Ashby is here."
"Ashby!" The road agent started in alarm.
"Ashby--" reiterated Castro and stopped on seeing that Nick had returned
to see that all was well.
"All right, Nick, everything's all right," Johnson reassured him.
The outlaw's position remained unchanged until Nick had withdrawn. From
where he stood he now saw for the first time the preparations that were
being made for his capture: the red torchlights and white candle-lighted
lanterns which were reflected through the windows; and a moment more he
heard the shouts of the miners calling to one another. Of a sudden he
was aroused to a consciousness, at least, of their danger by Castro's
"By to-morrow's twilight you must be safe in your rancho."
The road agent shook his head determinedly.
"No, we raid on."
Castro was visibly excited.
"There are a hundred men on your track."
Johnson smiled.
"Oh, one minute's start of the devil does me, Jose."
"Ah, but I fear the woman--Nina Micheltorena--I fear her terribly. She
is close at hand--knowing all, angry with you, and jealous--and still
loving you."
"Loving me? Oh, no, Jose! Nina, like you, loves the spoils, not me. No,
I raid on . . ."
A silence fell upon the two men, which was broken by Sonora calling out:
"Bring along the greaser, Dep!"
"All right!" answered the loud voice of the Deputy.
"You hear--we start," whispered Castro to his master. "Give the signal."
And notwithstanding, the miners were coming through the door for him and
stood waiting, torches in hand, he contrived to finish: "Antonio awaits
for it. Only the woman and her servant will stay behind here."
"Adios!" whispered the master.
"Adios!" returned his man simultaneously with the approach of the Deputy
towards them.
It was then that the Girl's gay, happy voice floated in on them from the
dance-hall; she cried out:
"Good-night, boys, good-night! Remember me to The Ridge!"
"You bet we will! So long! Whoop! Whooppee!" chorussed the men, while
the Deputy, grabbing the Mexican by the collar, ordered him to, "Come
The situation was not without its humorous side to the road agent; he
could not resist following the crowd to the door where he stood and
watched his would-be captors silently mount; listened to the Sheriff
give the word, which was immediately followed by the sound of horses
grunting as they sprang forward into the darkness in a desperate effort
to escape the maddening pain of the descending quirts and cruel spurs.
It was a scene to set the blood racing through the veins, viewed in any
light; and not until the yells of the men had grown indistinct, and all
that could be heard was the ever-decreasing sound of rushing hoofs, did
the outlaw turn back into the saloon over which there hung a silence
which, by contrast, he found strangely depressing.
There was a subtle change, an obvious lack of warmth in Johnson's
manner, which the Girl was quick to feel upon returning to the now
practically deserted saloon.
"Don't it feel funny here--kind o' creepy?" She gave the words a
peculiar emphasis, which made Johnson flash a quick, inquisitorial look
at her; and then, no comment being forthcoming, she went on to explain:
"I s'pose though that's 'cause I don't remember seein' the bar so empty
A somewhat awkward silence followed, which at length was broken by the
Girl, who ordered:
"Lights out now! Put out the candle here, too, Nick!" But while the
little barkeeper proceeded to carry out her instructions she turned to
Johnson with an eager, frank expression on her face, and said: "Oh, you
ain't goin', are you?"
"No--not yet--no--" stammered Johnson, half-surprisedly,
The Girl's face wore a pleased look as she answered:
"Oh, I'm so glad o' that!"
Another embarrassing silence followed. At last Nick made a movement
towards the window, saying:
"I'm goin' to put the shutters up."
"So early? What?" The Girl looked her surprise.
"Well, you see, the boys are out huntin' Ramerrez, and there's too much
money here . . ." said Nick in a low tone.
The Girl laughed lightly.
"Oh, all right--cash in--but don't put the head on the keg--I ain't
cashed in m'self yet."
Rolling the keg to one side of the room, Nick beckoned to the Girl to
come close to him, which she did; and pointing to Johnson, who was
strolling about the room, humming softly to himself, he whispered:
"Say, Girl, know anythin' about--about him?"
But very significant as was Nick's pantomime, which included the keg and
Johnson, it succeeded only in bringing forth a laugh from the Girl, and
the words:
"Oh, sure!"
Nevertheless, the faithful guardian of the Girl's interests sent a
startled glance of inquiry about the room, and again asked:
"All right, eh?"
The Girl ignored the implication contained in the other's glance, and
answered "Yep," in such a tone of finality that Nick, reassured at last,
began to put things ship-shape for the night. This took but a moment or
two, however, and then he quietly disappeared.
"Well, Mr. Johnson, it seems to be us a-keepin' house here to-night,
don't it?" said the Girl, alone now with the road agent.
Her observation might easily have been interpreted as purposely
introductory to an intimate scene, notwithstanding that it was made in a
thoroughly matter-of-fact tone and without the slightest trace of
coquetry. But Johnson did not make the mistake of misconstruing her
words, puzzled though he was to find a clue to them. His curiosity about
her was intense, and it showed plainly in the voice that said presently:
"Isn't it strange how things come about? Strange that I should have
looked everywhere for you and in the end find you here--at The Polka."
Johnson's emphasis on his last words sent a bright red rushing over her,
colouring her neck, her ears and her broad, white forehead.
"Anythin' wrong with The Polka?"
Johnson was conscious of an indiscreet remark; nevertheless he ventured:
"Well, it's hardly the place for a young woman like you."
The Girl made no reply to this but busied herself with the closing-up of
the saloon. Johnson interpreted her silence as a difference of opinion.
Nevertheless, he repeated with emphasis:
"It is decidedly no place for you."
"How so?"
"Well, it's rather unprotected, and--"
"Oh, pshaw!" interrupted the Girl somewhat irritably. "I tol' Ashby only
to-night that I bet if a rud agent come in here I could offer 'im a
drink an' he'd treat me like a perfect lady." She stopped and turned
upon him impulsively with: "Say, that reminds me, won't you take
Before answering, Johnson shot her a quick look of inquiry to see
whether there was not a hidden meaning in her words. Of course there was
not, the remark being impelled by a sudden consciousness that he might
consider her inhospitable. Nevertheless, her going behind the bar and
picking up a bottle came somewhat as a relief to him.
"No, thank you," at last he said; and then as he leaned heavily on the
bar: "But I would very much like to ask you a question."
Instantly, to his great surprise, the Girl was eyeing him with mingled
reproach and coquetry. So he was going to do it! Was it possible that he
thought so lightly of her, she wondered. With all her heart she wished
that he would not make the same mistake that others had.
"I know what it is--every stranger asks it--but I didn't think you
would. You want to know if I am decent? Well, I am, you bet!" she
returned, a defiant note creeping into her voice as she uttered the
concluding words.
"Oh, Girl, I'm not blind!" His eyes quailed before the look that flamed
in hers. "And that was not the question."
Instinctively something told the Girl that the man spoke the truth, but
notwithstanding which, she permitted her eyes to express disbelief and
"Dear me suz!" fell from her lips with an odd little laugh. On the other
hand, Johnson declined to treat the subject other than seriously. He had
no desire, of course, to enlarge upon the unconventionality of her
attitude, but he felt that his feelings towards her, even if they were
only friendly, justified him in giving her a warning. Moreover, he
refused to admit to himself that this was a mere chance meeting. He had
a consciousness, vague, but nevertheless real that, at last, after all
his searching, Fate had brought him face to face with the one woman in
all the world for him. Unknown to himself, therefore, there was a sort
of jealous proprietorship in his manner towards her as he now said:
"What I meant was this: I am sorry to find you here almost at the mercy
of the passer-by, where a man may come, may drink, may rob you if he
will--" and here a flush of shame spread over his features in spite of
himself--"and where, I daresay, more than one has laid claim to a kiss."
The Girl turned upon him in good-natured contempt.
"There's a good many people claimin' things they never git. I've got my
first kiss to give."
Once more a brief silence fell upon them in which the Girl busied
herself with her cash box. She was not unaware that his eyes were upon
her, but she was by no means sure that he believed her words. Nor could
she tell herself, unfortunately for her peace of mind, that it made no
difference to her.
"Have you been here long?" suddenly he asked.
"Lived in The Polka?"
"Where do you live?"
"Cabin up the mountain a little ways."
"Cabin up the mountain a little ways," echoed Johnson, reflectively. The
next instant the little figure before him had faded from his sight and
instead there appeared a vision of the little hut on the top of Cloudy
Mountain. Only a few hours back he had stood on the precipice which
looked towards it, and had felt a vague, indefinable something, had
heard a voice speak to him out of the vastness which he now believed to
have been her spirit calling to him.
"You're worth something better than this," after a while he murmured
with the tenderness of real love in his voice.
"What's better'n this?" questioned the Girl with a toss of her pretty
blonde head. "I ain't a-boastin' but if keepin' this saloon don't give
me sort of a position 'round here I dunno what does."
But the next moment there had flashed through her mind a new thought
concerning him. She came out from behind the bar and confronted him with
the question:
"Look 'ere, you ain't one o' them exhorters from the Missionaries' Camp,
are you?"
The road agent smiled.
"My profession has its faults," he acknowledged, "but I am not an
But still the Girl was nonplussed, and eyed him steadily for a moment or
"You know I can't figger out jest exactly what you are?" she admitted
"Well, try . . ." he suggested, slightly colouring under her persistent
"Well, you ain't one o' us."
"Oh, I can tell--I can spot my man every time. I tell you, keepin'
saloon's a great educator." And so saying she plumped herself down in a
chair and went on very seriously now: "I dunno but what it's a good way
to bring up girls--they git to know things. Now," and here she looked at
him long and earnestly, "I'd trust you."
Johnson was conscious of a guilty feeling, though he said as he took a
seat beside her:
"You would trust me?"
The Girl nodded an assent and observed in a tone that was intended to be
thoroughly conclusive:
"Notice I danced with you to-night?"
"Yes," was his brief reply, though the next moment he wondered that he
had not found something more to say.
"I seen from the first that you were the real article."
"I beg your pardon," he said absently, still lost in thought.
"Why, that was a compliment I handed out to you," returned the Girl with
a pained look on her face.
"Oh!" he ejaculated with a faint little smile.
Now the Girl, who had drawn up her chair close to his, leaned over and
said in a low, confidential voice:
"Your kind don't prevail much here. I can tell--I got what you call a
quick eye."
As might be expected Johnson flushed guiltily at this remark. No
different, for that matter, would have acted many a man whose conscience
was far clearer.
"Oh, I'm afraid that men like me prevail--prevail, as you say,--almost
everywhere," he said, laying such stress on the words that it would seem
almost impossible for anyone not to see that they were shot through with
The Girl gave him a playful dig with her elbow.
"Go on! What are you givin' me! O' course they don't . . .!" She laughed
outright; but the next instant checking herself, went on with absolute
ingenuousness: "Before I went on that trip to Monterey I tho't Rance
here was the genuine thing in a gent, but the minute I kind o' glanced
over you on the road I--I seen he wasn't." She stopped, a realisation
having suddenly been borne in upon her that perhaps she was laying her
heart too bare to him. To cover up her embarrassment, therefore, she
took refuge, as before, in hospitality, and rushing over to the bar she
called to Nick to come and serve Mr. Johnson with a drink, only to
dismiss him the moment he put his head through the door with: "Never
mind, I'll help Mr. Johnson m'self." Turning to her visitor again, she
said: "Have your whisky with water, won't you?"
"But I don't--" began Johnson in protest.
"Say," interrupted the Girl, falling back into her favourite position of
resting both elbows on the bar, her face in her hands, "I've got you
figgered out. You're awful good or awful bad." A remark which seemed to
amuse the man, for he laughed heartily.
"Now, what do you mean by that?" presently he asked.
"Well, I mean so good that you're a teetotaller, or so bad that you're
tired o' life an' whisky."
Johnson shook his head.
"On the contrary, although I'm not good, I've lived and I've liked life
pretty well. It's been bully!"
Surprised and delighted with his enthusiasm, the Girl raised her eyes to
his, which look he mistook--not unnaturally after all that had been
said--for one of encouragement. A moment more and the restraint that he
had exercised over himself had vanished completely.
"So have you liked it, Girl," he went on, trying vainly to get
possession of her hand, "only you haven't lived, you haven't lived--not
with your nature. You see I've got a quick eye, too."
To Johnson's amazement she flushed and averted her face. Following the
direction of her eyes he saw Nick standing in the door with a broad grin
on his face.
"You git, Nick! What do you mean by . . .?" cried out the Girl in a tone
that left no doubt in the minds of her hearers that she was annoyed, if
not angry, at the intrusion.
Nick disappeared into the dance-hall as though shot out of a gun;
whereupon, the Girl turned to Johnson with:
"I haven't lived? That's good!"
Johnson's next words were insinuating, but his voice was cold in
comparison with the fervent tones of a moment previous.
"Oh, you know!" was what he said, seating himself at the poker table.
"No, I don't," contradicted the Girl, taking a seat opposite him.
"Yes, you do," he insisted.
"Well, say it's an even chance I do an' an even chance I don't," she
Once more the passion in the man was stirring.
"I mean," he explained in a voice that barely reached her, "life for all
it's worth, to the uttermost, to the last drop in the cup, so that it
atones for what's gone before, or may come after."
The Girl's face wore a puzzled look as she answered:
"No, I don't believe I know what you mean by them words. Is it a--" She
cut her sentence short, and springing up, cried out: "Oh, Lord--Oh,
excuse me, I sat on my gun!"
Johnson looked at her, genuine amusement depicted on his face.
"Look here," said the Girl, suddenly perching herself upon the table,
"I'm goin' to make you an offer."
"An offer?" Johnson fairly snatched the words out of her mouth. "You're
going to make me an offer?"
"It's this," declared the Girl with a pleased look on her face. "If ever
you need to be staked--"
Johnson eyed her uncomprehendingly.
"Which o' course you don't," she hastened to add. "Name your price. It's
yours jest for the style I git from you an' the deportment."
"Deportment? Me?" A half-grin formed over Johnson's face as he asked the
question; then he said: "Well, I never heard before that my society was
so desirable. Apart from the financial aspect of this matter, I--"
"Say," broke in the Girl, gazing at him in helpless admiration, "ain't
that great? Ain't that great? Oh, you got to let me stand treat!"
"No, really I would prefer not to take anything," responded Johnson,
putting a restraining hand on her as she was about to leap from the
At that moment Nick's hurried footsteps reached their ears. Turning, the
Girl, with a swift gesture, waved him back. There was a brief silence,
then Johnson spoke:
"Say, Girl, you're like finding some new kind of flower."
A slight laugh of confusion was his answer. The next moment, however,
she went on, speaking very slowly and seriously: "Well, we're kind o'
rough up here, but we're reachin' out."
Johnson noted immediately the change in her voice. There was no
mistaking the genuineness of her emotion, nor the wistful look in her
eyes. It was plain that she yearned for someone who would teach her the
ways of the outside world; and when the man looked at the Girl with the
lamp-light softening her features, he felt her sincerity and was pleased
by her confidence.
"Now, I take it," continued the Girl with a vague, dreamy look on her
face, "that's what we're all put on this earth for--everyone of us--is
to rise ourselves up in the world--to reach out."
"That's true, that's true," returned Johnson with gentle and perfect
sympathy. "I venture to say that there isn't a man who hasn't thought
seriously about that. I have. If only one knew how to reach out for
something one hardly dares even hope for. Why, it's like trying to catch
the star shining just ahead."
The Girl could not restrain her enthusiasm.
"That's the cheese! You've struck it!"
At this juncture Nick appeared and refused to be ordered away. At
length, the Girl inquired somewhat impatiently:
"Well, what is it, Nick?"
"I've been tryin' to say," announced the barkeeper, whose face wore an
expression of uneasiness as he pointed to the window, "that I have seen
an ugly-lookin' greaser hanging around outside."
"A greaser!" exclaimed the Girl, uneasily. "Let me look." And with that
she made a movement towards the window, but was held back by Johnson's
detaining hand. All too well did he know that the Mexican was one of his
men waiting impatiently for the signal. So, with an air of concern, for
he did not intend that the Girl should run any risk, however remote, he
said authoritatively:
"Don't go!"
"Why not?" demanded the Girl.
Johnson sat strangely silent.
"I'll bolt the windows!" cried Nick. Hardly had he disappeared into the
dance-hall when a low whistle came to their ears.
"The signal--they're waiting," said Johnson under his breath, and shot a
quick look of inquiry at the Girl to see whether she had heard the
sound. A look told him that she had, and was uneasy over it.
"Don't that sound horrid?" said the Girl, reaching the bar in a state of
perturbation. "Say, I'm awful glad you're here. Nick's so nervous. He
knows what a lot o' money I got. Why, there's a little fortune in that
Johnson started; then rising slowly he went over to the keg and examined
it with interest.
"In there?" he asked, with difficulty concealing his excitement.
"Yes; the boys sleep around it nights," she went on to confide.
Johnson looked at her curiously.
"But when they're gone--isn't that rather a careless place to leave it?"
Quietly the Girl came from behind the bar and went over and stood beside
the keg; when she spoke her eyes flashed dangerously.
"They'd have to kill me before they got it," she said, with cool
"Oh, I see--it's your money."
"No, it's the boys'."
A look of relief crossed Johnson's features.
"Oh, that's different," he contended; and then brightening up somewhat,
he went on: "Now, I wouldn't risk my life for that."
"Oh, yes, you would, yes, you would," declared the Girl with feeling. A
moment later she was down on her knees putting bag after bag of the
precious gold-dust and coins into the keg. When they were all in she
closed the lid, and putting her foot down hard to make it secure, she
repeated: "Oh, yes, you would, if you seen how hard they got it. When I
think of it, I nearly cry."
Johnson had listened absorbedly, and was strangely affected by her
words. In her rapidly-filling eyes, in the wave of colour that surged in
her cheeks, in the voice that shook despite her efforts to control it,
he read how intense was her interest in the welfare of the miners. How
the men must adore her!
Unconsciously the Girl arose, and said:
"There's somethin' awful pretty in the way the boys hold out before they
strike it, somethin' awful pretty in the face o' rocks, an' clay an'
alkali. Oh, Lord, what a life it is anyway! They eat dirt, they sleep in
dirt, they breathe dirt 'til their backs are bent, their hands twisted
an' warped. They're all wind-swept an' blear-eyed I tell you, an' some
o' them jest lie down in their sweat beside the sluices, an' they don't
never rise up again. I've seen 'em there!" She paused reminiscently;
then, pointing to the keg, she went on haltingly: "I got some money
there of Ol' Brownie's. He was lyin' out in the sun on a pile o' clay
two weeks ago, an' I guess the only clean thing about him was his soul,
an' he was quittin', quittin', quittin', right there on the clay, an'
quittin' hard. Oh, so hard!" Once more she stopped and covered her face
with her hands as if to shut out the horror of it all. Presently she had
herself under control and resumed: "Yes, he died--died jest like a dog.
You wanted to shoot 'im to help 'im along quicker. Before he went he sez
to me: 'Girl, give it to my ol' woman.' That was all he said, an' he
went. She'll git it, all right."
With every word that the Girl uttered, the iron had entered deeper into
Johnson's soul. Up to the present time he had tried to regard his
profession, if he looked at it at all, from the point of view which he
inherited from his father. It was not, in all truthfulness, what he
would have chosen; it was something that, at times, he lamented; but,
nevertheless, he had practised it and had despoiled the miners with but
few moments of remorse. But now, he was beginning to look upon things
differently. In a brief space of time a woman had impelled him to see
his actions in their true light; new ambitions and desires awakened, and
he looked downward as if it were impossible to meet her honest eye.
"An' that's what aches you," the Girl was now saying. "There ain't one
o' them men workin' for themselves alone--the Lord never put it into no
man's heart to make a beast or a pack-horse o' himself, except for some
woman or some child." She halted a moment, and throwing up her hands
impulsively, she cried: "Ain't it wonderful--ain't it wonderful that
instinct? Ain't it wonderful what a man'll do when it comes to a
woman--ain't it wonderful?" Once more she waited as if expecting him to
corroborate her words; but he remained strangely silent. A moment later
when he raised his troubled eyes, he saw that hers were dry and
"Well, the boys use me as a--a sort of lady bank," presently she said;
and then added with another quick change of expression, and in a voice
that showed great determination: "You bet I'll drop down dead before
anyone'll get a dollar o' theirs outer The Polka!"
Impulsively the road agent's hand went out to her, and with it went a
mental resolution that so far as he was concerned no hard-working miner
of Cloudy Mountain need fear for his gold!
"That's right," was what he said. "I'm with you--I'd like to see anyone
get that." He dropped her hand and laid his on the keg; then with a
voice charged with much feeling, he added: "Girl, I wish to Heaven I
could talk more with you, but I can't. By daybreak I must be a long ways
off. I'm sorry--I should have liked to have called at your cabin."
The Girl shot him a furtive glance.
"Must you be a-movin' so soon?" she asked.
"Yes; I'm only waiting till the posse gets back and you're safe." And
even as he spoke his trained ear caught the sound of horses hoofs. "Why,
they're coming now!" he exclaimed with suppressed excitement, and his
eyes immediately fastened themselves on his saddle.
The Girl looked her disappointment when she said:
"I'm awfully sorry you've got to go. I was goin' to say--" She stopped,
and began to roll the keg back to its place. Now she took the lantern
from the bar and placed it on the keg; then turning to him once more she
went on in a voice that was distinctly persuasive: "If you didn't have
to go so soon, I would like to have you come up to the cabin to-night
an' we would talk o' reachin' out up there. You see, the boys will be
back here--we close The Polka at one--any time after . . ."
Hesitatingly, helplessly, Johnson stared at the Girl before him. His
acceptance, he realised only too well, meant a pleasant hour or two for
him, of which there were only too few in the mad career that he was
following, and he wanted to take advantage of it; on the other hand, his
better judgment told him that already he should be on his way.
"Why, I--I should ride on now." He began and then stopped, the next
moment, however, he threw down his hat on the table in resignation and
announced: "I'll come."
"Oh, good!" cried the Girl, making no attempt to conceal her delight.
"You can use this," she went on, handing him the lantern. "It's the
straight trail up; you can't miss it. But I say, don't expect too much
o' me--I've only had thirty-two dollars' worth o' education." Despite
her struggle to control herself, her voice broke and her eyes filled
with tears. "P'r'aps if I'd had more," she kept on, regretfully, "why,
you can't tell what I might have been. Say, that's a terrible tho't,
ain't it? What we might a been--an' I know it when I look at you."
Johnson was deeply touched at the Girl's distress, and his voice broke,
too, as he said:
"Yes, what we might have been is a terrible thought, and I know it,
Girl, when I look at you--when I look at you."
"You bet!" ejaculated the Girl. And then to Johnson's consternation she
broke down completely, burying her face in her hands and sobbing out:
"Oh, 'tain't no use, I'm rotten, I'm ignorant, I don't know nothin' an'
I never knowed it 'till to-night! The boys always tol' me I knowed so
much, but they're such damn liars!"
In an instant Johnson was beside her, patting her hand caressingly; she
felt the sympathy in his touch and was quick to respond to it.
"Don't you care, Girl, you're all right," he told her, choking back with
difficulty the tears in his own voice. "Your heart's all right, that's
the main thing. And as for your looks? Well, to me you've got the face
of an angel--the face--" He broke off abruptly and ended with: "Oh, but
I must be going now!"
A moment more and he stood framed in the doorway, his saddle in one hand
and the Girl's lantern in the other, torn by two emotions which grappled
with each other in his bosom. "Johnson, what the devil's the matter with
you?" he muttered half-aloud; then suddenly pulling himself together he
stumbled rather than walked out of The Polka into the night.
Motionless and trying to check her sobs, the Girl remained where he had
left her; but a few minutes later, when Nick entered, all trace of her
tears had disappeared.
"Nick," said she, all smiles now, "run over to The Palmetto restaurant
an' tell 'em to send me up two charlotte rusks an' a lemming turnover--a
good, big, fat one--jest as quick as they can--right up to the cabin for
"He says I have the face of an angel," is what the Girl repeated over
and over again to herself when perched up again on the poker table after
the wondering barkeeper had departed on her errand, and for a brief
space of time her countenance reflected the joy that Johnson's parting
words had imprinted on her heart. But in the Girl's character there was
an element too prosaic, and too practical, to permit her thoughts to
dwell long in a region lifted far above the earth. It was inevitable,
therefore, that the notion should presently strike her as supremely
comic and, quickly leaping to the floor, she let out the one word which,
however adequately it may have expressed her conflicting emotions, is
never by any chance to be found in the vocabulary of angels in good
Notwithstanding that The Palmetto was the most pretentious building in
Cloudy, and was the only rooming and eating house that outwardly
asserted its right to be called an hotel, its saloon contrasted
unfavourably with its rival, The Polka. There was not the individuality
of the Girl there to charm away the impress of coarseness settled upon
it by the loafers, the habitual drunkards and the riffraff of the camp,
who were not tolerated elsewhere. In short, it did not have that certain
indefinable something which gave to The Polka Saloon an almost homelike
appearance, but was a drab, squalid, soulless place with nothing to
recommend it but its size.
In a small parlour pungent at all times with the odour of liquor,--but
used only on rare occasions, most of The Palmetto's patrons preferring
the even more stifling atmosphere of the bar-room,--the Wells Fargo
Agent had been watching and waiting ever since he had left The Polka
Saloon. On a table in front of him was a bottle, for it was a part of
Ashby's scheme of things to solace thus all such weary hours.
Although a shrewd judge of women of the Nina Micheltorena type and by no
means unmindful of their mercurial temperament, Ashby, nevertheless, had
felt that she would keep her appointment with him. In the Mexican Camp
he had read the wild jealousy in her eyes, and had assumed, not
unnaturally, that there had been scarcely time for anything to occur
which would cause a revulsion of feeling on her part. But as the moments
went by, and still she did not put in an appearance, an expression of
keen disappointment showed itself on his face and, with mechanical
regularity, he carried out the liquid programme, shutting his eyes after
each drink for moments at a time yet, apparently, in perfect control of
his mind when he opened them again; and it was in one of these moments
that he heard a step outside which he correctly surmised to be that of
the Sheriff.
Without a word Rance walked into the room and over to the table and
helped himself to a drink from the bottle there, which action the Wells
Fargo Agent rightly interpreted as meaning that the posse had failed to
catch their quarry. At first a glint of satisfaction shone in Ashby's
eyes: not that he disliked Rance, but rather that he resented his
egotistical manner and evident desire to overawe all who came in contact
with him; and it required, therefore, no little effort on his part to
banish this look from his face and make up his mind not to mention the
subject in any manner.
For some time, therefore, the two officers sat opposite to each other
inhaling the stale odour of tobacco and spirits peculiar to this room,
with little or no ventilation. It was enough to sicken anyone, but both
men, accustomed to such places in the pursuit of their calling,
apparently thought nothing of it, the Sheriff seemingly absorbed in
contemplating the long ash at the end of his cigar, but, in reality,
turning over in his mind whether he should leave the room or not. At
length, he inaugurated a little contest of opinion.
"This woman isn't coming, that's certain," he declared, impatiently.
"I rather think she will; she promised not to fail me," was the other's
quiet answer; and he added: "In ten minutes you'll see her."
It was a rash remark and expressive of a confidence that he by no means
felt. As a matter of fact, it was induced solely by the cynical smile
which he perceived on the Sheriff's face.
"You, evidently, take no account of the fact that the lady may have
changed her mind," observed Rance, lighting a fresh cigar. "The Nina
Micheltorenas are fully as privileged as others of their sex."
As he drained his glass Ashby gave the speaker a sharp glance; another
side of Rance's character had cropped out. Moreover, Ashby's quick
intuition told him that the other's failure to catch the outlaw was not
troubling him nearly as much as was the blow which his conceit had
probably received at the hands of the Girl. It was, therefore, in an
indulgent tone that he said:
"No, Rance, not this one nor this time. You mark my words, the woman is
through with Ramerrez. At least, she is so jealous that she thinks she
is. She'll turn up here, never fear; she means business."
The shoulders of Mr. Jack Rance strongly suggested a shrug, but the man
himself said nothing. They were anything but sympathetic companions,
these two officers, and in the silence that ensued Rance formulated
mentally more than one disparaging remark about the big man sitting
opposite to him. It is possible, of course, that the Sheriff's rebuff by
the Girl, together with the wild goose chase which he had recently taken
against his better judgment, had something to do with this bitterness;
but it was none the less true that he found himself wondering how Ashby
had succeeded in acquiring his great reputation. Among the things that
he held against him was his everlasting propensity to boast of his
achievements, to say nothing of the pedestal upon which the boys
insisted upon placing him. Was this Wells Fargo's most famous agent? Was
this the man whose warnings were given such credence that they stirred
even the largest of the gold camps into a sense of insecurity? And at
this Rance indulged again in a fit of mental merriment at the other's
But, although he would have denied it in toto, the truth of the matter
was that the Sheriff was jealous of Ashby. Witty, generous, and a high
liver, the latter was generally regarded as a man who fascinated women;
moreover, he was known to be a favourite--and here the shoe
pinched--with the Girl. True, the demands of his profession were such as
to prevent his staying long in any camp. Nevertheless, it seemed to
Rance that he contrived frequently to turn up at The Polka when the boys
were at the diggings.
After Ashby's observation the conversation by mutual, if unspoken,
consent, was switched into other channels. But it may be truthfully said
that Rance did not wholly recover his mental equilibrium until a door
was heard to open noiselessly and some whispered words in Spanish fell
upon their ears.
Now the Sheriff, as well as Ashby, had the detective instinct fully
developed; moreover, both men knew a few words of that language and had
an extreme curiosity to hear the conversation going on between a man and
a woman, who were standing just outside in a sort of hallway. As a
result, therefore, both officers sprang to the door with the hope--if
indeed it was Nina Micheltorena as they surmised--that they might catch
a word or two which would give them a clue to what was likely to take
place at the coming interview. It came sooner than they expected.
". . . Ramerrez--Five thousand dollars!" reached their ears in a soft,
Spanish voice.
Ashby needed nothing more than this. In an instant, much to the
Sheriff's astonishment, and moving marvellously quick for a man of his
heavy build, he was out of the room, leaving Rance to face a woman with
a black mantilla thrown over her head who, presently, entered by another
Nina Micheltorena, for it was she, did not favour him with as much as an
icy look. Nor did the Sheriff give any sign of knowing her; a wise
proceeding as it turned out, for a quick turn of the head and a subtle
movement of the woman's shoulders told him that she was in anything but
a quiet state of mind. One glance towards the door behind him, however,
and the reason of her anger was all too plain: A Mexican was vainly
struggling in the clutches of Ashby.
"Why are you dragging him in?" Far from quailing before him as did her
confederate, she confronted Ashby with eyes that flashed fire. "He came
with me--"
Ashby cut her short.
"We don't allow greasers in this camp and--" he began in a throaty
"But he is waiting to take me back!" she objected, and then added: "I
wish him to wait for me outside, and unless you allow him to I'll go at
once." And with these words she made a movement towards the door.
Ashby laid one restraining hand upon her, while with the other he held
on to the Mexican. Of a sudden there had dawned upon him the conviction
that for once in his life he had made a grievous mistake. He had
thought, by the detention of her confederate, to have two strings to his
bow, but one glance at the sneeringly censorious expression on the
Sheriff's face convinced him that no information would be forthcoming
from the woman while in her present rebellious mood.
"All right, my lady," he said, for the time being yielding to her will,
"have your way." And turning now to the Mexican, he added none too
"Here you, get out!"
Whereupon the Mexican slunk out of the room.
"There's no use of your getting into a rage," went on Ashby, turning to
the woman in a slightly conciliatory manner. "I calculated that the
greaser would be in on the job, too."
All through this scene Rance had been sitting back in his chair chewing
his cigar in contemptuous silence, while his face wore a look of languid
insolence, a fact which, apparently, did not disturb the woman in the
least, for she ignored him completely.
"It was well for you, Senor Ashby, that you let him go. I tell you
frankly that in another moment I should have gone." And now throwing
back her mantilla she took out a cigarette from a dainty, little case
and lit it and coolly blew a cloud of smoke in Rance's face, saying: "It
depends on how you treat me--you, Mr. Jack Rance, as well as Senor
Ashby--whether we come to terms or not. Perhaps I had better go away
anyway," she concluded with a shrug of admirably simulated indifference.
This time Ashby sat perfectly still. It was not difficult to perceive
that her anger was decreasing with every word that she uttered; nor did
he fail to note how fluently she spoke English, a slight Spanish accent
giving added charm to her wonderfully soft and musical voice. How
gloriously beautiful, he told himself, she looked as she stood there,
voluptuous, compelling, alluring, the expression that had been almost
diabolical, gradually fading from her face. Was it possible, he asked
himself, that all this loveliness was soiled forever? He felt that there
was something pitiful in the fact that the woman standing before him
represented negotiable property which could be purchased by any
passer-by who had a few more nuggets in his possession than his
neighbour; and, perhaps, because of his knowledge of the piteous history
of this former belle of Monterey he put a little more consideration into
the voice that said:
"All right, Nina, we'll get down to business. What have you to say to
By this time Nina's passionate anger had burned itself out. In
anticipation, perhaps, of what she was about to do, she looked straight
ahead of her into space. It was not because she was assailed by some
transient emotion to forswear her treacherous desire for vengeance; she
had no illusion of that kind. Too vividly she recalled the road agent's
indifferent manner at their last interview for any feeling to dwell in
her heart other than hatred. It was that she was summoning to appear a
vision scarcely less attractive, however pregnant with tragedy, than
that of seeing herself avenged: a gay, extravagant career in Mexico or
Spain which the reward would procure for her. That was what she was
seeing, and with a pious wish for its confirmation she began to make
herself a fresh cigarette, rolling it dexterously with her white,
delicate fingers, and not until her task was accomplished and her full,
red lips were sending forth tiny clouds of smoke did she announce:
"Ramerrez was in Cloudy Mountain to-night."
But however much of a surprise this assertion was to both men, neither
gave vent to an exclamation. Instead Rance regarded his elegantly booted
feet; Ashby looked hard at the woman as if he would read the truth in
her eyes; while as for Nina, she continued to puff away at her little
cigarette after the manner of one that has appealed not in vain to the
magic power which can paint out the past and fill the blank with the
most beautiful of dreams.
The Wells Fargo man was the first to make any comment; he asked:
"You know this?" And then as she surveyed them through a scented cloud
and bowed her head, he added: "How do you know it?"
"That I shall not tell you," replied the woman, firmly.
Ashby made an impatient movement towards her with the question:
"Where was he?"
"Oh, come, Ashby!" put in Rance, speaking for the first time. "She's
putting up a game on us."
In a flash Nina wheeled around and with eyes that blazed advanced to the
table where the Sheriff was sitting. Indeed, there was something so
tigerish about the woman that the Sheriff, in alarm, quickly pushed back
his chair.
"I am not lying, Jack Rance." There was an evil glitter in her eye as
she watched a sarcastic smile playing around his lips. "Oh, yes, I know
you--you are the Sheriff," and so saying a peal of contemptuous
merriment burst from her, "and Ramerrez was in the camp not less than
two hours ago."
Ashby could hardly restrain his excitement.
"And you saw him?" came from him.
"Yes," was her answer.
Both men sprang to their feet; it was impossible to doubt any longer
that she spoke the truth.
"What's his game?" demanded Rance.
The woman answered his question with a question.
"How about the reward, Senor Ashby?"
"You needn't worry about that--I'll see that you get what's coming to
you," replied the Wells Fargo Agent already getting into his coat.
"But how are we to know?" inquired Rance, likewise getting ready to
leave. "Is he an American or a Mexican?"
"To-night he's an American, that is, he's dressed and looks like one.
But the reward--you swear you're playing fair?"
"On my honour," Ashby assured her.
The woman's face stood clear--cruelly clear in the light of the kerosene
lamp above her head. About her mouth and eyes there was a repellent
expression. Her mind, still working vividly, was reviewing the past; and
a bitter memory prompted the words which were said however with a smile
that was still seductive:
"Try to recall, Senor Ashby, what strangers were in The Polka to-night?"
At these ominous words the men started and regarded each other
questioningly. Their keen and trained intelligences were greatly
distressed at being so utterly in the dark. For an instant, it is true,
the thought of the greaser that Ashby had brought in rose uppermost in
their minds, but only to be dismissed quickly when they recalled the
woman's words concerning the way that the road agent was dressed. A
moment more, however, and a strange thought had fastened itself on one
of their active minds--a thought which, although persisting in forcing
itself upon the Sheriff's consideration, was in the end rejected as
wholly improbable. But who was it then? In his intensity Rance let his
cigar go out.
"Ah!" at last he cried. "Johnson, by the eternal!"
"Johnson?" echoed Ashby, wholly at sea and surprised at the look of
corroboration in Nina's eyes.
"Yes, Johnson," went on Rance, insistently. Why had he not seen at once
that it was Johnson who was the road agent! There could be no mistake!
"You weren't there," he explained hurriedly, "when he came in and began
flirting with the Girl and--"
"Ramerrez making love to the Girl?" broke in Ashby. "Ye Gods!"
"The Girl? So that's the woman he's after now!" Nina laughed bitterly.
"Well, she's not destined to have him for long, I can tell you!" And
with that she reached out for the bottle on the table and poured herself
a small glass of whisky and swallowed it. When she turned her lips were
tightly shut over her brilliant teeth, a thousand thoughts came rushing
into her brain. There was no longer any compunction--she would strike
now and deep. Through her efforts alone the man would be captured, and
she gloried in the thought.
"Here--here is something that will interest you!" she said; and putting
her hand in her bosom drew out a soiled, faded photograph. "There--that
will settle him for good and all! Never again will he boast of trifling
with Nina Micheltorena--with me, a Micheltorena in whose veins runs the
best and proudest blood of California!"
Ashby fairly snatched the photograph out of her hand and, after one look
at it, passed it over to the Sheriff.
"Good of him, isn't it?" sneered Nina; and then seemingly trying by her
very vehemence to impress upon herself the impossibility of his ever
being anything but an episode in her life, she added: "I hate him!"
The picture was indeed an excellent one. It represented Ramerrez in the
gorgeous dress of a _caballero_--and the outlaw was a fine specimen of
that spectacular class of men. But Rance studied the photograph only
long enough to be sure that no mistake was possible. With a quick
movement he put it away in his pocket and looked long and hard at the
figure of the degraded woman standing before him and revelling in her
treachery. In that time he forgot that anyone had ever entertained a
kind thought about her; he forgot that she once was respected as well as
admired; he was conscious only of regarding her with a far deeper
disgust and repugnance than he held towards others much her inferior in
birth and education. But, presently, his face grew a shade whiter, if
that were possible, and he cursed himself for not having thought of the
danger to which the Girl might even now be exposed. In less than a
minute, therefore, both men stood ready for the work before them. But on
the threshold just before going out into the fierce storm that had burst
during the last few minutes, he paused and called back:
"You Mexican devil! If any harm comes to the Girl, I'll strangle you
with my own hands!" And not waiting to hear the woman's mocking laughter
he passed out, followed by Ashby, into the storm.
In the still black night and with no guide other than the dimly-lighted
lantern which she carried, the Girl had started for home--a bit of
shelter in the middle of a great silence, a little fortress in the
wilderness, as it were, with its barred doors and windows--on the top of
Cloudy Mountain. To be sure, it was not the first time that she had
followed the trail alone: Day and night, night and day, for as long,
almost, as she could remember, she had been doing it; indeed, she had
watched the alders, oaks and dwarf pines, that bordered the trail, grow
year by year as she herself had grown, until now the whispering of the
mountain's night winds spoke a language as familiar as her own; but
never before had she climbed up into the clean, wide, free sweep of this
unbounded horizon, the very air untainted and limitless as the sky
itself, with so keen and uncloying a pleasure. But there was a new
significance attached to her home-coming to-night: was she not to
entertain there her first real visitor?
At the threshold of her cabin the Girl, her cheeks aglow and eyes as
bright, almost, as the red cape that enveloped her lithe, girlish
figure, paused, and swinging her lantern high above her head so that its
light was reflected in the room, she endeavoured to imagine what would
be the impression that a stranger would receive coming suddenly upon
these surroundings.
And well might she have paused, for no eye ever rested upon a more
conglomerate ensemble! Yet, withal, there was a certain attractiveness
about this log-built, low, square room, half-papered with gaudy
paper--the supply, evidently, having fallen short,--that was as
unexpected as it was unusual.
Upon the floor, which had a covering of corn sacks, were many beautiful
bear and wolf skins, Indian rugs and Navajo blankets; while
overhead--screening some old trunks and boxes neatly piled up high in
the loft, which was reached by a ladder, generally swung out of the
way--hung a faded, woollen blanket; from the opposite corner there fell
an old, patchwork, silk quilt. Dainty white curtains in all their
crispness were at the windows, and upon the walls were many rare and
weird trophies of the chase, not to mention the innumerable pictures
that had been taken from "Godey's Lady Book" and other periodicals of
that time. A little book-shelf, that had been fashioned out of a box,
was filled with old and well-read books; while the mantel that guarded
the fireplace was ornamented with various small articles, conspicuous
among which were a clock that beat loud, automatic time with a brassy
resonance, a china dog and cat of most gaudy colours, a whisky bottle
and two tumblers, and some winter berries in a jar.
There were two pieces of furniture in the room, however, which were
placed with an eye to attract attention, and these the Girl prized most
highly: one was a homemade rocking-chair that had been made out of a
barrel and had been dyed, unsuccessfully, with indigo blue, and had
across its back a knitted tidy with a large, upstanding, satin bow; the
other was a homemade, pine wardrobe that had been rudely decorated by
one of the boys of the camp and in which the Girl kept her dresses, and
was piled up high towards the ceiling with souvenirs of her trip to
Monterey, including the hat-boxes and wicker basket that had come well
nigh to loading down the stage on that memorable journey.
But it was upon her bed and bedroom fixings that the greatest attempt at
decoration had been made; partitioning off the room, as it were, and at
the same time forming a canopy about the bed, were curtains of cheap,
gaudy material, through the partings of which there was to be had a
glimpse of a daintily-made-up bed, whose pillows were made conspicuous
by the hand-made lace that trimmed their slips, as was the bureau-cover,
and upon which, in charming disarray, were various articles generally
included in a woman's toilet, not to mention the numberless strings of
coloured beads and other bits of feminine adornment. A table standing in
the centre of the room was covered with a small, white cloth, while
falling in folds from beneath this was a faded, red cotton cover. The
table was laid for one, the charlotte "rusks" and "lemming"
turn-over--each on a separate plate--which Nick had been commissioned to
procure, earlier in the evening, from the Palmetto restaurant, looming
up prominently in the centre; and on another plate were some chipped
beef and biscuits. A large lamp was suspended from the ceiling in the
centre of the room and was quaintly, if not grotesquely, shaded; while
other lamps flanked by composition metal reflectors concentrated light
upon the Girl's bureau, the book-shelf and mantel, leaving the remainder
of the room in variant shadow.
All in all, what with the fire that was burning cheerily in the grate
and the strong odour of steaming coffee, the room had a soft glow and
home-like air that was most inviting.
In that brief moment that the Girl stood in the doorway reviewing her
possessions, a multitude of expressions drifted across her countenance,
a multitude of possibilities thrilled within her bosom. But however much
she would have liked to analyse these strange feelings, she resisted the
inclination and gave all her attention to the amusing scene that was
being enacted before her eyes.
For some time Billy Jackrabbit had been standing by the table looking
greedily down upon the charlotte russes there. He was on the point of
putting his finger through the centre of one of them when Wowkle--the
Indian woman-of-all-work of the cabin, who sat upon the floor before the
fire singing a lullaby to the papoose strapped to its cradle on her
back--turning suddenly her gaze in his direction, was just in time to
prevent him.
"Charlotte rusk--Palmetto rest'rant--not take," were her warning words.
Jackrabbit drew himself up quickly, but he was furious at interference
from a source where it was wholly unexpected.
"Hm--me honest," he growled fiercely, flashing her a malignant look.
"Huh?" was Wowkle's monosyllabic observation delivered in a guttural
All of a sudden, Jackrabbit's gaze was arrested by a piece of paper
which lay upon the floor and in which had been wrapped the charlotte
russes; he went over to it quickly, picked it up, opened it and
proceeded to collect on his finger the cream that had adhered to it.
"Huh!" he growled delightedly, holding up his finger for Wowkle's
inspection. The next instant, however, he slumped down beside her upon
the floor, where both the man and the woman sat in silence gazing into
the fire. The man was the first to speak.
"Send me up--Polka. Say, p'haps me marry you--huh?" he said, coming to
the point bluntly.
Wowkle's eyes were glued to the fire; she answered dully:
"Me don't know."
There was a silence, and then:
"Me don't know," observed Jackrabbit thoughtfully. A moment later,
however, he added: "Me marry you--how much me get give fatha--huh?"
Wowkle raised her narrowing eyes to his and told him with absolute
"Huh--me don't know."
Jackrabbit's face darkened. He pondered for a long time.
"Me don't know--" suddenly he began and then stopped. They had been
silent for some moments, when at last he ventured: "Me give fatha four
dolla"--and here he indicated the number with his two hands, the finger
with the cream locking those of the other hand--"and one blanket."
Wowkle's eyes dilated.
"Better keep blanket--baby cold," was her ambiguous answer.
Whereupon Jackrabbit emitted a low growl. Presently he handed her his
pipe, and while she puffed steadily away he fondled caressingly the
string of beads which she wore around her neck.
"You sing for get those?" he asked.
"Me sing," she replied dully, beginning almost instantly in soft, nasal
"My days are as um grass"--
Jackrabbit's face cleared.
"Huh!" he growled in rejoicement.
Immediately Wowkle edged up close to him and together they continued in
"Or as um faded flo'r,
Um wintry winds sweep o'er um plain,
We pe'ish in um ho'r."
"But Gar," said the man when the song was ended, at the same time taking
his pipe away from her, "to-morrow we go missionary--sing like hell--get
But as Wowkle made no answer, once more a silence fell upon them.
"We pe'ish in um ho'r," suddenly repeated Jackrabbit, half-singing,
half-speaking the words, and rising quickly started for the door. At the
table, however, he halted and inquired: "All right--go missionary
to-morrow--get marry--huh?"
Wowkle hesitated, then rose, and finally started slowly towards him.
Half-way over she stopped and reminded him in a most apathetic manner:
"P'haps me not stay marry to you for long."
"Huh--seven monse?" queried Jackrabbit in the same tone.
"Six monse," came laconically from the woman.
In nowise disconcerted by her answer, the Indian now asked:
"You come soon?"
Wowkle thought a moment; then suddenly edging up close to him she
promised to come to him after the Girl had had her supper.
"Huh!" fairly roared the Indian, his coal-black eyes glowing as he
looked at her.
It was at this juncture that the Girl, after hanging up her lantern on a
peg on the outer door, broke in unexpectedly upon the strange pair of
Dumbfounded, the woman and the man stood gaping at her. Wowkle was the
first to regain her composure, and bending over the table she turned up
the light.
"Hello, Billy Jackrabbit!" greeted the Girl, breezily. "Fixed it?"
"Me fix," he grunted.
"That's good! Now git!" ordered the Girl in the same happy tone that had
characterised her greeting.
Slowly, stealthily, Jackrabbit left the cabin, the two women, though for
different reasons, watching him go until the door had closed behind him.
"Now, Wowkle," said the Girl, turning to her with a smile, "it's for two
Wowkle's eyelashes twinkled up inquisitorially.
Wowkle's eyes narrowed to pin-points.
"Come anotha? Never before come anotha," was her significant comment.
"Never you mind." The Girl voiced the reprimand without the twitching of
an eyelid; and then as she hung up her cape upon the wardrobe, she
added: "Pick up the room, Wowkle!"
The big-hipped, full-bosomed woman did not move but stood in all her
stolidness gazing at her mistress like one in a dream; whereupon the
Girl, exasperated beyond measure at the other's placidity, rushed over
to her and shook her so violently that she finally awakened to the
importance of her mistress' request.
"He's comin' now, now; he's comin'!" the Girl was saying, when suddenly
her eyes were attracted to a pair of stockings hanging upon the wall;
quickly she released her hold on the woman and with a hop, skip and a
jump they were down and hid away in her bureau drawer.
"My roses--what did you do with them, Wowkle?" she asked a trifle
impatiently as she fumbled in the drawer.
"Ugh!" grunted Wowkle, and pointed to a corner of the bureau top.
"Good!" cried the Girl, delightedly, as she spied them. The next instant
she was busily engaged in arranging them in her hair, pausing only to
take a pistol out of her pocket, which she laid on the edge of the
bureau. "No offence, Wowkle," she went on thoughtfully, a moment later,
"but I want you to put your best foot forward when you're waitin' on
table to-night. This here company o' mine's a man o' idees. Oh, he knows
everythin'! Sort of a damme style."
Wowkle gave no sign of having heard her mistress' words, but kept right
on tidying the room. Now she went over to the cupboard and took down two
cups, which she placed on the fireplace base. It was while she was in
the act of laying down the last one that the Girl broke in suddenly upon
her thoughts with:
"Say, Wowkle, did Billy Jackrabbit really propose to you?"
"Yep--get marry," spoke up Jackrabbit's promised wife without looking
For some moments the Girl continued to fumble among her possessions in
the bureau drawer; at last she brought forth an orange-coloured satin
ribbon, which she placed in the Indian woman's hands with her prettiest
smile, saying:
"Here, Wowkle, you can have that to fix up for the weddin'."
Wowkle's eyes glowed with appreciation.
"Huh!" she ejaculated, and proceeded to wind the ribbon about the beads
around her neck.
Turning once more to the bureau, the Girl took out a small parcel done
up in tissue paper and began to unwrap it.
"I'm goin' to put on them, if I can git 'em on," she said, displaying a
pair of white satin slippers. The next instant she had plumped herself
down upon the floor and was trying to encase her feet in a pair of
slippers which were much too small for them. "Remember what fun I made
o' you when you took up with Billy Jackrabbit?" suddenly she asked with
a happy little smile. "What for? sez I. Well, p'r'aps you was right.
P'r'aps it's nice to have someone you really care for--who belongs to
you. P'r'aps they ain't so much in the saloon business for a woman after
all, and you don't know what livin' really is until--" She stopped
abruptly and threw upon the floor the slipper that refused to give to
her foot. "Oh, Wowkle," she went on, taking up the other slipper, "it's
nice to have someone you can talk to, someone you can turn your heart
inside out to."
At last she had succeeded in getting into one slipper and, rising, tried
to stand in it; but it hurt her so frightfully that she immediately sank
down upon the floor and proceeded to pat and rub and coddle her foot to
ease the pain. It was while she was thus engaged that a knock came upon
her cabin door.
"Oh, Lord, here he is!" she cried, panic-stricken, and began to drag
herself hurriedly across the room with the intention of concealing
herself behind the curtain at the foot of the bed; while Wowkle, with
unusual celerity, made for the fire-place, where she stood with her back
to the door, gazing into the fire.
The Girl had only gotten half-way across the room, however, when a voice
assailed her ears.
"Miss, Miss, kin I--" came in low, subdued tones.
"What? The Sidney Duck?" she cried, turning and seeing his head poked
through the window.
"Beg pardon, Miss; I know men ain't lowed up here nohow," humbly
apologised that individual; "but, but--"
Vexed and flustered, the Girl turned upon him a trifle irritably with:
"Git! Git, I tell you!"
"But I'm in grite trouble, Miss," began The Sidney Duck, tearfully. "The
boys are back--they missed that road agent Ramerrez and now they're
taking it out of me. If--if you'd only speak a word for me, Miss."
"No--" began the Girl, and stopped. The next instant she ordered Wowkle
to shut the window.
"Oh, don't be 'ard on me, Miss," whimpered the man.
The Girl flashed him a scornful look.
"Now, look here, Sidney Duck, there's one kind o' man I can't stand, an'
that's a cheat an' a thief, an' you're it," said the Girl, laying great
stress upon her words. "You're no better'n that road agent Ramerrez,
"But, Miss--" interrupted the man.
"Miss nothin'!" snapped back the Girl, tugging away at the slippers; in
desperation once more she ordered:
"Wowkle, close the winder! Close the winder!"
The Sidney Duck glowered at her. He had expected her intercession on his
behalf and could not understand this new attitude of hers toward him.
"Public 'ouse jide!" he retorted furiously, and slammed the window.
"Ugh!" snarled Wowkle, resentfully, her eyes full of fire.
Now at any other time, The Sidney Duck would have been made to pay
dearly for his words, but either the Girl did not hear him, or if she
did she was too engrossed to heed them; at any rate, the remark passed
"I got it on!" presently exclaimed the Girl in great joy. Nevertheless,
it was not without several ouches and moans that, finally, she stood
upon her feet. "Say, Wowkle, how do you think he'll like 'em? How do
they look? They feel awful!" she rattled on with a pained look on her
But whatever would have been the Indian woman's observation on the
subject of tight shoes in general and those of her mistress in
particular, she was not permitted to make it, for the Girl, now hobbling
over towards the bureau, went on to announce with sudden determination:
"Say, Wowkle, I'm a-goin' the whole hog! Yes, I'm a-goin' the whole
hog," she repeated a moment later, as she drew forth various bits of
finery from a chest of drawers, with which she proceeded to adorn
herself before the mirror. Taking out first a lace shawl of bold design,
she drew it over her shoulders with the grace and ease of one who makes
it an everyday affair rather than an occasional undertaking; then she
took from a sweet-grass basket a vividly-embroidered handkerchief and
saturated it with cologne, impregnating the whole room with its strong
odour; finally she brought forth a pair of long, white gloves and began
to stretch them on. "Does it look like an effort, Wowkle?" she asked,
trying to get her hands into them.
"Ugh!" was the Indian woman's comment at the very moment that a knock
came upon the door. "Two plates," she added with a groan, and started
for the cupboard.
Meanwhile the Girl continued with her primping and preening, her hands
flying back and forth like an automaton from her waist-line to her
stockings. Suddenly another knock, this time more vigorous, more
insistent, came upon the rough boards of the cabin door, which, finally,
was answered by the Girl herself.
"Hello!" sang out Johnson, genially, as he entered the Girl's cabin.
At once the Girl's audacity and spirit deserted her, and hanging her
head she answered meekly, bashfully:
The man's eyes swept the Girl's figure; he looked puzzled, and asked:
"Are you--you going out?"
The Girl was plainly embarrassed; she stammered in reply:
"Yes--no--I don't know--Oh, come on in!"
"Thank you," said Johnson in his best manner, and put down his lantern
on the table. Turning now with a look of admiration in his eyes, at the
same time trying to embrace her, he went on: "Oh, Girl, I'm so glad you
let me come . . ."
His glance, his tone, his familiarity sent the colour flying to the
Girl's cheeks; she flared up instantly, her blue eyes snapping with
"You stop where you are, Mr. Johnson."
"Ugh!" came from Wowkle, at that moment closing the door which Johnson
had left ajar.
At the sound of the woman's voice Johnson wheeled round quickly. And
then, to his great surprise, he saw that the Girl was not alone as he
had expected to find her.
"I beg your pardon; I did not see anyone when I came in," he said in
humble apology, his eyes the while upon Wowkle who, having blown out the
candle and removed the lantern from the table to the floor, was
directing her footsteps towards the cupboard, into which she presently
disappeared, closing the door behind her. "But seeing you standing
there," went on Johnson in explanation, "and looking into your lovely
eyes, well, the temptation to take you in my arms was so great that I,
well, I took--"
"You must be in the habit o' takin' things, Mr. Johnson," broke in the
Girl. "I seen you on the road to Monterey, goin' an' comin', an' passed
a few words with you; I seen you once since, but that don't give you no
excuse to begin this sort o' game." The Girl's tone was one of reproach
rather than of annoyance, and for the moment the young man was left with
a sense of having committed an indiscretion. Silently, sheepishly, he
moved away, while she quietly went over to the fire.
"Besides, you might have prospected a bit first anyway," presently she
went on, watching the tips of her slender white fingers held out
transparent towards the fire.
Just at that moment a log dropped, turning up its glowing underside.
Wheeling round with a smile, Johnson said:
"I see how wrong I was."
And then, seeing that the Girl made no move in his direction, he asked,
still smiling:
"May I take off my coat?"
The Girl remained silent, which silence he interpreted as an assent, and
went on to make himself at home.
"Thank you," he said simply. "What a bully little place you have here!
It's awfully snug!" he continued delightedly, as his eyes wandered about
the room. "And to think that I've found you again when I--Oh, the luck
of it!"
He went over to her and held out his hands, a broad, yet kindly smile
lighting up his strong features, making him appear handsomer, even, than
he really was, to the Girl taking in the olive-coloured skin glowing
with healthful pallor.
"Friends?" he asked.
Nevertheless the girl did not give him her hand, but quickly drew it
away; she answered his question with a question:
"Are you sorry?"
"No, I'm not sorry."
To this she made no reply but quietly, disappointedly returned to the
fireplace, where she stood in contemplative silence, waiting for his
next words.
But he did not speak; he contented himself with gazing at the tender
girlishness of her, the blue-black eyes, and flesh that was so bright
and pure that he knew it to be soft and firm, making him yearn for her.
Involuntarily she turned towards him, and she saw that in his face which
caused her eyes to drop and her breath to come more quickly.
"That damme style just catches a woman!" she ejaculated with a little
tremour in her voice.
Then her mood underwent a sudden change in marked contrast to that of
the moment before. "Look here, Mr. Johnson," she said, "down at the
saloon to-night you said you always got what you wanted. O' course I've
got to admire you for that. I reckon women always do admire men for
gettin' what they want. But if huggin' me's included, jest count it
For a breathing space there was a dead silence.
"That was a lovely day, Girl, on the road to Monterey, wasn't it?" of a
sudden Johnson observed dreamily.
The Girl's eyes opened upon him wonderingly.
"Was it?"
"Well, wasn't it?"
The Girl thought it was and she laughed.
"Say, take a chair and set down for a while, won't you?" was her next
remark, she herself taking a chair at the table.
"Thanks," he said, coming slowly towards her while his eyes wandered
about the room for a chair.
"Say, look 'ere!" she shot out, scrutinising him closely; "I ben
thinkin' you didn't come to the saloon to see me to-night. What brought
"It was Fate," he told her, leaning over the table and looking down upon
her admiringly.
She pondered his answer for a moment, then blurted out:
"You're a bluff! It may have been Fate, but I tho't you looked kind o'
funny when Rance asked you if you hadn't missed the trail an' wa'n't on
the road to see Nina Micheltorena--she that lives in the greaser
settlement an' has the name o' shelterin' thieves."
At the mention of thieves, Johnson paled frightfully and the knife which
he had been toying with dropped to the floor.
"Was it Fate or the back trail?" again queried the Girl.
"It was Fate," calmly reiterated the man, and looked her fairly in the
The cloud disappeared from the Girl's face.
"Serve the coffee, Wowkle!" she called almost instantly. And then it was
that she saw that no chair had been placed at the table for him. She
sprang to her feet, exclaiming: "Oh, Lordy, you ain't got no chair yet
"Careful, please, careful," quickly warned Johnson, as she rounded the
corner of the table upon which his guns lay.
But fear was not one of the Girl's emotions. At the display of guns that
met her gaze she merely shrugged and inquired placidly:
"Oh, how many guns do you carry?"
Not unnaturally she waited for his answer before starting in quest of a
chair for him; but instead Johnson quietly went over to the chair near
the door where his coat lay, hung it up on the peg with his hat, and
returning now with a chair, he answered:
"Oh, several when travelling through the country."
"Well, set down," said the Girl bluntly, and hurried to his side to
adjust his chair. But she did not return to her place at the table;
instead, she took the barrel rocker near the fireplace and began to rock
nervously to and fro. In silence Johnson sat studying her, looking her
through and through, as it were.
"It must be strange living all alone way up here in the mountains," he
remarked, breaking the spell of silence. "Isn't it lonely?"
"Lonely? Mountains lonely?" The Girl's laugh rang out clearly. "Besides,"
she went on, her eyes fairly dancing with excitement, "I got a little
pinto an' I'm all over the country on 'im. Finest little horse you ever
saw! If I want to I can ride right down into the summer at the foothills
with miles o' Injun pinks jest a-laffin' an' tiger lilies as mad as
blazes. There's a river there, too--the Injuns call it a water-road--an'
I can git on that an' drift an' drift an' smell the wild syringa on the
banks. An if I git tired o' that I can turn my horse up-grade an' gallop
right into the winter an' the lonely pines an' firs a-whisperin' an'
a-sighin'. Lonely? Mountains lonely, did you say? Oh, my mountains, my
beautiful peaks, my Sierras! God's in the air here, sure! You can see
Him layin' peaceful hands on the mountain tops. He seems so near you
want to let your soul go right on up."
Johnson was touched at the depth of meaning in her words; he nodded his
head in appreciation.
"I see, when you die you won't have far to go," he quietly observed.
Minutes passed before either spoke. Then all at once the Girl rose and
took the chair facing his, the table between them as at first.
"Wowkle, serve the coffee!" again she called.
Immediately, Wowkle emerged from the cupboard, took the coffee-pot from
the fire and filled the cups that had been kept warm on the fireplace
base, and after placing a cup beside each plate she squatted down before
the fire in watchful silence.
"But when it's very cold up here, cold, and it snows?" queried Johnson,
his admiration for the plucky, quaint little figure before him growing
by leaps and bounds.
"Oh, the boys come up an' digs me out o' my front door like--like--" She
paused, her sunny laugh rippling out at the recollection of it all, and
Johnson noted the two delightful dimples in her rounded cheeks. Indeed,
she had never appeared prettier to him than when displaying her two rows
of perfect, dazzling teeth, which was the case every time that she
"--like a little rabbit, eh?" he supplemented, joining in the laugh.
She nodded eagerly.
"I get digged out near every day when the mine's shet down an' Academy
opens," went on the Girl in the same happy strain, her big blue eyes
dancing with merriment.
Johnson looked at her wonderingly; he questioned:
"Academy? Here? Why, who teaches in your Academy?"
"Me--I'm her--I'm teacher," she told him with not a little show of
With difficulty Johnson suppressed a smile; nevertheless he observed
"Oh, so you're the teacher?"
"Yep--I learn m'self an' the boys at the same time," she hastened to
explain, and dropped a heaping teaspoon of coarse brown sugar into his
cup. "But o' course Academy's suspended when ther's a blizzard on 'cause
no girl could git down the mountain then."
"Is it so very severe here when there's a blizzard on?" Johnson was
saying, when there came to his ears a strange sound--the sound of the
wind rising in the canyon below.
The Girl looked at him in blank astonishment--a look that might easily
have been interpreted as saying, "Where do you hail from?" She answered:
"Is it . . .? Oh, Lordy, they come in a minute! All of a sudden you
don't know where you are--it's awful!"
"Not many women--" digressed the man, glancing apprehensively towards
the door, but she cut him short swiftly with the ejaculation:
"Bosh!" And picking up a plate she raised it high in the air the better
to show off its contents. "Charlotte rusks an' lemming turnover!" she
announced, searching his face for some sign of joy, her own face
lighting up perceptibly.
"Well, this is a treat!" cried out Johnson between sips of coffee.
"Have one?"
"You bet!" he returned with unmistakable pleasure in his voice.
The Girl served him with one of each, and when he thanked her she beamed
with happiness.
"Let me send you some little souvenir of to-night"--he said, a little
while later, his admiring eyes settled on her hair of burnished gold
which glistened when the light fell upon it--"something that you'd just
love to read in your course of teaching at the Academy." He paused to
search his mind for something suitable to suggest to her; at length he
questioned: "Now, what have you been reading lately?"
The Girl's face broke into smiles as she answered:
"Oh, it's an awful funny book about a kepple. He was a classic an' his
name was Dent."
Johnson knitted his brows and thought a moment. "He was a classic, you
say, and his name was--Oh, yes, I know--Dante," he declared, with
difficulty controlling the laughter that well-nigh convulsed him. "And
you found Dante funny, did you?"
"Funny? I roared!" acknowledged the Girl with a frankness that was so
genuine that Johnson could not help but admire her all the more. "You
see, he loved a lady--" resumed the Girl, toying idly with her spoon.
"--Beatrice," supplemented Johnson, pronouncing the name with the
Italian accent which, by the way, was not lost on the Girl.
"How?" she asked quickly, with eyes wide open.
Johnson ignored the question. Anxious to hear her interpretation of the
story, he requested her to continue.
"He loved a lady--" began the Girl, and broke off short. And going over
to the book-shelf she took down a volume and began to finger the leaves
absently. Presently she came back, and fixing her eyes upon him, she
went on: "It made me think of it, what you said down to the saloon
to-night about livin' so you didn't care what come after. Well, he made
up his min', this Dent--Dantes--that one hour o' happiness with her was
worth the whole da--" She checked the word on her tongue, and concluded:
"outfit that come after. He was willin' to sell out his chances for
sixty minutes with 'er. Well, I jest put the book down an' hollered."
And once more she broke into a hearty laugh.
"Of course you did," agreed Johnson, joining in the laugh. "All the
same," he presently added, "you knew he was right."
"I didn't!" she contradicted with spirit, and slowly went back to the
book-shelf with the book.
"You did."
"You did."
"Didn't! Didn't!"
"I don't--"
"You do, you do," insisted the Girl, plumping down into the chair which
she had vacated at the table.
"Do you mean to say--" Johnson got no further, for the Girl, with a
naivete that made her positively bewitching to the man before her, went
on as if there had been no interruption:
"That a feller could so wind h'ms'lf up as to say, 'Jest give me one
hour o' your sassiety; time ain't nothin', nothin' ain't nothin' only to
be a da--darn fool over you!' Ain't it funny to feel like that?" And
then, before Johnson could frame an answer:
"Yet, I s'pose there are people that love into the grave an' into death
an' after." The Girl's voice lowered, stopped. Then, looking straight
ahead of her, her eyes glistening, she broke out with:
"Golly, it jest lifts you right up by your bootstraps to think of it,
don't it?"
Johnson was not smiling now, but sat gazing intently at her through
half-veiled lids.
"It does have that effect," he answered, the wonder of it all creeping
into his voice.
"Yet, p'r'aps he was ahead o' the game. P'r'aps--" She did not finish
the sentence, but broke out with fresh enthusiasm: "Oh, say, I jest love
this conversation with you! I love to hear you talk! You give me idees!"
Johnson's heart was too full for utterance; he could only think of his
own happiness. The next instant the Girl called to Wowkle to bring the
candle, while she, still eager and animated, her eyes bright, her lips
curving in a smile, took up a cigar and handed it to him, saying:
"One o' your real Havanas!"
"But I"--began Johnson, protestingly.
Nevertheless the Girl lit a match for him from the candle which Wowkle
held up to her, and, while the latter returned the candle to the mantel,
Johnson lighted his cigar from the burning match between her fingers.
"Oh, Girl, how I'd love to know you!" he suddenly cried with the fire of
love in his eyes.
"But you do know me," was her answer, as she watched the smoke from his
cigar curl upwards toward the ceiling.
"Not well enough," he sighed.
For a brief second only she was silent. Whether she read his thoughts it
would be difficult to say; but there came a moment soon when she could
not mistake them.
"What's your drift, anyway?" she asked, looking him full in the face.
"To know you as Dante knew the lady--'One hour for me, one hour worth
the world,'" he told her, all the while watching and loving her beauty.
At the thought she trembled a little, though she answered with
characteristic bluntness:
"He didn't git it, Mr. Johnson."
"All the same there are women we could die for," insisted Johnson,
The Girl was in the act of carrying her cup to her mouth but put it down
on the table. Leaning forward, she inquired somewhat sneeringly:
"Mr. Johnson, how many times have you died?" Johnson did not have to
think twice before answering. With wide, truthful eyes he said:
"That day on the road to Monterey I said just that one woman for me. I
wanted to kiss you then," he added, taking her hand in his. And, strange
to say, she was not angry, not unwilling, but sweetly tender and modest
as she let it lay there.
"But, Mr. Johnson, some men think so much o' kisses that they don't want
a second kiss from the same girl," spoke up the Girl after a moment's
"Doesn't that depend on whether they love her or not? Now all loves are
not alike," reasoned the man in all truthfulness.
"No, but they all have the same aim--to git 'er if they can," contended
the Girl, gently withdrawing her hand.
Silence filled the room.
"Ah, I see you don't know what love is," at length sighed Johnson,
watching the colour come and go from her face.
The Girl hesitated, then answered in a confused, uneven voice:
"Nope. Mother used to say, 'It's a tickling sensation at the heart that
you can't scratch,' an' we'll let it go at that."
"Oh, Girl, you're bully!" laughed the man, rising, and making an attempt
to embrace her. But all of a sudden he stopped and stood with a
bewildered look upon his face: a fierce gale was sweeping the mountain.
It filtered in through the crevices of the walls and doors; the lights
flickered; the curtains swayed; and the cabin itself rocked uncertainly
until it seemed as if it would be uprooted. It was all over in a minute.
loud cry of "Wowkle, hist the winder!"
It is not to be wondered at, however, that Johnson looked apprehensively
about him with every fresh impulse of the gale. The Girl's description
of the storms on the mountain was fresh in his mind, and there was also
good and sufficient reason why he should not be caught in a blizzard on
the top of Cloudy Mountain! Nevertheless, as before, the calm look which
he saw on the Girl's face reassured him. Advancing once more towards
her, he stretched out his arms as if to gather her in them.
"Look out, you'll muss my roses!" she cried, waving him back and dodging
Wowkle who, having cleared the table, was now making her last trip to
the cupboard.
"Well, hadn't you better take them off then?" suggested Johnson, still
following her up.
"Give a man an inch an' he'll be at Sank Hosey before you know it!" she
flung at him over her shoulder, and made straightway for the bureau.
But although Johnson desisted, he kept his eyes upon her as she took the
roses from her hair, losing none of the picture that she made with the
light beating and playing upon her glimmering eyes, her rosy cheeks and
her parted lips.
"Is there--is there anyone else?" he inquired falteringly, half-fearful
lest there was.
"A man always says, 'who was the first one?' but the girl says, 'who'll
be the next one?'" she returned, as she carefully laid the roses in her
bureau drawer.
"But the time comes when there never will be a next one."
"I'd hate to stake my pile on that," observed the Girl, drily. She blew
up each glove as it came off and likewise carefully laid them away in
the bureau drawer.
By this time Wowkle's soft tread had ceased, her duties for the night
were over, and she stood at the table waiting to be dismissed.
"Wowkle, git to your wigwam!" suddenly ordered her mistress, watching
her until she disappeared into the cupboard; but she did not see the
Indian woman's lips draw back in a half-grin as she closed the door
behind her.
"Oh, you're sending her away! Must I go, too?" asked Johnson, dismally.
"No--not jest yet; you can stay a--a hour or two longer," the Girl
informed him with a smile; and turning once more to the bureau she
busied herself there for a few minutes longer.
Johnson's joy knew no bounds; he burst out delightedly:
"Why, I'm like Dante! I want the world in that hour, because, you see,
I'm afraid the door of this little paradise might be shut to me after--
Let's say this is my one hour--the hour that gave me--that kiss I want."
"Go long! You go to grass!" returned the Girl with a nervous little
Johnson made one more effort and won out; that is, he succeeded, at
last, in getting her in his grasp.
"Listen," said the determined lover, pleading for a kiss as he would
have pleaded for his very life.
It was at this juncture that Wowkle, silently, stealthily, emerged from
the cupboard and made her way over to the door. Her feet were heavily
moccasined and she was blanketed in a stout blanket of gay colouring.
"Ugh--some snow!" she muttered, as a gust of wind beat against her face
and drove great snow-flakes into the room, fairly taking her breath
away. But her words fell on deaf ears. For, oblivious to the storm that
was now raging outside, the youthful pair of lovers continued to
concentrate their thoughts upon the storm that was raging within their
own breasts, the Girl keeping up the struggle with herself, while the
man urged her on as only he knew how.
"Why, if I let you take one you'd take two," denied the Girl,
half-yielding by her very words, if she but knew it.
"No, I wouldn't--I swear I wouldn't," promised the man with great
"Ugh--very bad!" was the Indian woman's muffled ejaculation as she
peered out into the night. But she had promised her lover to come to him
when supper was over, and she would not break faith with him even if it
were at the peril of her life. The next moment she went out, as did the
red light in the Girl's lantern hanging on a peg of the outer door.
"Oh, please, please," said the Girl, half-protestingly, half-willingly.
But the man was no longer to be denied; he kept on urging:
"One kiss, only one."
Here was an appeal which could no longer be resisted, and though
half-frightened by the tone of his voice and the look in his eye, the
Girl let herself be taken into his arms as she murmured:
"'Tain't no use, I lay down my hands to you."
And so it was that, unconscious of the great havoc that was being
wrought by the storm, unconscious of the danger that momentarily
threatened their lives, they remained locked in each other's arms. The
Girl made no attempt to silence him now or withdraw her hands from his.
Why should she? Had he not come to Cloudy Mountain to woo her? Was she
not awaiting his coming? To her it seemed but natural that the
conventions should be as nothing in the face of love. His voice, low and
musical, charged with passion, thrilled through her.
"I love you," said the man, with a note of possession that frightened
her while it filled her with strange, sweet joy. For months she had
dreamed of him and loved him; no wonder that she looked upon him as her
hero and yielded herself entirely to her fate.
She lifted her eyes and he saw the love in them. She freed her hands
from his grasp, and then gave them back to him in a little gesture of
"Yes, you're mine, an' I'm yours," she said with trembling lips.
"I have lived but for this from the moment that I first saw you," he
told her, softly.
"Me, too--seein' that I've prayed for it day an' night," she
acknowledged, her eyes seeking his.
"Our destinies have brought us together; whatever happens now I am
content," he said, pressing his lips once more to hers. A little while
later he added: "My darkest hour will be lightened by the memory of you,
The clock, striking the hour of two, filled in a lull that might
otherwise have seemed to require conversation. For some minutes,
Johnson, raised to a higher level of exaltation, even, than was the
Girl, had been secretly rejoicing in the Fate that had brought them
"It's wonderful that I should have found her at last and won her love,"
he soliloquised. "We must be Fortune's children--she and I."
The minutes ticked away and still they were silent. Then, of a sudden,
with infinite tenderness in his voice, Johnson asked:
"What is your name, Girl--your real name?"
"Min--Minnie; my father's name was Smith," she told him, her eyes cast
down under delicately tremulous lids.
"Oh, Minnie Sm--"
"But 'twa'n't his right name," quickly corrected the Girl, and
unconsciously both rose to their feet. "His right name was Falconer."
"Minnie Falconer--well, that is a pretty name," commented Johnson; and
raising her hand to his lips he pressed them against it.
"I ain't sure that's what he said it was--I ain't sure o' anythin' only
jest you," she said coyly, burying her face in his neck.
"You may well be sure of me since I've loved--" Johnson's sentence was
cut short, a wave of remorse sweeping over him. "Turn your head away,
Girl, and don't listen to me," he went on, gently putting her away from
him. "I'm not worthy of you. Don't listen but just say no, no, no, no."
The Girl, puzzled, was even more so when Johnson began to pace the
"Oh, I know--I ain't good enough for you !" she cried with a little
tremour in her voice. "But I'll try hard, hard . . . If you see
anythin' better in me, why don't you bring it out, 'cause I've loved you
ever since I saw you first, 'cause I knowed that you--that you were the
right man."
"The right man," repeated Johnson, dismally, for his conscience was
beginning to smite him hard.
"Don't laugh!"
"I'm not laughing," as indeed he was not.
"O' course every girl kind o' looks ahead," went on the Girl in
"Yes, I suppose," he observed seriously.
"An' figgers about bein'--well, Oh, you know--about bein' settled. An'
when the right man comes, why, she knows 'im, you bet! Jest as we both
knowed each other standin' on the road to Monterey. I said that day,
he's good, he's gran' an' he can have me."
"I could have you," murmured Johnson, meditatively.
The Girl nodded eagerly.
There was a long silence in which Johnson was trying to make up his mind
to tear himself away from her,--the one woman whom he loved in the
world,--for it had been slowly borne in upon him that he was not a fit
mate for this pure young girl. Nor was his unhappiness lessened when he
recalled how she had struggled against yielding to him. At last,
difficult though it was, he took his courage in both hands, and said:
"Girl, I have looked into your heart and my own and now I realise what
this means for us both--for you, Girl--and knowing that, it seems hard
to say good-bye as I should, must and will . . ."
At those clear words spoken by lips which failed so utterly to hide his
misery, the Girl's face turned pale.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Johnson coloured, hesitated, and finally with a swift glance at the
clock, he briefly explained:
"I mean it's hard to go and leave you here. The clock reminded me that
long before this I should have been on my way. I shouldn't have come up
here at all. God bless you, dear," and here their eyes came together and
seemed unable to part,--"I love you as I never thought I could . . ."
But at Johnson's queer look she hastened to inquire:
"But it ain't for long you're goin'?"
For long! Then she had not understood that he meant to go for all time.
How tell her the truth? While he pondered over the situation there came
to him with great suddenness the thought that, perhaps, after all, Life
never intended that she should be given to him only to be taken away
almost as suddenly; and seized with a desire to hold on to her at any
cost, he sprang forward as if to take her in his arms, but before he
reached her, he stopped short.
"Such happiness is not for me," he muttered under his breath; and then
aloud he added: "No, no, I've got to go now while I have the courage, I
mean." He broke off as suddenly as he had begun, and taking her face in
his hands he kissed her good-bye.
Now, accustomed as was the Girl to the strange comings and goings of the
men at the camp, it did not occur to her to question him further when he
told her that he should have been away before now. Moreover, she trusted
and loved him. And so it was without the slightest feeling of misgiving
that she watched her lover quickly take down his coat and hat from the
peg on the wall and start for the door. On the other hand, it must have
required not a little courage on the man's part to have torn himself
away from this lovely, if unconventional, creature, just as he was
beginning to love truly and appreciate her. But, then, Johnson was a man
of no mean determination!
Not daring to trust himself to words, Johnson paused to look back over
his shoulder at the Girl before plunging forth into the night. But on
opening the door all the multitudinous wild noises of the forests
reached his ears: Sounds of whispering and rocking storm-tossed pines,
sounds of the wind making the rounds of the deep canyon below them,
sounds that would have made the blood run cold of a man more daring,
even, than himself. Like one petrified he stood blinded, almost, by the
great drifts of snow that were being driven into the room, while the
cabin rocked and shook and the roof cracked and snapped, the lights
flickered, smoked, or sent their tongues of fire upward towards the
ceiling, the curtains swayed like pendants in the air, and while
baskets, boxes, and other small furnishings of the cabin were blown in
every direction.
But it was the Girl's quick presence of mind that saved them from being
buried, literally, under the snow. In an instant she had rushed past him
and closed both the outer and inner doors of the cabin; then, going over
to the window, she tried to look through the heavily frosted panes; but
the falling of the sleet and snow, striking the window like fine shot,
made it impossible for her to see more than a few inches away.
"Why, it's the first time I knew that it--" She cut her sentence short
and ended with: "That's the way we git it up here! Look! Look!"
Whereupon, Johnson went over to the window and put his face close to
hers on the frosted panes; a great sea of white snow met his gaze!
"This means--" he said, turning away from the window and meeting her
glance--"surely it doesn't mean that I can't leave Cloudy to-night?"
"It means you can't get off the mountain to-night," calmly answered the
"Good Lord!" fell from the man's lips.
"You can't leave this room to-night," went on the Girl, decidedly. "Why,
you couldn't find your way three feet from this door--you a stranger!
You don't know the trail anyway unless you can see it."
"But I can't stay here?" incredulously.
"Why not? Why, that's all right! The boys'll come up an' dig us out
to-morrow or day after. There's plenty o' wood an' you can have my bed."
And with no more ado than that, the Girl went over to the bed to remove
the covers and make it ready for his occupancy.
"I wouldn't think of taking that," protested the man, stoutly, while his
face clouded over.
The Girl felt a thrill at the note of regard in his voice and hastened
to explain:
"I never use it cold nights; I always roll up in my rug in front of the
fire." All of a sudden she broke out into a merry little laugh. "Jest
think of it stormin' all this time an' we didn't know it!"
But Johnson was not in a laughing mood. Indeed, he looked very grave and
serious when presently he said:
"But people coming up here and finding me might--"
The Girl looked up at him in blank amazement.
"Might what?" And then, while she waited for his answer, two shots in
close succession rang out in the night with great distinctness.
There was no mistaking the nearness of the sound. Instantly scenting
trouble and alert at the possibility of danger, Johnson inquired:
"What's that? What's that?"
"Wait! Wait!" came back from the Girl, unconsciously in the same tone,
while she strained her ears for other sounds. She did not have long to
wait, however, before other shots followed, the last ones coming from
further away, so it seemed, and at greater intervals.
"They've got a road agent--it's the posse--p'r'aps they've got Ramerrez
or one o' his band!" suddenly declared the Girl, at the same time
rushing over to the window for some verification of her words. But, as
before, the wind was beating with great force against the frosted panes,
and only a vast stretch of snow met her gaze. Turning away from the
window she now came towards him with: "You see, whoever it is, they're
snowed in--they can't get away."
Johnson knitted his brows and muttered something under his breath which
the Girl did not catch.
Again a shot was fired.
"Another thief crep' into camp," coldly observed the Girl almost
simultaneously with the report.
Johnson winced.
"Poor devil!" he muttered. "But of course, as you say, he's only a
In reply to which the Girl uttered words to the effect that she was glad
he had been caught.
"Well, you're right," said Johnson, thoughtfully, after a short silence;
then determinedly and in short jerky sentences, he went on: "I've been
thinking that I must go--tear myself away. I have very important
business at dawn--imperative business . . ."
The Girl, who now stood by the table folding up the white cloth cover,
watched him out of the corner of her eye, take down his coat from the
peg on the wall.
"Ever sample one o' our mountain blizzards?" she asked as he slipped on
his coat. "In five minutes you wouldn't know where you was. Your
important business would land you at the bottom of a canyon 'bout twenty
feet from here."
Johnson cleared his throat as if to speak but said nothing; whereupon
the Girl continued:
"You say you believe in Fate. Well, Fate has caught up with you--you got
to stay here."
Johnson was strangely silent. He was wondering how his coming there
to-night had really come about. But he could find no solution to the
problem unless it was in response to that perverse instinct which
prompts us all at times to do the very thing which in our hearts we know
to be wrong. The Girl, meanwhile, after a final creasing of the
neatly-folded cover, started for the cupboard, stopping on the way to
pick up various articles which the wind had strewn about the room.
Flinging them quickly into the cupboard she now went over to the window
and once more attempted to peer out into the night. But as before, it
was of no avail. With a shrug she straightened the curtains at the
windows and started for the door. Her action seemed to quicken his
decision, for, presently, with a gesture of resignation, he threw down
his hat and coat on the table and said as if speaking to himself:
"Well, it is Fate--my Fate that has always made the thing I shouldn't do
so easy." And then, turning to the Girl, he added: "Come, Girl, as you
say, if I can't go, I can't. But I know as I stand here that I'll never
give you up."
The Girl looked puzzled.
"Why, what do you mean?"
"I mean," began Johnson, pacing the floor slowly. Now he stopped by a
chair and pointed as though to the falling snow. "Suppose we say that's
an omen--that the old trail is blotted out and there is a fresh road.
Would you take it with me a stranger, who says: From this day I mean to
be all you'd have me. Would you take it with me far away from here and
It did not take the Girl long to frame an answer. Taking Johnson's hand
she said with great feeling:
"Well, show me the girl that would want to go to Heaven alone! I'll sell
out the saloon--I'll go anywhere with you, you bet!"
Johnson bent low over her hand and kissed it. The Girl's straightforward
answer had filled his heart to overflowing with joy.
"You know what that means, don't you?" a moment later he asked.
Sudden joy leapt to her blue eyes.
"Oh, yes," she told him with a world of understanding in her voice.
There was a silence; then she went on reminiscently: "There's a little
Spanish Mission church--I pass it 'most every day. I can look in an' see
the light burnin' before the Virgin an' see the saints standin' round
with glassy eyes an' faded satin slippers. An' I often tho't what they'd
think if I was to walk right in to be made--well, some man's wife. It
makes your blood like pin-points thinkin' about it. There's somethin'
kind o' holy about love, ain't they?"
Johnson nodded. He had never regarded love in that light before, much
less known it. For many moments he stood motionless, a new problem of
right and wrong throbbing in his bosom.
At last, it being settled that Johnson was to pass the night in the
Girl's cabin, she went over to the bed and, once more, began to make it
ready for his occupancy. Meanwhile, Johnson, seated in the barrel rocker
before the fire, watched her with a new interest. The Girl had not gone
very far with her duties, however, when she suddenly came over to him,
plumping herself down on the floor at his feet.
"Say, did you ever ask any other woman to marry you?" she asked as she
leaned far back in his arms.
"No," was the man's truthful answer.
"Oh, how glad I am! Take me--ah, take me I don't care where as long as
it is with you!" cried the Girl in an ecstasy of delight.
"So help me, God, I'm going to . . .!" promised Johnson, his voice
strained, tense. "You're worth something better than me, Girl," he
added, a moment later, "but they say love works miracles every hour,
that it weakens the strong and strengthens the weak. With all my soul I
love you, with all my soul I--" The man let his voice die out, leaving
his sentence unfinished. Suddenly he called: "Why, Min-Minnie!"
"I wasn't really asleep," spoke up the Girl, blinking sleepily. "I'm
jest so happy an' let down, that's all." The next moment, however, she
was forced to acknowledge that she was awfully sleepy and would have to
say good-night.
"All right," said Johnson, rising, and kissed her good-night.
"That's your bed over there," she told him, pointing in the direction of
the curtains.
"But hadn't you better take the bed and let me sleep over here?"
"Not much!"
"You're sure you would be more comfortable by the fire--sure, now?"
"Yes, you bet!"
And so it was that Johnson decided to pass the night in the Girl's
canopied bed while she herself, rolled up in a blanket rug before the
fire, slept on the floor.
"This beats a bed any time," remarked the Girl, spreading out the rug
smoothly; and then, reaching up for the old patchwork, silk quilt that
hung from the loft, she added: "There's one thing--you don't have to
make it up in the mornin'."
"You're splendid, Girl!" laughed Johnson. Presently, he saw her quietly
closet herself in the cupboard, only to emerge a few minutes later
dressed for the night. Over her white cambric gown with its coarse lace
trimming showing at the throat, she wore a red woollen blanket robe held
in at the waist by a heavy, twisted, red cord which, to the man who got
a glimpse of her as she crossed the room, made her prettier, even, than
she had seemed at any time yet.
Quietly, now, the Girl began to put her house in order. All the lights,
save the quaintly-shaded lamp that was suspended over the table, were
extinguished; that one, after many unsuccessful attempts, was turned
down so as to give the right minimum of light which would not interfere
with her lover's sleep. Then she went over to the door to make sure that
it was bolted. Outside the wind howled and shrieked and moaned; but
inside the cabin it had never seemed more cosey and secure and peaceful
to her.
"Now you can talk to me from your bunk an' I'll talk to you from mine,"
she said in a sleepy, lazy voice.
Except for a prodigious yawn which came from the Girl there was an
ominous quiet hanging over the place that chilled the man. Sudden sounds
startled him, and he found it impossible to make any progress with his
preparations for the night. He was about to make some remark, however,
when to his well-attuned ears there came the sound of approaching
footsteps. In an instant he was standing in the parting made by the
curtains, his face eager, animated, tense.
"What's that?" he whispered.
"That's snow slidin'," the Girl informed him without the slightest trace
of anxiety in her voice.
"God bless you, Girl," he murmured, and retreated back of the curtains.
It was only an instant before he was back again with: "Why, there is
something out there--sounded like people calling," he again whispered.
"That's only the wind," she said, adding as she drew her robe tightly
about her: "Gettin' cold, ain't it?"
But, notwithstanding her assurances, Johnson did not feel secure, and it
was with many misgivings that he now directed his footsteps towards the
bed behind the curtains.
"Good-night!" he said uneasily.
"Good-night!" unconsciously returned the Girl in the same tone.
Taking off her slippers the Girl now put on a pair of moccasins and
quietly went over to her bed, where she knelt down and made a silent
"Good-night!" presently came from a little voice in the rug.
"Good-night!" answered the man now settled in the centre of the
much-befrilled bed.
There was a silence; then the little voice in the rug called out:
"Say, what's your name?"
"Dick," whispered the man behind the curtains.
"So long, Dick!" drowsily.
"So long, Girl!" dreamily.
There was a brief silence; then, of a sudden, the Girl bolted upright in
bed, and asked:
"Say, Dick, are you sure you don't know that Nina Micheltorena?"
"Sure," prevaricated the man, not without some compunction.
Whereupon the Girl fell back on her pillows and called out contentedly a
final "Good-night!"
There was no mistaking then--no need to contrast her feeling of anxiety
of a few moments ago lest some other woman had preceded her in his
affections, with her indifference on former occasions when her admirers
had proved faithless, to make the Girl realise that she was experiencing
love and was dominated by a passion for this man.
So that, with no reason whatever in her mind to question the sincerity
of Johnson's love for her, it would seem as if nothing were wanting to
make the Girl perfectly happy; that there could be no room in her heart
for any feeling other than elation. And yet, curiously enough, the Girl
could not doze off to sleep. Some mysterious force--a vague foreboding
of something about to happen--impelled her to open her eyes again and
It was an odd and wholly new sensation, this conjuring up of distressing
spectres, for no girl was given less to that sort of thing; all the
same, it was with difficulty that she checked an impulse to cry out to
her lover--whom she believed to be asleep--and make him dissipate, by
renewed assurances, the mysterious barrier which she felt was hemming
her in.
As for Johnson, the moment that his head had touched the pillows, he
fell to thinking of the awkward situation in which he was placed, the
many complications in which his heart had involved him and, finally, he
found himself wondering whether the woman whom he loved so dearly was
also lying sleepless in her rug on the floor.
And so it was not surprising that he should spring up the moment that he
heard cries from outside.
"Who's that knockin', I wonder?"
Although her voice showed no signs of distress or annoyance, the
question coming from her in a calm tone, the Girl was upon her feet
almost before she knew it. In a trice she removed all evidences that she
had been lying upon the floor, flinging the pillows and silk coverlet to
the wardrobe top.
In that same moment Johnson was standing in the parting of the curtains,
his hand raised warningly. In another moment he was over to the door
where, after taking his pistols from his overcoat pockets, he stood in a
cool, determined attitude, fingering his weapons.
"But some one's ben callin'," the Girl was saying, at the very moment
when above the loud roaring of the wind another knock was heard on the
cabin door. "Who can it be?" she asked as if to herself, and calmly went
over to the table, where she took up the candle and lit it.
Springing to her side, Johnson whispered tensely:
"Don't answer--you can't let anyone in--they wouldn't understand."
The Girl eyed him quizzically.
"Understand what?" And before he had time to explain, much less to check
her, she was standing at the window, candle in hand, peering out into
the night.
"Why, it's the posse!" she cried, wheeling round suddenly. "How did they
ever risk it in this storm?"
At these words a crushed expression appeared on Johnson's countenance;
an uncanny sense of insecurity seized him. Once more the loud, insistent
pounding was repeated, and as before, the outlaw, his hands on his guns,
commanded her not to answer.
"But what on earth do the boys want?" inquired the Girl, seemingly
oblivious to what he was saying. Indeed, so much so that as the voice of
Nick rose high above the other sounds of the night, calling,
"Min-Minnie-Girl, let us in!" she hurriedly brushed past him and yelled
through the door:
"What do you want?"
Again Johnson's hand went up imperatively.
"Don't let him come in!" he whispered.
But even then she heard not his warning, but silently, tremulously
listened to Sonora, who shouted through the door: "Say, Girl, you all
right?" And not until her answering voice had called back her assurance
that she was safe did she turn to the man at her side and whisper in a
voice that showed plainly her agitation and fear:
"Jack Rance is there! If he was to see you here--he's that jealous I'd
be afraid--" She checked her words and quickly put her ear close to the
door, the voices outside having become louder and more distinct.
Presently she spun round on her heel and announced excitedly: "Ashby's
there, too!" And again she put her ear to the door.
"Ashby!" The exclamation fell from Johnson's lips before he was aware of
it. It was impossible to deceive himself any longer--the posse had
tracked him!
"We want to come in, Girl!" suddenly rang out from the well-known voice
of Nick.
"But you can't come in!" shouted back the Girl above the noise of the
storm; then, taking advantage of a particularly loud howl of the blast,
she turned to Johnson and inquired: "What will I say? What reason will I
Serious as was Johnson's predicament, he could not suppress a smile. In
a surprisedly calm voice he told her to say that she had gone to bed.
The Girl's eyes flooded with admiration.
"Why, o' course--that's it," she said, and turned back to the door and
called through it: "I've gone to bed, Nick! I'm in bed now!"
The barkeeper's answer was lost in another loud howl of the blast. Soon
afterwards, however, the Girl made out that Nick was endeavouring to
convey to her a warning of some kind.
"You say you've come to warn me?" she cried.
"Yes, Ramerrez . . .!"
"What? Say that again?"
"Ramerrez is on the trail--"
"Ramerrez's on the trail!" repeated the Girl in tones of alarm; and not
waiting to hear further she motioned to Johnson to conceal himself
behind the curtains of the bed, muttering the while:
"I got to let 'em in--I can't keep 'em out there on such a night . . ."
He had barely reached his place of concealment when the Girl slid back
the bolts and bade the boys to come in.
Headed by Rance, the men quickly filed in and deposited their lanterns
on the floor. It was evident that they had found the storm most severe,
for their boots were soaked through and their heavy buffalo overcoats,
caps and ear-muffs were covered with snow, which all, save Rance,
proceeded to remove by shaking their shoulders and stamping their feet.
The latter, however, calmly took off his gloves, pulled out a
beautifully-creased handkerchief from his pocket, and began slowly to
flick off the snow from his elegant mink overcoat before hanging it
carefully upon a peg on the wall. After that he went over to the table
and warmed his hands over the lighted candle there. Meanwhile, Sonora,
his nose, as well as his hands which with difficulty he removed from his
heavy fur mittens, showing red and swollen from the effects of the
biting cold, had gone over to the fire, where he ejaculated:
"Ouf, I'm cold! Glad you're safe, Girl!"
"Yes, Girl, The Polka's had a narrow squeak," observed Nick, stamping
his feet which, as well as his legs, were wrapped with pieces of
blankets for added warmth.
Unconsciously, at his words, the Girl's eyes travelled to the bed; then,
drawing her robe snugly about her, and seating herself, she asked with
suppressed excitement:
"Why, Nick, what's the matter? What's--"
Rance took it upon himself to do the answering. Sauntering over to the
Girl, he drawled out:
"It takes you a long time to get up, seems to me. You haven't so much
on, either," he went on, piercing her with his eyes.
Smilingly and not in the least disconcerted by the Sheriff's remark, the
Girl picked up a rug from the floor and wound it about her knees.
"Well?" she interrogated.
"Well, we was sure that you was in trouble," put in Sonora. "My breath
jest stopped."
"Me? Me in trouble, Sonora?" A little laugh that was half-gay,
half-derisive, accompanied her words.
"See here, that man Ramerrez--" followed up Rance with a grim look.
"--feller you was dancin' with," interposed Sonora, but checked himself
instantly lest he wound the Girl's feelings.
Whereupon, Rance, with no such compunctions, became the spokesman, a
grimace of pleasure spreading over his countenance as he thought of the
unpleasant surprise he was about to impart. Stretching out his stiffened
fingers over the blaze, he said in his most brutal tones:
"Your polkying friend is none other than Ramerrez."
The Girl's eyes opened wide, but they did not look at the Sheriff. They
looked straight before her.
"I warned you, girl," spoke up Ashby, "that you should bank with us
The Girl gave no sign of having heard him. Her slender figure seemed to
have shrunken perceptibly as she stared stupidly, uncomprehendingly,
into space.
"We say that Johnson was--" repeated Rance, impatiently.
"--what?" fell from the Girl's lips, her face pale and set.
"Are you deaf?" demanded Rance; and then, emphasising every word, he
rasped out: "The fellow you've been polkying with is the man that has
been asking people to hold up their hands."
"Oh, go on--you can't hand me out that!" Nevertheless the Girl looked
wildly about the room.
Angrily Rance strode over to her and sneered bitingly:
"You don't believe it yet, eh?"
"No, I don't believe it yet!" rapped out the Girl, laying great stress
upon the last word. "I know he isn't."
"Well, he _is_ Ramerrez, and he _did_ come to The Polka to rob it,"
retorted the Sheriff.
All at once the note of resentment in the Girl's voice became positive;
she flared back at him, though she flushed in spite of herself.
"But he didn't rob it!"
"That's what gits me," fretted Sonora. "He didn't."
"I should think it would git you," snapped back the Girl, both in her
look and voice rebuking him for his words.
It was left to Ashby to spring another surprise.
"We've got his horse," he said pointedly.
"An' I never knowed one o' these men to separate from his horse,"
commented Sonora, still smarting under the Girl's reprimand.
"Right you are! And now that we've got his horse and this storm is on,
we've got him," said Rance, triumphantly. "But the last seen of
Johnson," he went on with a hasty movement towards the Girl and eyeing
her critically, "he was heading this way. You seen anything of him?"
The Girl struggled hard to appear composed.
"Heading this way?" she inquired, reddening.
"So Nick said," declared Sonora, looking towards that individual for
proof of his words.
But Nick had caught the Girl's lightning glance imposing silence upon
him; in some embarrassment he stammered out:
"That is, he was--Sid said he saw 'im take the trail, too."
"But the trail ends here," pointed out Rance, at the same time looking
hard at the Girl. "And if she hasn't seen him, where was he going?"
At this juncture Nick espied a cigar butt on the floor; unseen by the
others, he hurriedly picked it up and threw it in the fire.
"One o' our dollar Havanas! Good Lord, he's here!" he muttered to
"Rance is right. Where was he goin'?" was the question with which he was
confronted by Sonora when about to return to the others.
"Well, I tho't I seen him," evaded Nick with considerable uneasiness. "I
couldn't swear to it. You see it was dark, an'--Moses but the Sidney
Duck's a liar!"
At length, Ashby decided that the man had in all probability been snowed
under, ending confidently with:
"Something scared him off and he lit out without his horse." Which
remark brought temporary relief to the Girl, for Nick, watching her, saw
the colour return to her face.
Unconsciously, during this discussion, the Girl had risen to her feet,
but only to fall back in her chair again almost as suddenly, a sign of
nervousness which did not escape the sharp eye of the Sheriff.
"How do you know the man's a road agent?" A shade almost of contempt was
in the Girl's question.
Sonora breathed on his badly nipped fingers before answering:
"Well, two greasers jest now were pretty positive before they quit."
Instantly the Girl's head went up in the air.
"Greasers!" she ejaculated scornfully, while her eyes unfalteringly met
Rance's steady gaze.
"But the woman knew him," was the Sheriff's vindictive thrust.
The Girl started; her face went white.
"The woman--the woman d'you say?"
"Why, yes, it was a woman that first tol' them that Ramerrez was in the
camp to rob The Polka," Sonora informed her, though his tone showed
plainly his surprise at being compelled to repeat a thing which, he
wrongly believed, she already knew.
"We saw her at The Palmetto," leered Rance.
"And we missed the reward," frowned Ashby; at which Rance quickly turned
upon the speaker with:
"But Ramerrez is trapped."
There was a moment's startled pause in which the Girl struggled with her
passions; at last, she ventured:
"Who's this woman?"
The Sheriff laughed discordantly.
"Why, the woman of the back trail," he sneered.
"Nina Micheltorena! Then she does know 'im--it's true--it goes through
me!" unwittingly burst from the Girl's lips.
The Sheriff, evidently, found the Situation amusing, for he laughed
"He's the sort of a man who polkas with you first and then cuts your
throat," was his next stab.
The Girl turned upon him with eyes flashing and retorted:
"Well, it's my throat, ain't it?"
"Well I'll be!--" The Sheriff's sentence was left unfinished, for Nick,
quickly pulling him to one side, whispered:
"Say, Rance, the Girl's cut up because she vouched for 'im. Don't rub it
Notwithstanding, Rance, to the Girl's query of "How did this Nina
Micheltorena know it?" took a keen delight in telling her:
"She's his girl."
"His girl?" repeated the Girl, mechanically.
"Yes. She gave us his picture," went on Rance; and taking the photograph
out of his pocket, he added maliciously, "with love written on the back
of it."
A glance at the photograph, which she fairly snatched out of his hands,
convinced the Girl of the truthfulness of his assertion. With a movement
of pain she threw it upon the floor, crying out bitterly:
"Nina Micheltorena! Nina Micheltorena!" Turning to Ashby with an abrupt
change of manner she said contritely: "I'm sorry, Mr. Ashby, I vouched
for 'im."
The Wells Fargo Agent softened at the note in the Girl's voice; he was
about to utter some comforting words to her when suddenly she spoke
"I s'pose they had one o' them little lovers' quarrels an' that made 'er
tell you, eh?" She laughed a forced little laugh, though her heart was
beating strangely as she kept on: "He's the kind o' man who sort o'
polkas with every girl he meets." And at this she began to laugh almost
Rance, who resented her apologising to anyone but himself, stood
scowling at her.
"What are you laughing at?" he questioned.
"Oh, nothin', Jack, nothin'," half-cried, half-laughed the Girl. "Only
it's kind o' funny how things come out, ain't it? Took in! Nina
Micheltorena! Nice company he keeps--one o' them Cachuca girls with
eyelashes at half-mast!"
Once more, she broke out into a fit of laughter.
"Well, well," she resumed, "an' she sold 'im out for money! Ah, Jack
Rance, you're a better guesser'n I am!" And with these words she sank
down at the table in an apathy of misery. Horror and hatred and
hopelessness had possession of her. A fierce look was in her eyes when a
moment later she raised her head and abruptly dismissed the boys,
"Well, boys, it's gittin' late--good-night!"
Sonora was the first to make a movement towards the door.
"Come on, boys," he growled in his deep bass voice; "don't you intend to
let a lady go to bed?"
One by one the men filed through the door which Nick held open for them;
but when all but himself had left, the devoted little barkeeper turned
to the Girl with a look full of meaning, and whispered:
"Do you want me to stay?"
"Me? Oh, no, Nick!" And with a "Good-night, all! Good-night, Sonora, an'
thank you! Good-night, Nick!" the Girl closed the door upon them. The
last that she heard from them was the muffled ejaculation:
"Oh, Lordy, we'll never git down to Cloudy to-night!"
Now the Girl slid the bolts and stood with her back against the door as
if to take extra precautions to bar out any intrusion, and with eyes
that blazed she yelled out:
"Come out o' that, now! Step out there, Mr. Johnson!"
Slowly the road agent parted the curtains and came forward in an
attitude of dejection.
"You came here to rob me," at once began the Girl, but her anger made it
impossible for her to continue.
"I didn't," denied the road agent, quietly, his countenance reflecting
how deeply hurt he was by her words.
"You lie!" insisted the Girl, beside herself with rage.
"I don't--"
"You do!"
"I admit that every circumstance points to--"
"Stop! Don't you give me any more o' that Webster Unabridged. You git to
cases. If you didn't come here to steal you came to The Polka to rob it,
didn't you?"
Johnson, his eyes lowered, was forced to admit that such were his
intentions, adding swiftly:
"But when I knew about you--" He broke off and took a step towards her.
"Wait! Wait! Wait where you are! Don't you take a step further or
I'll--" She made a significant gesture towards her bosom, and then,
laughing harshly, went on denouncingly: "A road agent! A road agent!
Well, ain't it my luck! Wouldn't anybody know to look at me that a
gentleman wouldn't fall my way! A road agent! A road agent!" And again
she laughed bitterly before going on: "But now you can git--git, you
thief, you imposer on a decent woman! I ought to have tol' 'em all, but
I wa'n't goin' to be the joke o' the world with you behind the curtains
an' me eatin' charlotte rusks an' lemming turnovers an' a-polkyin' with
a road agent! But now you can git--git, do you hear me?"
Johnson heard her to the end with bowed head; and so scathing had been
her denunciations of his actions that the fact that pride alone kept her
from breaking down completely escaped his notice. With his eyes still
downcast be said in painful fragments:
"One word only--only a word and I'm not going to say anything in defence
of myself. For it's all true--everything is true except that I would
have stolen from you. I _am_ called Ramerrez; I _have_ robbed; I _am_ a
road agent--an outlaw by profession. Yes, I'm all that--and my father
was that before me. I was brought up, educated, thrived on thieves'
money, I suppose, but until six months ago when my father died, I did
not know it. I lived much in Monterey--I lived there as a gentleman.
When we met that day I wasn't the thing I am to-day. I only learned the
truth when my father died and left me with a rancho and a band of
thieves--nothing else--nothing for us all, and I--but what's the good of
going into it--the circumstances. You wouldn't understand if I did. I
was my father's son; I have no excuse; I guess, perhaps, it was in
me--in the blood. Anyhow, I took to the road, and I didn't mind it much
after the first time. But I drew the line at killing--I wouldn't have
that. That's the man that I am, the blackguard that I am. But--" here he
raised his eyes and said with a voice that was charged with feeling--"I
swear to you that from the moment I kissed you to-night I meant to
change, I meant to--"
"The devil you did!" broke from the Girl's lips, but with a sound that
was not unlike a sob.
"I did, believe me, I did," insisted the man. "I meant to go straight
and take you with me--but only honestly--when I could honestly. I meant
to work for you. Why, every word you said to me to-night about being a
thief cut into me like a knife. Over and over again I have said to
myself, she must never know. And now--well, it's all over--I have
"An' that's all?" questioned the Girl with averted face.
"No--yes--what's the use . . .?"
The Girl's anger blazed forth again.
"But there's jest one thing you've overlooked explainin', Mr. Johnson.
It shows exactly what you are. It wasn't so much your bein' a road agent
I got against you. It's this:" And here she stamped her foot excitedly.
"You kissed me--you got my first kiss."
Johnson hung his head.
"You said," kept on the Girl, hotly, "you'd ben thinkin' o' me ever
since you saw me at Monterey, an' all the time you walked straight off
an' ben kissin' that other woman." She shrugged her shoulder and laughed
grimly. "You've got a girl," she continued, growing more and more
indignant. "It's that I've got against you. It's my first kiss I've got
against you. It's that Nina Micheltorena that I can't forgive. So now
you can git--git!" And with these words she unbolted the door and
concluded tensely:
"If they kill you I don't care. Do you hear, I don't care . . ."
At those bitter words spoken by lips which failed so utterly to hide
their misery, the Girl's face became colourless.
With the instinct of a brave man to sell his life as dearly as possible,
Johnson took a couple of guns from his pocket; but the next moment, as
if coming to the conclusion that death without the Girl would be
preferable, he put them back, saying:
"You're right, Girl."
The next instant he had passed out of the door which she held wide open
for him.
"That's the end o' that--that's the end o' that," she wound up, slamming
the door after him. But all the way from the threshold to the bureau she
kept murmuring to herself: "I don't care, I don't care . . . I'll be
like the rest o' the women I've seen. I'll give that Nina Micheltorena
cards an' spades. There'll be another hussy around here. There'll be--"
The threat was never finished. Instead, with eyes that fairly started
out of their sockets, she listened to the sound of a couple of shots,
the last one exploding so loud and distinct that there was no mistaking
its nearness to the cabin.
"They've got 'im!" she cried. "Well, I don't care--I don't--" But again
she did not finish what she intended to say. For at the sound of a heavy
body falling against the cabin door she flew to it, opened it and,
throwing her arms about the sorely-wounded man, dragged him into the
cabin and placed him in a chair. Quick as lightning she was back at the
door bolting it.
With his eyes Johnson followed her action.
"Don't lock that door--I'm going out again--out there. Don't bar that
door," he commanded feebly, struggling to his feet and attempting to
walk towards it; but he lurched forward and would have fallen to the
floor had she not caught him. Vainly he strove to break away from her,
all the time crying out: "Don't you see, don't you see, Girl--open the
door." And then again with almost a sob: "Do you think me a man to hide
behind a woman?" He would have collapsed except for the strong arms that
held him.
"I love you an' I'm goin' to save you," the Girl murmured while
struggling with him. "You asked me to go away with you; I will when you
git out o' this. If you can't save your own soul--" She stopped and
quickly went over to the mantel where she took down a bottle of whisky
and a glass; but in the act of pouring out a drink for him there came a
loud rap on the window, and quickly looking round she saw Rance's
piercing eyes peering into the room. For an instant she paled, but then
there flashed through her mind the comforting thought that the Sheriff
could not possibly see Johnson from his position. So, after giving the
latter his drink, she waited quietly until a rap at the door told her
that Rance had left the window when, her eye having lit on the ladder
that was held in place on the ceiling, she quickly ran over to it and
let it down, saying:
"Go up the ladder! Climb up there to the loft You're the man that's got
my first kiss an' I'm goin' to save you . . ."
"Oh, no, not here," protested Johnson, stubbornly.
"Do you want them to see you in my cabin?" she cried reproachfully,
trying to lift him to his feet.
"Oh, hurry, hurry . . .!"
With the utmost difficulty Johnson rose to his feet and catching the
rounds of the ladder he began to ascend. But after going up a few rounds
he reeled and almost fell off, gasping:
"I can't make it--no, I can't . . ."
"Yes, you can," encouraged the Girl; and then, simultaneously with
another loud knock on the door: "You're the man I love an' you
must--you've got to show me the man that's in you. Oh, go on, go on,
jest a step an' you'll git there."
"But I can't," came feebly from the voice above. Nevertheless, the next
instant he fell full length on the boarded floor of the loft with the
hand outstretched in which was the handkerchief he had been staunching
the blood from the wound in his side.
With a whispered injunction that he was all right and was not to move on
any account, the Girl put the ladder back in its place. But no sooner
was this done than on looking up she caught sight of the stained
handkerchief. She called softly up to him to take it away, explaining
that the cracks between the boards were wide and it could plainly be
seen from below.
"That's it!" she exclaimed on observing that he had changed the position
of his hand. "Now, don't move!"
Finally, with the lighted candle in her hand, the Girl made a quick
survey of the room to see that nothing was in sight that would betray
her lover's presence there, and then throwing open the door she took up
such a position by it that it made it impossible for anyone to get past
her without using force.
"You can't come in here, Jack Rance," she said in a resolute voice. "You
can tell me what you want from where you are."
Roughly, almost brutally, Rance shoved her to one side and entered.
"No more Jack Rance. It's the Sheriff coming after Mr. Johnson," he
said, emphasizing each word.
The Girl eyed him defiantly.
"Yes, I said Mr. Johnson," reiterated the Sheriff, cocking the gun that
he held in his hand. "I saw him coming in here."
"It's more 'n I did," returned the Girl, evenly, and bolted the door.
"Do you think I'd want to shield a man who tried to rob me?" she asked,
facing him.
Ignoring the question, Rance removed the glove of his weaponless hand
and strode to the curtains that enclosed the Girl's bed and parted them.
When he turned back he was met by a scornful look and the words:
"So, you doubt me, do you? Well, go on--search the place. But this ends
your acquaintance with The Polka. Don't you ever speak to me again.
We're through."
Suddenly there came a smothered groan from the man in the loft; Rance
wheeled round quickly and brought up his gun, demanding:
"What's that? What's that?"
Leaning against the bureau the Girl laughed outright and declared that
the Sheriff was becoming as nervous as an old woman. Her ridicule was
not without its effect, and, presently, Rance uncocked his gun and
replaced it in its holster. Advancing now to the table where the Girl
was standing, he took off his cap and shook it before laying it down;
then, pointing to the door, his eyes never leaving the Girl's face, he
went on accusingly:
"I saw someone standing out there against the snow. I fired. I could
have sworn it was a man."
The Girl winced. But as she stood watching him calmly remove his coat
and shake it with the air of one determined to make himself at home, she
cried out tauntingly:
"Why do you stop? Why don't you go on--finish your search--only don't
ever speak to me again."
At that, Rance became conciliatory.
"Say, Min, I don't want to quarrel with you."
Turning her back on him the Girl moved over to the bureau where she
snapped out over her shoulder:
"Go on with your search, then p'r'aps you'll leave a lady to herself to
go to bed."
The Sheriff followed her up with the declaration:
"I'm plumb crazy about you, Min."
The Girl shrugged her shoulder.
"I could have sworn I saw--I--Oh, you know it's just you for me--just
you, and curse the man you like better. I--I--even yet I can't get over
the queer look in your face when I told you who that man really was." He
stopped and flung his overcoat down on the floor, and fixing her with a
look he demanded: "You don't love him, do you?"
Again the Girl sent over her shoulder a forced little laugh.
The Sheriff's face brightened. Taking a few steps nearer to her, he
"Say, Girl, was your answer final to-night about marrying me?"
Without turning round the Girl answered coyly:
"I might think it over, Jack."
Instantly the man's passion was aroused. He strode over to her, put his
arms around her and kissed her forcibly.
"I love you, I love you, Minnie!" he cried passionately.
In the struggle that followed, the Girl's eyes fell on the bottle on the
mantel. With a cry she seized it and raised it threateningly over her
head. Another second, however, she sank down upon a chair and began to
sob, her face buried in her hands.
Rance regarded her coldly; at last he gave vent to a mirthless laugh,
the nasty laugh of a man whose vanity is hurt.
"So, it's as bad as that," he sneered. "I didn't quite realise it. I'm
much obliged to you. Good-night." He snatched up his coat, hesitated,
then repeated a little less angrily than before: "Good-night!"
But the Girl, with her face still hidden, made no answer. For a moment
he watched the crouching form, the quivering shoulders, then asked, with
sudden and unwonted gentleness:
"Can't you say good-night to me, Girl!"
Slowly the Girl rose to her feet and faced him, aversion and pity
struggling for mastery. Then, as she noted the spot where he was now
standing, his great height bringing him so near to the low boards of the
loft where her lover was lying that it seemed as though he must hear the
wounded man's breathing, all other feelings were swept away by
overwhelming fear. With the one thought that she must get rid of
him,--do anything, say anything, but get rid of him quickly, she forced
herself forward, with extended hand, and said in a voice that held out
new promise:
"Good-night. Jack Rance,--good-night!"
Rance seized the hand with an almost fierce gladness in both his own,
his keen glance hungrily striving to read her face. Then, suddenly, he
released her, drawing back his hand with a quick sharpness.
"Why, look at my hand! There's blood on it!" he said.
And even as he spoke, under the yellow flare of the lamp, the Girl saw a
second drop of blood fall at her feet. Like a flash, the terrible
significance of it came upon her. Only by self-violence could she keep
her glance from rising, tell-tale, to the boards above.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she heard herself saying contritely, all the time
desperately groping to invent a reason; at length, she added futilely:
"I must have scratched you."
Rance looked puzzled, staring at the spatter of red as though
"No, there's no scratch there," he contended, wiping off the blood with
his handkerchief.
"Oh, yes, there is," insisted the Girl tremulously; "that is, there will
be in the mornin'. You'll see in the mornin' that there'll be--" She
stopped and stared in frozen terror at the sinister face of the Sheriff,
who was coolly watching his handkerchief turn from white to red under
the slow rain of blood from the loft above.
"Oho!" he emitted sardonically, stepping back and pointing his gun
towards the loft. "So, he's up there!"
The Girl's fingers clutched his arm, dragging desperately.
"No, he isn't, Jack--no, he isn't!" she iterated in blind, mechanical
With an abrupt movement, Rance flung her violently from him, made a grab
at the suspended ladder and lowered it into position; then, deaf to the
Girl's pleadings, harshly ordered Johnson to come down, meanwhile
covering the source of the blood-drops with his gun.
"Oh, wait,--wait a minute!" begged the Girl helplessly. What would
happen if he couldn't obey the summons? He had spent himself in his
climb to safety. Perhaps he was unconscious, slowly bleeding to death!
But even as she tortured herself with fears, the boards above creaked as
though a heavy body was dragging itself slowly across them. Johnson was
evidently doing his best to reach the top of the ladder; but he did not
move quickly enough to suit the Sheriff.
"Come down, or I'll--"
"Oh, just a minute, Jack, just a minute!" broke in the Girl frantically.
"Don't shoot!--Don't you see he's tryin' to--?"
"Come down here, Mr. Johnson!" reiterated the Sheriff, with a face
inhuman as a fiend.
The Girl clenched her hands, heedless of the nails cutting into her
palms: "Won't you wait a moment,--please, wait, Jack!"
"Wait? What for?" the Sheriff flung at her brutally, his finger
twitching on the trigger.
The Girl's lips parted to answer, then closed again dumbly,--for it was
then that she saw the boots, then the legs of the road agent slide
uncertainly through the open trap, fumble clumsily for the rungs of the
ladder, then slip and stumble as the weight of the following body came
upon them while the weak fingers strained desperately for a hold. The
whole heart and soul and mind of the Girl seemed to be reaching out
impotently to give her lover strength, to hurry him down fast enough to
forestall a shot from the Sheriff. It seemed hours until the road agent
reached the bottom of the ladder, then lurched with unseeing eyes to a
chair and, finally, fell forward limply, with his arms and head resting
on the table. Still dumb with dread, the Girl watched Rance slowly
circle round the wounded man; it was not until the Sheriff returned his
pistol to its holster that she breathed freely again.
"So, you dropped into The Polka to-night to play a little game of poker?
Funny how things change about in an hour or two!" Rance chuckled
mirthlessly; it seemed to suit his sardonic humour to taunt his helpless
rival. "You think you can play poker,--that's your conviction, is it?
Well, you can play freeze-out as to your chances, Mr. Johnson of
Sacramento. Come, speak up,--it's shooting or the tree,--which shall it
Goaded beyond endurance by Rance's taunting of the unconscious man, the
Girl, fumbling in her bosom for her pistol, turned upon him in a sudden,
cold fury:
"You better stop that laughin', Jack Rance, or I'll send you to finish
it in some place where things ain't so funny."
Something in the Girl's altered tone so struck the Sheriff that he
obeyed her. He said nothing, but on his lips were the words, "By Heaven,
the Girl means it!" and his eyes showed a smouldering admiration.
"He doesn't hear you,--he's out of it. But me--me--I hear you--I ain't
out of it," the Girl went on in compelling tones. "You're a gambler; he
was, too; well, so am I." She crossed deliberately to the bureau, and
laid her pistol away in the drawer, Rance meanwhile eyeing her with
puzzled interest. Returning, she went on, incisively as a whip lash:
"I live on chance money, drink money, card money, saloon money. We're
gamblers,--we're all gamblers!" She paused, an odd expression coming
over her face,--an expression that baffled Rance's power to read.
Presently she resumed: "Now, you asked me to-night if my answer was
final,--well, here's your chance. I'll play you the game,--straight
poker. It's two out o' three for me. Hatin' the sight o' you, it's the
nearest chance you'll ever get for me."
"Do you mean--" began Rance, his hands resting on the table, his
hawk-like glance burning into her very thoughts.
"Yes, with a wife in Noo Orleans all right," she interrupted him
feverishly. "If you're lucky,--you'll git 'im an' me. But if you
lose,--this man settin' between us is mine--mine to do with as I please,
an' you shut up an' lose like a gentleman."
"You must be crazy about him!" The words seemed wrung from the Sheriff
against his will.
"That's my business!" came like a knife-cut from the Girl.
"Do you know you're talkin' to the Sheriff?"
"I'm talkin' to Jack Rance, the gambler," she amended evenly.
"You're right,--and he's just fool enough to take you up," returned
Rance with sudden decision. He looked around him for a chair; there was
one near the table, and the Girl handed it to him. With one hand he
swung it into place before the table, while with the other he jerked off
the table-cover, and flung it across the room. Johnson neither moved nor
groaned, as the edge slid from beneath his nerveless arms.
"You and the cyards have got into my blood. I'll take you up," he said,
seating himself.
"Your word," demanded the Girl, leaning over the table, but still
"I can lose like a gentleman," returned Rance curtly; then, with a swift
seizure of her hand, he continued tensely, in tones that made the Girl
shrink and whiten, "I'm hungry for you, Min, and if I win, I'll take it
out on you as long as I have breath."
A moment later, the Girl had freed her hand from his clasp, and was
saying evenly, "Fix the lamp." And while the Sheriff was adjusting the
wick that had begun to flare up smokily, she swiftly left the room,
saying casually over her shoulder that she was going to fetch something
from the closet.
"What you goin' to get?" he called after her suspiciously. The Girl made
no reply. Rance made no movement to follow her, but instead drew a pack
of cards from his pocket and began to shuffle them with practiced
carelessness. But when a minute had passed and the girl had not
returned, he called once more, with growing impatience, to know what was
keeping her.
"I'm jest gettin' the cards an' kind o' steadyin' my nerves," she
answered somewhat queerly through the doorway. The next moment she had
returned, quickly closing the closet door behind her, blew out her
candle, and laying a pack of cards upon the table, said significantly:
"We'll use a fresh deck. There's a good deal depends on this, Jack." She
seated herself opposite the Sheriff and so close to the unconscious form
of the man she loved that from time to time her left arm brushed his
Rance, without protest other than a shrug, took up his own deck of
cards, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and stowed them away in his
pocket. It was the Girl who spoke first:
"Are you ready?"
"Ready? Yes. I'm ready. Cut for deal."
With unfaltering fingers, the Girl cut. Of the man beside her, dead or
dying, she must not, dared not think. For the moment she had become one
incarnate purpose: to win, to win at any cost,--nothing else mattered.
Rance won the deal; and taking up the pack he asked, as he shuffled:
"A case of show-down?"
"Cut!" once more peremptorily from Rance; and then, when she had cut,
one question more: "Best two out of three?"
"Best two out of three." Swift, staccato sentences, like the rapid
crossing of swords, the first preliminary interchange of strokes before
the true duel begins.
Rance dealt the cards. Before either looked at them, he glanced across
at the Girl and asked scornfully, perhaps enviously:
"What do you see in him?"
"What do you see in me?" she flashed back instantly, as she picked up
her cards; and then: "What have you got?"
"King high," declared the gambler.
"King high here," echoed the Girl.
"Jack next," and he showed his hand.
"Queen next," and the Girl showed hers.
"You've got it," conceded the gambler, easily. Then, in another tone,
"but you're making a mistake--"
"If I am, it's my mistake! Cut!"
Rance cut the cards. The Girl dealt them steadily. Then,
"What have you got?" she asked.
"One pair,--aces. What have you?"
"Nothing," throwing her cards upon the table.
With just a flicker of a smile, the Sheriff once more gathered up the
pack, saying smoothly:
"Even now,--we're even."
"It's the next hand that tells, Jack, ain't it?"
"It's the next hand that tells me,--I'm awfully sorry,--" the words
seemed to come awkwardly; her glance was troubled, almost contrite, "at
any rate, I want to say jest now that no matter how it comes out--"
"Cut!" interjected Rance mechanically.
"--that I'll always think of you the best I can," completed the Girl
with much feeling. "An' I want you to do the same for me."
Silently, inscrutably, the gambler dealt the ten cards, one by one. But
as the Girl started to draw hers toward her, his long, thin fingers
reached across once more and closed not ungently upon hand and cards.
"The last hand, Girl!" he reminded her. "And I've a feeling that I
win,--that in one minute I'll hold you in my arms." And still covering
her fingers with his own, he stole a glance at his cards.
"I win," he announced, briefly, his eyes alone betraying the inward
fever. He dropped the cards before her on the table. "Three kings,--and
the _last hand_!"
Suddenly, as though some inward cord had snapped under the strain, the
Girl collapsed. Limply she slid downward in her chair, one groping hand
straying aimlessly to her forehead, then dropping of its own weight.
"Quick, Jack,--I'm ill,--git me somethin'!" The voice trailed off to
nothingness as the drooping eyelids closed.
In real consternation, the Sheriff sprang to his feet. In one sweeping
glance his alert eye caught the whisky bottle upon the mantel. "All
right, Girl, I'll fix you in no time," he said cheeringly over his
shoulder. But where the deuce did she keep her tumblers? The next minute
he was groping for them in the dark of the adjoining closet and softly
cursing himself for his own slowness.
Instantaneously, the Girl came to life. The unturned cards upon the
table vanished with one lightning movement; the Girl's hand disappeared
beneath her skirts, raised for the moment knee-high; then the same,
swift reverse motion, and the cards were back in place, while the Girl's
eyes trembled shut again, to hide the light of triumph in them. A smile
flickered on her lips as the Sheriff returned with the glass and bottle.
"Never mind,--I'm better now," her lips shaped weakly.
The Sheriff set down the bottle, and put his arm around the Girl with a
rough tenderness.
"Oh, you only fainted because you lost," he told her.
Averting her gaze, the Girl quietly disengaged herself, rose to her feet
and turned her five cards face upwards.
"No, Jack, it's because I've won,--three aces and a pair."
The Sheriff shot one glance at the girl, keen, searching. Then, without
so much as the twitch of an eyelid, he accepted his defeat, took a cigar
from his pocket and lit it, the flame of the match revealing no
expression other than the nonchalance for which he was noted; then,
picking up his hat and coat he walked slowly to the door. Here he halted
and wished her a polite good-night--so ceremoniously polite that at any
other time it would have compelled her admiration.
Pale as death and almost on the point of collapse, the Girl staggered
back to the table where the wounded road agent was half-sitting,
Thrusting her hand now into the stocking from which she had obtained the
winning, if incriminating, cards, she drew forth those that remained and
scattered them in the air, crying out hysterically:
"Three aces an' a pair an' a stockin' full o' pictures--but his life
belongs to me!"
Conscious-stricken at the fraud that she had imposed upon the gambler,
the Girl lived a lifetime in the moments that followed his departure.
With her face buried in her hands she stood lost in contemplation of her
shameful secret.
A sound--the sound of a man in great pain checked her hysterical sobs.
Dazed, she passed her hand over her face as if to clear away the dark
shades that were obstructing her vision. Another groan--and like a flash
she was down on her knees lavishing endearments upon the road agent.
Never before, it is true, had the Girl had any experience in gun-shot
wounds. She had played the part of nurse, however, more than once when
the boys met with accidents at the mines. For the women of the
California camps at that time had endless calls upon them. It was a
period for sacrifices innumerable, and help and sympathy were never
asked that they were not freely given. So, if the Girl did not know the
very best thing to do, she knew, at least, what not to do, and it was
only a few minutes before she had cut the coat from his back.
The next thing to be done--the dragging of the unconscious man to the
bed--was hard work, of course, but being strong of arm, as well as stout
of heart, she at last accomplished it.
Now she cut away his shirt in order to find the wound, which proved to
be in his breast. Quickly then she felt with her fingers in an endeavour
to find the ball, but in this she was unsuccessful. So after a moment's
deliberation she made up her mind that the wound was a flesh one and
that the ball was anywhere but in the man's body--a diagnosis that was
largely due to the cheerful optimism of her nature and which,
fortunately, proved to be true.
Presently she went to a corner of the room and soon returned with a
basin of water and some hastily torn bandages. For a good fifteen
minutes after that she washed the gash and, finally, bandaged it as well
as she knew how. And now, having done all that her knowledge or instinct
prompted, she drew up a chair and prepared to pass the rest of the night
in watching by his side.
For an hour or so he slept the sleep of unconsciousness. In the room not
a sound could be heard, but outside the storm still roared and raged. It
was anything but an easy or cheerful situation: Here she was alone with
a wounded, if not dying, man; and she well knew that, unless there came
an abatement in the fury of the storm, it might be days before anyone
could climb the mountain. True, the Indians were not far off, but like
as not they would remain in their wigwam until the sun came forth again.
In the matter of food there was a scant supply, but probably enough to
tide them over until communication could be had with The Polka.
For three days she watched over him, and all the time the storm
continued. On the third day he became delirious, and that was the night
of her torture. Despite a feeling that she was taking an unfair
advantage of him, the Girl strained her ears to catch a name which, in
his delirium, was constantly on his lips; but she could not make it out.
All that she knew was that it was not her name that he spoke, and it
pained her. She had given him absolute faith and trust and, already, she
was overwhelmed with the fierce flames of jealousy. It was a new
sensation, this being jealous of anyone, and it called forth a
passionate resentment. In such moments she would rise and flee to the
other end of the room until the whispered endearments had ceased. Then
she would draw near again with flushes of shame on her cheeks for having
heeded the sayings of an irresponsible person, and she would take his
head in her lap and, caressing him the while, would put cold towels on
his heated brow.
Dawn of the fourth day saw the Girl still pale and anxious, though
despair had entirely left her; for the storm was over and colour and
speech had come back to the man early that morning. Love and good
nursing, not to speak of some excellent whisky that she happened to have
stored away in her cabin, had pulled him through. With a sigh of relief
she threw herself down on the rug for a much-needed rest.
The man woke just before the sun rose. His first thought, that he was
home in the foothills, was dissipated by the sight of the snow ranges.
Through the window of the cabin, as far as the eye could see, nothing of
green was visible. Snow was everywhere; everything was white, save at
the eastern horizon where silver was fast changing into rose and rose to
a fiery red as the fast-rising sun sent its shafts over the snow-coated
And now there came to him a full realisation of what had happened and
where he was. To his amazement, though, he was almost without pain. That
his wound had been dressed he was, of course, well aware for when he
attempted to draw back still further the curtain at the window the
movement strained the tight bandage, and he was instantly made conscious
of a twinge of pain.
Nevertheless, he persevered, for he wisely decided that it would be well
to reconnoitre, to familiarise himself, as much as possible, with the
lay of the land and find out whether the trail that he had followed to
reach the cabin which, he recalled, was perched high up above a ravine,
was the only means of communication with the valley below. It was a
useless precaution, for the snow would have wholly obliterated any such
trail had there been one and, soon realising the fact, he fell back
exhausted by his effort on the pillows.
A half hour passed and the man began to grow restless. He had, of
course, no idea whatever of the length of time he had been in the cabin,
and he knew that he must be thinking of an immediate escape. In
desperation, he tried to get out of bed, but the task was beyond his
power. At that a terrible feeling of hopelessness assailed him. His only
chance was to reach the valley where he had little fear of capture; but
wounded, as he was, that seemed out of the question, and he saw himself
caught like a rat in a trap. In an access of rage at the situation in
which he was placed he made another effort to raise himself up on his
elbow and peer through the window at the Sierras. The noise that he
made, slight though it was, awoke the Girl. In an instant she was at his
bedside drawing the curtain over the window.
"What you thinkin' of?" she asked. "At any moment--jest as soon as the
trail can be cleared--there'll be someone of the boys up here to see how
I've pulled through. They mustn't see you . . ."
Forcibly, but with loving tenderness, she put him back among his pillows
and seated herself by the bed. An awkward silence followed. For now that
the man was in his right senses it was borne in upon her that he might
remember that she had fed him, given him drink and fondled him. It was a
situation embarrassing to both. Neither knew just what to say or how to
begin. At length, the voice from the bed spoke:
"How long have I been here?"
"Three days."
"And you have nursed me all that--"
"You mustn't talk," warned the girl. "It's dangerous in more ways than
one. But if you keep still no one'll suspect that you're here."
"But I must know what happened," he insisted with increasing excitement.
"I remember nothing after I came down the ladder. The Sheriff--Rance--
what's become . . .?"
The Girl chided him with gentle authority.
"You keep perfectly still--you mustn't say nothin' 'til you've rested.
Everythin's all right an' you needn't worry a bit." But then seeing that
he chafed at this, she added: "Well, then, I'll tell you all there is to
know." And then followed an account of the happenings of that night. It
was not a thoroughly truthful tale, for in her narrative she told him
only what she thought was necessary and good for him to know, keeping
the rest to herself. And when she had related all that there was to tell
she insisted upon his going to sleep again, giving him no opportunity
whatsoever to speak, since she left his bedside after drawing the
Unwillingly the man lay back and tried to force himself to be patient;
but he fretted at the enforced quietude and, as a result, sleep refused
to come to him. From time to time he could hear the Girl moving
noiselessly about the room. The knowledge that she was there gave him a
sense of security, and he began to let his thoughts dwell upon her. No
longer did he doubt but what she was a real influence now; and the
thought had the effect of making him keenly alive to what his life had
been. It was not a pleasant picture that he looked back upon, now that
he had caught a glimpse of what life might mean with the Girl at his
side. From the moment that he had taken her in his arms he realised to
the full that his cherished dream had come true; he realised, also, that
there was now but one answer to the question of keeping to the oath
given to his father, and that was that gratitude--for he had guessed
rightly, though she had not told him, that she had saved him from
capture by the Sheriff and his posse--demanded that he should put an end
to his vocation and devote his life henceforth to making her happy.
Once or twice while thus communing with himself he fancied that he heard
voices. It seemed to him that he recognised Nick's voice. But whoever it
was, he spoke in whispers, and though the wounded man strove to hear, he
was unsuccessful.
After a while he heard the door close and then the tension was somewhat
relaxed, for he knew that she was keeping his presence in her cabin a
secret with all the wiles of a clever and loving woman. And more and
more he determined to gain an honoured place for her in some
community--an honoured place for himself and her. Vague, very vague, of
course, were the new purposes and plans that had so suddenly sprang up
because of her influence, but the desire to lead a clean life had
touched his heart, and since his old calling had never been pleasing to
him, he did not for a moment doubt his ability to succeed.
The morning was half gone when the Girl returned to her patient. Then,
in tones that did her best to make her appear free from anxiety, she
told him that it was the barkeeper, as he had surmised, with whom she
had been talking and that she had been obliged to take him into her
confidence. The man made no comment, for the situation necessarily was
in her hands, and he felt that she could be relied upon not to make any
mistake. Four people, he was told, knew of his presence in the cabin. So
far as Rance was concerned she had absolute faith in his honour, gambler
though he was; there was nothing that Nick would not do for her; and as
for the Indians, the secret was sure to be kept by them, unless
Jackrabbit got hold of some whisky--a contingency not at all likely, for
Nick had promised to see to that. In fact, all could be trusted to be as
silent as the grave.
The invalid had listened intently; nevertheless, he sighed:
"It's hard to lie here. I don't want to be caught _now_."
The Girl smiled at the emphasis on the last word, for she knew that it
referred to her. Furthermore, she had divined pretty well what had been
his thoughts concerning his old life; but, being essentially a woman of
action and not words, she said nothing.
A moment or so later he asked her to read to him. The Girl looked as she
might have looked if he had asked her to go to the moon.
Notwithstanding, she got up and, presently, returned with a lot of old
school-books, which she solemnly handed over for his inspection.
The invalid smiled at the look of earnestness on the Girl's face.
"Not these?" he gently inquired. "Where is the Dante you were telling me
Once more the Girl went over to the book-shelf; when she came back she
handed him a volume, which he glanced over carefully before showing her
the place where he wished her to begin to read to him.
At first the Girl was embarrassed and stumbled badly. But on seeing that
he seemed not to notice it she gained courage and acquitted herself
creditably, at least, so she flattered herself, for she could detect, as
she looked up from time to time, no expression other than pleasure on
his face. It may be surmised, though, that Johnson had not merely chosen
a page at random; on the contrary, when the book was in his hand he had
quickly found the lines which the Girl had, so to say, paraphrased, and
he was intensely curious to see how they would appeal to her. But now,
apparently, she saw nothing in the least amusing in them, nor in other
passages fully as sentimental. In fact, no comment of any kind was
forthcoming from her--though Johnson was looking for it and, to tell the
truth, was somewhat disappointed--when she read that Dante had probably
never spoken more than twice to Beatrice and his passion had no other
food than the mists of his own dreaming. However, it was different
when,--pausing before each word after the manner of a child,--she came
to a passage of the poet's, and read:
"'In that moment I say most truly that the spirit of life, which hath
its dwelling in the most secret chambers of the heart, began to tremble
so violently that the least pulse of my body shook herewith, and in the
trembling it said these words: "Here is a deity stronger than I who,
coming shall rule over me."'"
At that the Girl let the book fall and, going down on her knees and
taking both his hands in hers, she raised to him a look so full of
adoring worship that he felt himself awed before it.
"That 'ere Dante ain't so far off after all. I know jest how he feels.
Oh, I ain't fit to read to you, to talk to you, to kiss you."
Nevertheless, he saw to it that she did.
After this he told her about the Inferno, and she listened eagerly to
his description of the unfortunate characters, though she declared, when
he explained some of the crimes that they had committed, that they "Got
only what was rightly comin' to them."
The patient could hardly suppress his amusement. Dante was discarded and
instead they told each other how much love there was in that little
cabin on Cloudy Mountain.
The days that followed were all much like this one. Food was brought up
from The Polka and, by degrees, the patient's strength came back. And it
was but natural that he became so absorbed in his newly-found happiness
that he gradually was losing all sense of danger. Late one night,
however, when he was asleep, an incident happened that warned the Girl
that it was necessary to get her lover away just as soon as he was able
to ride a horse.
Lying on the rug in front of the fire she had been thinking of him when,
suddenly, her quick ear, more than ever alert in these days, caught the
sound of a stealthy footstep outside the cabin. With no fear whatever
except in relation to the discovery of her lover, the Girl went
noiselessly to the window and peered out into the darkness. A man was
making signs that he wished to speak with her. For a moment she stood
watching in perplexity, but almost instantly her instinct told her that
one of that race, for she believed the man to be a Mexican, would never
dare to come to her cabin at that time of night unless it was on a
friendly errand. So putting her face close to the pane to reassure
herself that she had not been mistaken in regard to his nationality, she
then went to the door and held it wide open for the man to enter, at the
same time putting her finger to her lips as a sign that he should be
very still.
"What are you doin' here? What do you want?" she asked in a low voice,
at the same time leading him to the side of the room further away from
her lover.
Jose Castro's first words were in Spanish, but immediately perceiving
that he failed to make her understand, he nodded comprehendingly, and
"All righta--I espeak Engleesh--I am Jose Castro too well known to the
_Maestro_. I want to see 'im."
The Girl's intuition told her that a member of the band stood before
her, and she regarded him suspiciously. Not that she believed that he
was disloyal and had come there with hostile intent, but because she
felt that she must be absolutely sure of her ground before she revealed
the fact that Johnson was in the cabin. She let some moments pass before
she replied:
"I don't know nothin' about your master. Who is he?"
An indulgent smile crossed the Mexican's face.
"That ver' good to tella other peoples; but I know 'im here too much.
You trusta me--me quita safe."
All this was said with many gestures and an air that convinced the Girl
that he was speaking the truth. But since she deemed it best that the
invalid should be kept from any excitement, she resolved to make the
Mexican divulge to her the nature of his important errand.
"How do you know he's here?" she began warily. "What do you want 'im
The Mexican's shifty eyes wandered all over the room as if to make
certain that no inimical ears were listening; then he whispered:
"I tella you something--you lika the _Maestro_?"
Unconsciously the Girl nodded, which evidently satisfied the Mexican,
for he went on:
"You thinka well of him--yees. Now I tella you something. The man Pedro
'e no good. 'E wisha the reward--the money for Ramerrez. 'E and the
woman--woman no good--tell Meester Ashby they thinka 'im 'ere."
The Girl felt the colour leave her cheeks, though she made a gesture for
him to proceed.
"Pedro not 'ere any longer," smiled the Mexican. "Me senda 'im to the
devil. Serva 'im right."
"An' the woman?" gasped the Girl.
"She gone--got away--Monterey by this time," replied Castro with evident
disappointment. "But Meester Ashby 'e know too much--'ees men everywhere
searched the camp--no safa 'ere now. To-norrow--" Castro stopped short;
the next instant with a joyful gleam in his eyes he cried out:
"Castro's right, Girl," said Johnson, who had waked and heard the
Mexican's last words; "it is not safe a moment more here, and I must
With a little cry of loving protest the Girl abruptly left the men to
talk over the situation and sought the opposite side of the room. There,
her eyes half-closed and her lips pressed tightly together she gave
herself up to her distressing fears. After a while it was made plain to
her that she was being brought into the conversation, for every now and
then Castro would look curiously at her; at length, as if it had been
determined by them that nothing should be undertaken without her advice,
Johnson, followed by his subordinate, came over to her and related in
detail all the startling information that Castro had brought.
Quietly the Girl listened and, in the end, it was agreed between them
that it would be safer for the men not to leave the cabin together, but
that Castro should go at once with the understanding that he should
procure horses and wait for the master at a given point across the
ravine. It was decided, too, that there was not a moment to be lost in
putting their plan into execution. In consequence, Castro immediately
took his departure.
The hour that passed before the time set for Johnson to leave the cabin
was a most trying one for both of them. It was not so hard on the man,
of course, for he was excited over the prospect of escaping; but the
Girl, whose mind was filled with the dread of what might happen to him,
had nothing to sustain her. Despite his objection, she had stipulated
that, with Jackrabbit as a companion, she should accompany him to the
outskirts of the camp. And so, at the moment of departure, throwing
about her a cloak of some rough material, she went up to her lover and
said with a quiver in her voice:
"I'm ready, Dick, but I'm a-figurin' that I can't let you go alone--you
jest got to take me below with you, an' that's all there is to it."
The man shook his head.
"There's very little risk, believe me. I'll join Castro and ride all
through the night. I'll be down below in no time at all. But we must be
going, dear."
The man passed through the door first. But when it came the Girl's turn
she hesitated, for she had seen a dark shadow flit by the window. It was
as if someone had been stealthily watching there. In another moment,
however, it turned out to be Jackrabbit and, greatly relieved, the Girl
whispered to Johnson that he was to descend the trail between the Indian
and herself, and that on no account was he to utter a word until she
gave him permission.
For another moment or so they stood in silence; Johnson, appreciating
fully what were the Girl's feelings, did not dare to whisper even a word
of encouragement to her. At last, she ordered the Indian to lead the
way, and they started.
The trail curved and twisted around the mountain, and in places they had
to use the greatest care lest a misstep should carry them over a
precipice with a drop of hundreds of feet. It was a perilous descent,
inasmuch as the path was covered with snow. Moreover, it was necessary
that as little noise as possible should be made while they were making
their way past the buildings of the camp below, for the Mexican had not
been wrong when he stated that Ashby's men were quartered at, or in the
immediate vicinity of, The Palmetto. Fortunately, they passed through
without meeting anyone, and before long they came to the edge of the
plateau beneath which was the ravine which Johnson had to cross to reach
the spot where it had been agreed that Castro should be waiting with
horses for his master. It was also the place where the Girl was to leave
her lover to go on alone, and so they halted. A few moments passed
without either of them speaking; at length, the man said in as cheery a
voice as he could summon:
"I must leave you here. I remember the way well. All danger is past."
The Girl's lips were quivering; she asked:
"An' when will you be back?"
The man noted her emotion, and though he himself was conscious of a
choking sensation he contrived to say in a most optimistic tone:
"In two weeks--not more than two weeks. It will take all that time to
arrange things at the rancho. As it is, I hardly see my way clear to
dismissing my men--you see, they belong to me, almost, and--but I'll do
so, never fear. No power on earth could make me take up the old life
The Girl said nothing in reply; instead she put both her arms around his
neck and remained a long time in his embrace. At last, summoning up all
her fortitude she put him resolutely from her, and whispered:
"When you are ready, come. You must leave me now." And with a curt
command to the Indian she fled back into the darkness.
For an instant the road agent's eyes followed the direction that she had
taken; then, his spirits rising at the thought that his escape was now
well-nigh assured, he turned and plunged down the ravine.
As has been said, it was a custom of the miners, whenever a storm made
it impossible for them to work in the mines, to turn the dance-hall of
the Polka Saloon into an Academy, the post of teacher being filled by
the Girl. It happened, therefore, that early the following morning the
men of Cloudy Mountain Camp assembled in the low, narrow room with its
walls of boards nailed across inside upright beams--a typical miners'
dance-hall of the late Forties--which they had transformed into a
veritable bower, so eager were they to please their lovely teacher.
Everyone was in high spirits, Rance alone refraining from taking any
part whatsoever in the morning's activities; dejectedly, sullenly, he
sat tilted back in an old, weather-beaten, lumber chair before the
heavily-dented, sheet-iron stove in a far corner of the room, gazing
abstractedly up towards the stove's rusty pipe that ran directly through
the ceiling; and what with his pale, waxen countenance, his eyes red and
half-closed for the want of sleep, his hair ruffled, his necktie awry,
his waistcoat unfastened, his boots unpolished, and the burnt-out cigar
which he held between his white, emaciated fingers, he was not the
immaculate-looking Rance of old, but presented a very sad spectacle
Outside, through the windows,--over which had been hung curtains of red
and yellow cotton,--could be seen the green firs on the mountain, their
branches dazzling under their burden of snow crystals; and stretching
out seemingly interminably until the line of earth and sky met were the
great hills white with snow except in the spots where the wind had swept
it away. But within the little, low dance-hall, everywhere were
evidences of festivity and good cheer, the walls being literally covered
with pine boughs and wreaths of berries, while here and there was an
eagle's wing or an owl's head, a hawk or a vulture, a quail or a
snow-bird, not to mention the big, stuffed game cock that was mounted on
a piece of weather-beaten board, until it would seem as if every variety
of bird native to the Sierra Mountains was represented there.
Grouped together on one side of the wall were twelve buck horns, and
these served as a sort of rack for the miners to hang their hats and
coats during the school session. Several mottoes, likewise upon the
wall, were intended to attract the students' attention, the most
conspicuous being: "Live and Learn" and "God Bless Our School." A great
bear's skin formed a curtain between the dance-hall and the saloon,
while upon the door-frame was a large hand rudely painted, the
index-finger outstretched and pointing to the next room. It said:
"To The Bar."
It was, however, upon the teacher's desk--a whittled-up, hand-made
affair which stood upon a slightly-raised platform--that the boys had
outdone themselves in the matter of decoration. Garlanded both on top
and around the sides with pine boughs and upon the centre of which stood
a tall glass filled with red and white berries, it looked not unlike a
sacrificial altar which, in a way, it certainly was. A box that was
intended for a seat for the teacher was also decorated with pine
branches; while several cheap, print flags adorned the primitive iron
holder of the large lamp suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the
room. Altogether it was a most festive-looking Academy that was destined
to meet the teacher's eye on this particular morning.
For some time Nick had been standing near the window gazing in the
direction of the Girl's cabin. Turning, suddenly, to Rance, the only
other occupant of the room, he remarked somewhat sadly:
"I'd be willin' to lose the profits of the bar if we could git back to a
week ago--before Johnson walked into this room."
At the mention of the road agent's name Rance's eyes dropped to the
floor. It required no flash of inspiration to tell him that things would
never be what they had been.
"Johnson," he muttered, his face ashen white and a sound in his throat
that was something like a groan. "A week--a week in her cabin--nursed
and kissed . . ." he finished shortly.
Nick had been helping himself to a drink; he wheeled swiftly round,
confronting him.
"Oh, say, Rance, she--"
Rance took the words out of his mouth.
"Never kissed him! You bet she kissed him! It was all I could do to keep
from telling the whole camp he was up there." His eyes blazed and his
hands tightened convulsively.
"But you didn't . . ." Nick broke in on him quickly. "If I hadn't been
let into the game by the Girl I'd a thought you were a level Sheriff
lookin' for him. Rance, you're my ideal of a perfect gent."
Rance braced up in his chair.
"What did she see in that Sacramento shrimp, will you tell me?"
presently he questioned, contempt showing on every line of his face.
The little barkeeper did not answer at once, but filled a glass with
whisky which he handed to him.
"Well, you see, I figger it out this way, boss," at last he answered,
meeting him face to face frankly, earnestly, his foot the while resting
on the other's chair. "Love's like a drink that gits a hold on you an'
you can't quit. It's a turn of the head or a touch of the hands, or it's
a half sort of smile, an' you're doped, doped, doped with a feelin' like
strong liquor runnin' through your veins, an' there ain't nothin' on
earth can break it up once you've got the habit. That's love."
Touched by the little barkeeper's droll philosophy, the Sheriff dropped
his head on his breast, while the hand which held the glass
unconsciously fell to his side.
"I've got it," went on Nick with enthusiasm; "you've got it; the boy's
got it; the Girl's got it; the whole damn world's got it. It's all the
heaven there is on earth, an' in nine cases out of ten it's hell."
Rance opened his lips to speak, but quickly drew them in tightly. The
next instant Nick touched him lightly on the shoulder and pointed to the
empty glass in his hand, the contents having run out upon the floor.
With a mere glance at the empty glass Rance returned it to Nick.
Presently, then, he took out his watch and fell to studying its face
intently, and only when he had finally returned the watch to his pocket
did he voice what was in his mind.
"Well, Nick," he said, "her road agent's got off by now."
Whereupon, the barkeeper, too, took out his watch and consulted it.
"Left Cloudy at three o'clock this morning--five hours off . . ." was
his brief comment.
Once more a silence fell upon the room. Then, all of a sudden, the sound
of horses' hoofs and the murmur of rough voices came to their ears, and
almost instantly a voice was heard to cry out:
"Hello!" came from an answering voice.
"Why, it's The Pony Express got through at last!" announced Nick,
incredulously; and so saying he took up the whisky bottle and glasses
which lay on the teacher's desk and dashed into the saloon. He had
barely left, however, than The Pony Express, muffled up to his ears and
looking fit to brave the fiercest of storms, entered the room, hailing
the boys with:
"Hello, boys! Letter for Ashby!"
The Deputy--who with Trinidad and Sonora had come running in, the latter
carrying a boot-leg and a stove-polishing brush in his hand--took the
letter and started in search of the Wells Fargo Agent who, Rance had
told them, had gone to sleep.
"Well, boys, how d'you like bein' snowed in for a week?" asked The Pony
Express, warming himself by the stove; and then without waiting for an
answer he rattled on: "There's a rumour at The Ridge that you all let
Ramerrez freeze an' missed a hangin'. Say, they're roarin' at you,
chaps!" And with a "So long, boys!" he strode out of the room.
Sonora started in hot pursuit after him, hollering out:
"Wait! Wait!" And when The Pony Express halted, he added: "Says you to
the boys at The Ridge as you ride by, the Academy at Cloudy is open
to-day full blast!"
"Whoopee! Whoop!" chimed in Trinidad and began to execute a _pas seul_
in the middle of the room, dropping into a chair just in time to avoid
running into Nick, who hurriedly returned with two glasses and a bottle.
"Help yourselves, boys," he said; which they did to the accompaniment of
a succession of joyous yells from Trinidad.
Meantime Rance had relighted the burnt-out cigar which he had been
holding for some time between his fingers, and was sending curls of
smoke upwards towards the ceiling.
"Academy," he sneered.
Sonora surveyed him critically for some moments; at length he said:
"Say, Rance, what's the matter with you? We began this Academy game
together--we boys an' the Girl--an' there's a damn pretty piece of
sentiment back of it. She's taught some of us our letters, and--"
"He's a wearin' mournin' because Johnson didn't fall alive into his
hands," interposed Trinidad with a laugh.
"Is that it?" queried Sonora.
"Ain't it enough, Rance, that he must be lyin' dead down some canyon,
with his mouth full of snow?" A mocking smile was on Trinidad's face as
he asked the question.
"You done all you could to git 'im," went on Sonora as if there had been
no interruption. "The boys is all satisfied he's dead."
"Dead?" Rance fairly picked up the word. "Dead? Yes, he's dead," he
declared tensely, and unconsciously arose and went over to the window
where he stood motionless, gazing through the parted curtains at the
snow-covered hills. Presently the boys saw a cynical smile spread over
his face, and a moment later, he added: "The matter with me is that I'm
a Chink."
This depreciation of himself was so thoroughly un-Rance like, that it
brought forth great bursts of laughter from the men, but notwithstanding
which, Rance went on to admit, in the same sullen tone, that it was all
up with him and the Girl.
"Throwed 'im!" whispered Trinidad to Sonora with a pleased look on his
Sonora, likewise, was beaming with joy when almost instantly he turned
to Nick with:
"As sure's you live she's throwed 'im for me!"
Nick, among his other accomplishments, had a faculty for dumbness and
said nothing; but a smile which approached a grin formed on his face as
he stood eyeing quizzically first one and then the other. Finally,
picking up the empty glasses, he left the room.
"Will old dog Tray remember me"--immediately sung out Trinidad,
gleefully. While Sonora, in the seventh heaven of delight, began to
caper about the room. Of a sudden Nick poked his head in through the
door to inquire into the cause of their hilarity, but they ignored him
completely. At the bar-room door, however, Sonora halted and, glancing
over his shoulder in the Sheriff's direction, he added in a most
tantalising manner:
". . . for me!"
But while Trinidad and Sonora were going out through one door the Deputy
was entering through another. He was greatly agitated and carried in his
hand the letter which The Pony Express had entrusted to his keeping for
"Why, Ashby's skipped!" he announced uneasily. "Got off just after three
this morning--posse and all."
A question was in Nick's eyes as he turned upon the speaker with the
"What!" And then as the Deputy made a dash for the bar-room, he added
with a swift change of manner: "Help yourself, Dep."
But if Nick was slow to realise the situation, not so the Sheriff, who
instantly awoke to the fact that the Wells Fargo Agent was on Johnson's
trail. His lips drew quickly back in a half-grin.
"Ashby's after Johnson," presently he said with a savage little laugh.
"Nick, he was watchin' that greaser . . . Took him ten minutes to saddle
up--Johnson has ten minutes' start"--He broke off abruptly and ended
impatiently with: "Oh, Lord, they'll never get him! He's a wonder on the
road--you've got to take your hat off to the damn cuss!" And with a dig
at the other's ribs that was half-playful, half-serious, he was off in
pursuit of Ashby.
A moment later the miners began to pile in for school, whooping and
yelling, their feet covered with snow. Sonora led with an armful of
wood, which he deposited on the floor beside the stove; then came
Handsome Charlie and Happy Halliday, together with Old Steady and Bill
Crow, who immediately dropped on all fours and began to play leap-frog.
"Boys gatherin' for school," observed Trinidad, hurriedly opening the
door; and while the men proceeded to flock in, he got into his jacket
which lay on a chair beside the teacher's desk.
"Here, Trin, here's the book!" cried out Happy Halliday; and the book,
which was securely tied in a red cotton handkerchief, went flying
through the air.
In those few words the signal was given; the fun was on in earnest.
Instantly the miners--veritable school-boys they were, so genuine was
their merriment--braced themselves for a catch of the book, which had
landed safely in Trinidad's hands. Now it was aimed at Sonora, who
caught it on the fly; from Sonora it travelled to Old Steady, who sent
it whizzing over to Handsome. Now the Deputy made ready to receive it;
but instead it landed once more in Sonora's hands amidst cheers of "Come
on, Sonora! Whoopee! Whoop!"
"Sh-sh-sh, boys!" warned the Deputy as Sonora was about to send the book
on another expedition through the air; "here comes the noo scholar from
An ominous hush fell upon the room. One could have heard a pin drop as
the school settled itself down with anticipatory grins that said, "What
won't we do to Bucking Billy!" Therefore, there was not an eye that was
not upon the new pupil when with dinner-pail swinging on one arm and the
other holding tightly onto a small slate, he slowly advanced towards
"Did you ever play Lame Soldier, m' friend?" was Sonora's greeting,
while the miners crowded around them.
"No," replied the big, raw-boned, gullible-looking fellow with a grin.
"We'll play it after school; you'll be the stirrup," promised Sonora;
then turning to his mates with a laugh, which was unobserved by Bucking
Billy, he added: "We'll initiate 'im."
Presently the miners began to move away and Trinidad, picking up a chip
which he espied under a bench, put it on his shoulder and stood in the
centre of the room, thereby indirectly challenging the new pupil to a
"Don't do it!" cried Old Steady as he hung up his hat upon a buck's horn
on the wall.
"Go on! Go on!" encouraged Bill Crow, hanging up his hat beside Old
The boys took up his words in chorus.
"Go on! Go on!"
Whereupon, Sonora made a dash far the chip and knocked it off of
Trinidad's shoulder, blazing huskily into his face as he did so:
"You do, do you?"
In the twinkling of an eye Trinidad's jacket was off and the two men
were engaged in a hand-to-hand scuffle.
"Soak him!" came from a voice somewhere in the crowd.
"Hit him!" urged another.
"Bat him in the eye!" shrieked Handsome Charlie.
Finally Sonora succeeded in throwing down his opponent and sent him
rolling along the floor, the contents of his pockets marking his trail.
The rafters of The Polka shook to a storm of cheering, and there is no
telling when the men would have ceased had not Nick interfered at that
moment by yelling out:
"Boys, boys, here she is!"
"Here comes the Girl!" came simultaneously from Happy Halliday, who had
got a glimpse of her coming down the trail.
None the worse for his defeat and fall, Trinidad sprang to his feet;
while Sonora made a dash for a seat. They had not been placed; whereupon
he cried out excitedly:
"The seats, boys, where's the seats?"
For the few minutes that preceded the Girl's entrance into the room no
men were ever known to work more rapidly or more harmoniously. They
fairly flew in and out of the room, now bringing in the great
whittled-up, weather-beaten benches and placing them in school-room
fashion, and then rolling in boxes and casks which served as a
ground-hold for the planks which were stretched across them for desks.
It was in the midst of these pilgrimages that Trinidad rushed over to
Nick to ask whether he did not think to-day a good time to put the
question to the Girl.
Nick's eyes twinkled up with merriment; nevertheless, his face took on a
dubious look when presently he answered:
"I wouldn't rush her, Trin--you've got plenty of time . . ." And when he
proceeded to put up the blackboard he almost ran into Sonora, who stood
by the teacher's desk getting into his frock coat.
"Hurry up, boys, hurry up!" urged Trinidad, though he himself smilingly
looked on.
A moment later the Girl, carrying a small book of poems, walked quietly
into their midst. She was paler and not as buoyant as usual, but she
managed to appear cheerful when she said:
"Hello, boys!"
The men were all smiles and returned her greeting with:
"Hello, Girl!"
Then followed the presentation of their offerings--mere trifles, to be
sure, but given out of the fulness of their hearts. Sonora led with a
bunch of berries, which was followed by Trinidad with an orange.
"From 'Frisco," he said simply, watching the effect of his words with
A bunch of berries was also Happy's contribution, which he made with a
stiff little bow and the one word:
Meantime Nick, faithful friend that he was, went down on his knees and
began to remove the Girl's moccasins. The knowledge of his proximity
encouraged the Girl to glance about her to see if she could detect any
signs on the men's faces which would prove that they suspected the real
truth concerning her absence. Needless to say adoration and love was all
that she saw; nevertheless, she felt ill-at-ease and, unconsciously,
"Hello, boys!" And then added, a little more bravely: "How's
"Bully!" spoke up Handsome Charlie, who was posing for her benefit, as
was his wont, beside one of the desks.
"Say, we missed you," acknowledged Sonora with a world of tenderness in
his voice. "Never knew you to desert The Polka for a whole week before."
"No, I--I . . ." stammered guiltily, and with their little gifts turned
abruptly towards her desk lest she should meet their gaze.
"Academy's opened," suddenly announced Happy, "and--"
"Yes, I see it is," quickly answered the Girl, brushing away a tear that
persisted in clinging to her eyelids; slowly, now, she drew off her
gloves and laid them on the desk.
"I guess I'm kind o' nervous to-day, boys," she began.
"No wonder," observed Sonora. "Road agent's been in camp an' we missed a
hangin'. I can't git over that."
All a-quiver and not daring to meet the men's gaze, much less to discuss
the road agent with them, the Girl endeavoured to hide her confusion by
asking Nick to help her off with her cape. Turning presently she said in
a strained voice:
"Well, come on, boys--come, now!"
Immediately the boys fell in line for the opening exercises, which
consisted of an examination by the Girl of their general appearance.
"Let me see your hands," she said to the man nearest to her; a glance
was sufficient, and he was expelled from her presence. "Let me see
yours, Sonora," she commanded.
Holding his hands behind his back the man addressed moved towards her
slowly, for he was conscious of the grime that was on them. Before he
had spoken his apology she ordered him none too gently to go and wash
them, ending with an emphatic:
"Yes'm," was his meek answer, though he called back as he disappeared:
"Been blackenin' my boots."
The Girl took up the word quickly.
"Boots! Yes, an' look at them boots!" And as each man came up to her,
"An' them boots! an' them boots! Get in there the whole lot o' you an'
be sure that you leave your whisky behind."
When all had left the room save Nick, who stood with her cape on his arm
near the desk she suddenly became conscious that she still had her hood
on, and at once began to remove it--a proceeding which brought out
clearly the extraordinary pallor of her face which, generally, had a
bright, healthy colouring. Now she beckoned to Nick to draw near. No
need for her to speak, for he had caught the questioning look in her
eyes, and it told him plainer than any words that she was anxious to
hear of her lover. He was about to tell her the little he knew when with
lips that trembled she finally whispered:
"Have you heard anythin'? Do you think he got through safe?"
Nick nodded in the affirmative.
"I saw 'im off, you know," she went on in the same low voice; then,
before Nick could speak, she concluded anxiously: "But s'pose he don't
git through?"
"Oh, he'll git through sure! We'll hear he's out of this country pretty
quick," consoled the little barkeeper just as Rance, unperceived by
them, quietly entered the room and went over to a chair by the stove.
No man had more of a dread of the obvious than the Sheriff. His
position, he felt, was decidedly an unpleasant one. Nevertheless, in the
silence that followed the Girl's discovery of his presence, he struggled
to appear his old self. He was by no means unconscious of the fact that
he had omitted his usual cordial greeting to her, and he felt that she
must be scrutinising him, feature by feature. When, therefore, he shot a
covert glance at her, it was with surprise that he saw an appealing look
in her eyes.
"Oh, Jack, I want to thank you--" she began, but stopped quickly,
deterred by the hard expression that instantly spread itself over the
Sheriff's face. Resentment, all the more bitter because he believed it
to be groundless, followed hard on the heels of her words which he
thought to be inspired solely by a delicate tactfulness.
"Oh, don't thank me that he got away," he said icily. "It was the three
aces and the pair you held--"
This was the Girl's opportunity; she seized it.
"About the three aces, I want to say that--"
It was Rance's turn to interrupt, which he did brutally.
"He'd better keep out of my country, that's all."
"Yes, yes."
To the Girl, any reference to her lover was a stab. Her face was pale
with her terrible anxiety; notwithstanding, the contrast of her pallid
cheeks and masses of golden hair gave her a beauty which Rance, as he
met her eyes, found so extraordinarily tempting that he experienced a
renewed fury at his utter helplessness. At the point, however, when it
would seem from his attitude that all his self-control was about to
leave him, the Girl picked up the bell on the desk and rang it
Began then the long procession of miners walking around the room before
taking their seats on the benches. At their head was Happy Halliday, who
carried in his hands a number of slates, the one on the top having a
large sponge attached. These were all more or less in bad condition,
some having no frames, while others were mere slits of slate, but all
had slate-pencils fastened to them by strings.
"Come along, boys, get your slates!" sang out Happy as he left the line
and let the others file past him.
"Whoop!" vociferated Trinidad in a burst of enthusiasm.
"Trin, you're out o' step there!" reprimanded the teacher a little
sharply; and then addressing Happy she ordered him to take his place
once more in the line.
In a little while they were all seated, and now, at last, it seemed to
the barkeeper as if the air of the room had been freed of its tension.
No longer did he experience a sense of alertness, a feeling that
something out of the ordinary was going to happen, and it was with
immense relief that he heard the Girl take up her duties and ask:
"What books were left from last year?"
At first no one was able to give a scrap of information on this
important matter; maybe it was because all lips were too dry to open; in
the end, however, when the silence was becoming embarrassing, Happy
moistened his lips with his tongue, and answered:
"Why, we scared up jest a whole book left. The name of it is--is--is--"
The effort was beyond his mental powers and he came to a helpless pause.
Swelling with importance, and drawing forth the volume in question from
his pocket, Sonora stood up and finished:
"--is 'Old Joe Miller's Jokes.'"
"That will do nicely," declared the Girl and seated herself on the
pine-decorated box.
"Now, boys," continued Sonora, ever the most considerate of pupils,
"before we begin I propose no drawin' of weppings, drinkin' or swearin'
in school hours. The conduct of certain members wore on teacher last
term. I don't want to mention no names, but I want Handsome an' Happy to
hear what I'm sayin'." And after a sweeping glance at his mates, who,
already, had begun to disport themselves and jeer at the unfortunate
pair, he wound up with: "Is that straight?"
"You bet it is!" yelled the others in chorus; whereupon Sonora dropped
into his seat.
In time order was restored and now the Girl, looking at Rance out of her
big, frightened, blue eyes, observed:
"Rance, last year you led off with an openin' address, an'--"
"Yes, yes, go on Sheriff!" cried the boys, hailing her suggestion with
Nevertheless, the Sheriff hesitated, seeing which, Trinidad contributed:
"Let 'er go, Jack!"
At length, fixing a look upon the Girl, Rance rose and said
"I pass."
"Oh, then, Sonora," suggested the Girl, covering up her embarrassment as
best she could, "won't you make a speech?"
"Me--speak?" exploded Sonora; and again; "Me--speak? Oh, the devil!"
"Sh-sh!" came warningly from several of the boys.
"Why, I didn't mean that, o' course," apologised Sonora, colouring, and
incidentally expectorating on Bucking Billy's boots. But to his infinite
sorrow no protest worthy of the word was forthcoming from the apparently
insensible Bucking Billy.
"Go on! Go on!" urged the school.
Sonora coughed behind his hand; then he began his address.
"Gents, I look on this place as something more 'n a place to sit around
an' spit on--the stove. I claim that there's culture in the air o'
Californay an' we're here to buck up again it an' hook on."
"Hear! Hear! Hear!" voiced the men together, while their fists came down
heavily upon the improvised desks before them.
"With these remarks," concluded Sonora, "I set." And suiting the action
to the word he plumped himself down heavily upon the bench, but only to
rise again quickly with a cry of pain and strike Trinidad a fierce blow,
who, he rightly suspected, was responsible for the pin that had found a
lodging-place in the seat of his trousers.
At that not even the Girl's remonstrances prevented the boys, who had
been silent as mice all the time that the instrument of torture was
being adjusted, from giving vent to roars of laughter; and for a moment
things in the school-room were decidedly boisterous.
"Sit down, boys, sit down!" ordered the Girl again and again; but it was
some moments before she could get the school under control. When,
finally, the skylarking had ceased, the Girl said in a voice which,
despite its strange weariness, was music to their ears:
"Once more we meet together. There's ben a lot happened o' late that has
learned me that p'r'aps I don't know as much as I tho't I did, an' I
can't teach you much more. But if you're willin' to take me for what I
am--jest a woman who wants things better, who wants everybody all they
ought to be, why I'm willin' to rise with you an' help reach out--" She
stopped abruptly, for Handsome was waving his hand excitedly at her, and
asked a trifle impatiently: "What is it, Handsome?"
Handsome rose and hurriedly went over to her.
"Whisky, teacher, whisky! I want it so bad--"
The school rose to its feet as one man.
"Teacher! Teacher!" came tumultuously from all, their hands waving
frantically in the air. And then without waiting for permission to speak
the cry went up: "Whisky! Whisky!"
"No, no whisky," she denied them flatly.
Gradually the commotion subsided, for all knew that she meant what she
said, at least for the moment.
"An' now jest a few words more on the subject o' not settin' judgment on
the errin'--a subject near my heart."
This remark of the Girl's brought forth murmurs of wonder, and in the
midst of them the door was pushed slowly inward and The Sidney Duck,
wearing the deuce of spades which the Sheriff had pinned to his jacket
when he banished him from their presence for cheating at cards, stood on
the threshold, looking uncertainly about him. At once all eyes were
focused upon him.
"Git! Git!" shouted the men, angrily. This was followed by a general
movement towards him, which so impressed The Sidney Duck that he turned
on his heel and was fleeing for his life when a cry from the Girl
stopped him.
"Boys, boys," said the Girl in a reproving voice, which silenced them
almost instantly; then, beckoning to Sid to approach, she went on in her
most gentle tones: "I was jest gittin' to you, Sid, as I promised. You
can stay."
Looking like a whipped dog The Sidney Duck advanced warily towards her.
Sonora's brow grew thunderous.
"What, here among gentlemen?"
And that his protest met with instantaneous approval was shown by the
way the miners shifted uneasily in their seats and shouted
"Git! Git!"
"Why, the fellow's a--" began Trinidad, but got no further, for the Girl
stopped him by exclaiming:
"I know, I know, Trin--I've tho't it all over!"
For the next few minutes the Girl stood strangely still and her face
became very grave. Never before had the men seen her in a mood like
this, and they exchanged wondering glances. Presently she said:
"Boys, of late a man in trouble has been on my mind--" She paused, her
glance having caught the peculiar light which her words had caused to
appear in Rance's eyes, and lest he should misunderstand her meaning,
she hastened to add: "Sid, o' course,--an' I fell to thinkin' o' the
Prodigal Son. He done better, didn't he?"
"But a card sharp," objected Sonora from the depths of his big voice.
"Yes, that's what!" interjected Trinidad, belligerently.
The Girl's eyebrows lifted and a shade of resentment was in the
answering voice:
"But s'pose there was a moment in his life when he was called upon to
find a extra ace--can't we forgive 'im? He says he's sorry--ain't you,
All the while the Girl had been speaking The Sidney Duck kept his eyes
lowered and was swallowing nervously. Now he raised them and, with a
feeble attempt to simulate penitence, he acknowledged that he had done
wrong. Nevertheless, he declared:
"But if I 'adn't got caught things would 'a' been different. Oh, yes,
I'm sorry."
In an instant the Girl was at his side removing the deuce of spades from
his coat.
"Sid, you git your chance," she said with trembling lips. "Now go an'
sit down."
A broad smile was creeping over The Sidney Duck's countenance as he
moved towards the others; but Happy took it upon himself to limit its
"Take that!" he blazed, striking the man in the face. "And git out of
"Happy, Happy!" cried the Girl. Her voice was so charged with reproach
that The Sidney Duck was allowed by the men to pass on without any
further molestation. Nevertheless, when he attempted to sit beside them,
they moved as far away as possible from him and compelled him to take a
stool that stood apart from the benches which held them together in
friendly proximity.
At this point Trinidad inquired of the Girl whether she meant to infer
that honesty was not the best policy, and by way of illustration, he
went on to say:
"S'posin' my watch had no works an' I was to sell it to the Sheriff for
one hundred dollars. Would you have much respect for me?"
For the briefest part of a second the Girl seemed to be reflecting.
"I'd have more respect for you than for the Sheriff," she answered
"Hurrah! Whoopee! Whoop!" yelled the men, who were delighted both with
what she said as well as her pert way of saying it.
It was in the midst of these shouts that Billy Jackrabbit and Wowkle,
unobserved by the others, quietly stole into the room and squatted
themselves down under the blackboard. When the merriment had subsided
Rance rose and took the floor. His face was paler than usual, though his
voice was calm when presently he said:
"Well, bein' Sheriff, I'm careful about my company--I'll sit in the bar.
Cheats and road agents"--and here he paused meaningly and glanced from
The Sidney Duck to the Girl--"ar'n't jest in my line. I walk in the open
road with my head up and my face to the sun, and whatever I've pulled
up, you'll remark I've always played square and stood by the cyards."
"I know, I know," observed the Girl and fell wearily into her seat; the
next instant she went on more confidently: "An' that's the way to
travel--in the straight road. But if ever I don't travel that road, or
"You always will, you bet," observed Nick with feeling.
"You bet she will!" shouted the others.
"But if I don't," continued the Girl, insistently, "I hope there'll be
someone to lead me back--back to the right road. 'Cause remember, Rance,
some of us are lucky enough to be born good, while others have to be
"That's eloquence!" cried Sonora, moved almost to tears; while Rance
took a step forward as if about to make some reply; but the next
instant, his head held no longer erect and his face visibly twitching,
he passed into the bar-room.
A silence reigned for a time, which was broken at last by the Girl
announcing with great solemnity:
"If anybody can sing 'My Country 'Tis,' Academy's opened."
At this request, really of a physical nature, and advanced in a spirit
of true modesty, all present, curiously enough, seemed to have lost
their voices and nudged one another in an endeavour to get the hymn
started. Someone insisted that Sonora should go ahead, but that worthy
pupil objected giving as his excuse, obviously a paltry one and trumped
up for the occasion, that he did not know the words. There was nothing
to it, therefore, but that the Indians should render the great American
anthem. And so, standing stolidly facing the others, their high-pitched,
nasal voices presently began:
"My country 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing."
"Well, if that ain't sarkism!" interjected Sonora between the lines of
the hymn.
"Land where our fathers died--"
"You bet they died hard!" cut in Trinidad, rolling his eyes upward in a
comical imitation of the Indians.
"Land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring."
All the while the Indians were singing the last lines of the hymn the
Girl's face was a study in reminiscent dreams, but when they had
finished and were leaving the room, she came back to earth, as it were,
and clapped her hands, an appreciation which brought forth from Wowkle a
grateful "Huh!"
"I would like to read you a little verse from a book of poems,"
presently went on the teacher; and when the men had given her their
attention, she read with much feeling:
"'No star is ever lost we once have seen,
We always may be what we might have been.'"
"Why, what's the matter?" inquired Sonora, greatly moved at the sight of
the tears which, of a sudden, began to run down the teacher's cheeks.
"Why, what's--?" came simultaneously from the others, words failing
"Nothin', nothin', only it jest came over me that I'll be leavin' you
soon," stammered the Girl. "How can I do it? How can I do it?" she
Sonora gazed at her unbelievingly.
"Do what?" he said.
"What did she say?" questioned Trinidad.
Now Sonora went over to her, and asked:
"What d'you say? Why, what's the matter?"
Slowly the Girl raised her head and looked at him through half-closed
lids, the tears that still clung to them, blinding her almost. Plainly
audible in the silence of the room the seconds ticked away on the clock,
and still she did not speak; at last she murmured:
"Oh, it's nothin', nothin', only I jest remembered I've promised to
leave Cloudy soon an', p'r'aps, we might never be together again--you
an' me an' The Polka. Oh, it took me jest like that when I seen your
dear, ol' faces, your dear, plucky, ol' faces an' realised that--" She
could not go on, and buried her face in her hands, her glistening blonde
head shaking with her sobs.
It was thus that the Sheriff, entering a moment later, found her.
Without a word he resumed his seat in front of the fire.
Sonora continued to stare blankly at her. He was too dazed to speak,
much less to think. He broke silence slowly.
"What--you leavin' us?"
"Leavin' us?" inquired Happy, incredulously.
"Careful, girl, careful," warned Nick, softly.
The Girl hesitated a moment, and then went recklessly on:
"It's bound to happen soon."
Sonora looked more puzzled than ever; he rested his hand upon her desk
as if to support himself, and said:
"I don't quite understand. Great Gilead! We done anythin' to offend
"Oh, no, no, no!" she hastened to assure him, at the same time letting
her hand rest upon his.
But this explanation did not satisfy Sonora. Anxious to discover what
she had at heart he went on sounding:
"Tired of us? Ain't we got style enough for you?"
The Girl did not answer; her breathing, swift and short, painfully
intensified the hush that had fallen on the room; at last, the boys
becoming impatient began to bombard her with questions.
"Be you goin' to show them Ridge boys we've petered out an' culture's a
dead dog here?" began Happy, rising.
"Do you want them to think Academy's busted?" asked Handsome.
"Ain't we your boys no more?" put in Trinidad, wistfully.
"Ain't I your boy?" asked Sonora, sentimentally. "Why, what is it, Girl?
Has anybody--tell me--perhaps--"
The Girl raised her head and dried her eyes; when she spoke one could
have heard a pin drop.
"Oh, no, no, no," she said with averted face, and added tremulously:
"There, we won't say no more about it. Let's forgit it. Only when I go
away I want to leave the key o' my cabin with Old Sonora here, an' I
want you all to come up sometimes, an' to think o' me as the girl who
loved you all, an' sometimes is wishin' you well, an' I want to think o'
little Nick here runnin' my bar an' not givin' the boys too much
whisky." Her words died away in a sob and her head fell forward, her
hand, the while, resting upon Nick's shoulder.
At last, Sonora saw what lay beneath her tears; the situation was all
too clear to him now.
"Hold on!" he cried hoarsely. "There's jest one reason for the Girl to
leave her home an' friends--only one: There must be some fellow away
from here that she--that she likes better 'n she does any of us." And
turning once more upon the Girl, he demanded excitedly: "Is that it?
The Girl raised her tear-stained face and looked him in the eye.
"Likes--" she repeated with a world of meaning in her voice--"in a
different way, yes."
"Well, so help me!" ejaculated Happy, unhappily, while Sonora, with head
bent low, went over to his seat.
The next moment the boys of the front rows had joined those of the rear
and were grouping themselves together to discuss the situation.
"Sure you ain't makin' a mistake?" Trinidad questioned suddenly.
The Girl came down from her seat on the platform and went over to them.
"Mistake," she repeated dreamily. "Oh, no, no, no, boys, there's no
mistake about this. Oh, Trin!" she burst out tearfully, and two soft
arms crept gently about his neck. "An' Sonora--Ah, Sonora!" She raised
herself on her tiny toes and kissed him on the left cheek.
The next instant she was gone.
Whatever may be said to the contrary, there are few more humiliating
moments in a man's life than when he learns that some other person has
supplanted him in the affections of his adored one. And it was the
Girl's knowledge of this, together with her desire to spare the feelings
of her two old admirers,--for in her nature there was ever that
thoughtfulness of others which never permitted her to do a mean thing to
anyone,--that had caused her to flee so precipitously from the room.
But painful as was their humiliation as they stood in silence, gazing
with saddened faces at the door through which the Girl had gone out,
their cup of bitterness was not yet full. The next moment the Sheriff,
his lips curled inscrutably, said mockingly:
"Well, boys, the right man has come at last. Take your medicine,
His words cut Sonora to the quick, and it was with difficulty that he
braced himself to hear the worst.
"Who's the man?" he inquired gruffly.
The Sheriff's eyes fastened themselves upon him; at length with deadly
coldness he drawled out:
"Johnson's the man."
All the colour went out of Sonora's face, while his lips ejaculated:
"Gol A'mighty!"
"You lie!" blazed Trinidad in the next breath, and made a quick movement
towards the Sheriff.
But Rance was not to be denied. Seeing Nick advancing towards them he
called upon him to verify his words; but that individual merely looked
first at one and then the other and did not answer, which silence
infuriated Sonora.
"Why, you tol' me . . .?" he said with an angry look in his eye.
"Tol' you, Sonora? Why he tol' me the same thing," protested Trinidad
with an earnestness that, at any other time, would have sent his
listeners into fits of laughter.
This was too much for Sonora; he flew into a paroxysm of rage.
"Well, for a first-class liar . . .!"
"You bet!" corroborated Trinidad, relapsing, despite his anger, into his
pet phrase.
For some minutes the dejected suitors continued in this strain, now
arguing and then condoling with one another, the boys, meanwhile,
proceeding to clear the school-room of the benches, casks and planks,
lifting or rolling them back into place as if they were made of paper.
All of a sudden Sonora's face cleared perceptibly. Turning swiftly to
the sheriff, who sat tilted back in a chair before the fire, he said
with unexpected cheerfulness of voice:
"Why, Johnson's dead. He got away, an'--"
"Yes, he got away," remarked Rance, dully, shaking the ashes from his
cigar, which answer, together with the peculiar look which Sonora saw on
the other's face, made him at once suspicious that something was being
held back from them which they had a right to know. It came about,
therefore, that, with a hasty movement towards the Sheriff, his eyes
glaring, his voice husky, Sonora demanded:
"Jack Rance, I call on you as Sheriff for Johnson! He was in your
Instantly the cry was taken up by the others, but it was Trinidad who,
shaking his fist in Rance's face, supplemented:
"You hustle up an' run a bridle through your p'int o' teeth or your boom
for re-election 's over, you lily-fingered gambler!"
But the Sheriff did not move a muscle, though after a moment he answered
"Oh, I don't know as I give a damn . . .!" Which reply, to say the
least, was somewhat disconcerting to the men who had surrounded him and
were eyeing him threateningly.
"No talk--we want Johnson," insisted Trinidad, hotly.
"We want Johnson," echoed the crowd in low, tense voices, their fists
And still Rance did not waver, but calmly puffing sway at his long,
black cigar he looked blankly into space. Presently a voice outside
calling, "Boys!" sounded throughout the room and brought him back to
actuality. He sat straight up in his chair while Nick, shifting uneasily
about on his feet, muttered:
"Why, that's Ashby!"
"Oh, if--" began the Sheriff and stopped. The next instant the Wells
Fargo Agent, a cool, triumphant look on his face, stood framed in the
doorway. With a hasty movement towards him Rance asked tensely: "Did you
get him?"
The answer came back, almost before the question was asked:
"Yes--we've got him."
"Not Johnson?" demanded Sonora, truculently.
"Yes, Johnson," affirmed the Wells Fargo Agent with a hard laugh, his
eyes the while upon Handsome, who, unaided, was lifting a heavy cask to
a bench nearby.
"Not alive?" questioned Trinidad, unwilling to trust his own ears.
"You bet!" was Ashby's sententious confirmation, at which pandemonium
broke loose, Nick alone appearing dejected and morose-looking. For his
love and devotion to the Girl were too genuine to permit of his taking
any part whatsoever in what he believed was opposed to her happiness. On
the other hand, Rance, as may be inferred, was inwardly rejoicing,
though when he perceived that Nick was eyeing him steadily he was
careful to lower his eyes lest the little barkeeper should see the
triumph shining beneath them. And, finally, unable to bear Nick's
scrutiny any longer, he explained with a feeble attempt at self-defence:
"Well, I didn't do it, Nick, I didn't do it." But a moment later, his
face hard and set, he added: "Now he be damned! There's an end of
The words were hardly out of his mouth, however, than Johnson, his arms
bound, followed by the Deputy, strode into the room with the courage of
one who has long faced death, and stood before the men who glared at him
with fire in their eyes and murder in their hearts.
"How do you do, Mr. Johnson. I think, Mr. Johnson, five minutes will do
for you." Rance gave to the words a peculiar accent and inflection, but
this caused the prisoner to look even more composed and calm than
before; he returned crisply:
"I think so."
"So this is the gentleman the Girl loves?" Sonora's face wore a cruel
grin as he stood with arms folded leering at the prisoner.
The biting humour of the thought appealed to Rance, and he smiled grimly
to himself.
"That's the gentleman"--he was saying when a voice outside broke in upon
his words with:
"Nick! Boys! Boys!"
"It's the Girl!" cried Nick in dismay, at the same time rushing over to
the door to intercept her; while Ashby, desirous of preventing any
communication between the Girl and the prisoner took up a position
between them--unnecessary precautions, since the Girl had no intention
of re-entering the room, but wished merely to say that she had forgotten
that it was recess and that the boys might have one drink.
At the sound of her voice Johnson paled. He listened to her retreating
steps, then turning towards Nick he asked him to lock the door.
"Why, the devil . . .!" objected the Sheriff, angrily.
"Please," urged the prisoner with such a look of entreaty in his eyes
that Nick could not find it in his heart to deny him, and went forthwith
to the door and locked it.
"Why, you--" began Sonora with a hurried movement towards the prisoner.
"You keep out of this, Sonora," enjoined the Sheriff, coming forward to
take a hand in the proceedings. "I handle the rope--pick the tree . . ."
"Then hurry . . ." said Sonora, impatiently, while Trinidad interposed
with his usual, "You bet!"
"One moment," said the prisoner as the miners started to go out; and,
strange to relate, the Sheriff ordered the men to halt. Turning once
more to the prisoner, he said:
"Be quick--what is it?"
"It is true," began the unfortunate road agent in an even, unemotional
voice, "that I love the Girl."
At these words Rance's arms flew up threateningly, while a mocking smile
sprang to his lips.
"Well, you won't in a minute," he reminded him grimly.
The taunt brought no change of expression to the prisoner's face or
change of tone in his voice as he went on to say that he did not care
what they did to him; that he was prepared for anything; and that every
man who travelled the path that he did faced death every day for a drink
of water or ten minutes' sleep, concluding calmly:
"You've got me and I wouldn't care but for the Girl."
"You've got just three minutes!" A shade almost of contempt was in
Sonora's exclamation.
"Yes . . .!" blazed Trinidad.
There was an impressive silence; then in a voice that trembled strangely
between pride and humility Johnson continued:
"I don't want her to know my end. Why, that would be an awful thought
for her to go on with all her life--that I died out there--near at hand.
Why, boys, she couldn't stay here after that--she couldn't . . ."
"That's understood," replied Rance, succinctly.
"I'd like her to think," went on the prisoner, with difficulty choking
back the tears, "that I got away clear and went East and changed my way
of living. So you just drag me a good ways from here before you--" He
stopped abruptly and began to swallow nervously. When he spoke again it
was with a perceptible change of manner. "And when I don't write and she
never hears why she will say, 'he's forgotten me,' and that will be
about enough for her to remember, because she loved me before she knew
what I was--and you can't change love in a minute."
All the while Johnson had been speaking the Sheriff's jealousy had been
growing steadily until, finally, turning upon the other with a
succession of oaths he struck him a fierce blow in the face.
"I don't blame you," returned the prisoner without a trace of malice in
his voice. "Strike me again--strike me--one death is not enough for me.
Damn me--I wish you could . . . Oh, why couldn't I have let her pass!
I'm sorry I came her way--but it's too late now, it's too late . . ."
Rance, not in the least affected by what the prisoner had been saying,
asked if that was his last word.
Johnson nodded.
Trinidad, simultaneously with his nod, snapped his finger, indicating
that the prisoner's time was up.
"Dep!" called the Sheriff, sharply.
The Deputy came forward and took his prisoner in charge.
"Good-bye, sir!" said Nick, who was visibly affected.
"Good-bye!" returned the prisoner, briefly. "You tell the Girl--no, come
to think of it, Nick, don't say anything . . ."
"Come on, you!" ordered Happy.
Whereupon with a shout and an imprecation the men removed en masse to
the door.
"Boys," intervened Nick at this juncture, rushing into their midst,
"when Alliger was hanged Rance let 'im see his sweetheart. I think,
considerin' as how she ain't goin' to see no more o' Mr. Johnson here,
an' knowin' the Girl's feelin's--well, I think she ought to have a
chance to--"
Nick was not allowed to finish, for instantly the men were up in arms
raising a most vigorous objection to his proposal; but, notwithstanding,
Nick, evidently bent upon calling the Girl, started for the door.
"No," objected Rance, obstinately.
The road agent took a step forward and, turning upon the Sheriff with a
desperately hopeless expression upon his face, he said:
"Jack Rance, there were two of us--I've had my chance. Inside of ten
minutes I'll be dead and it will be all your way. Couldn't you let me--"
He paused, and ended almost piteously with:
"Oh, I thought I'd have the courage not to ask, but, Oh, couldn't you
let me--couldn't you--"
Once more Nick intervened by shrewdly prevaricating:
"Here's the Girl, boys!"
But this ruse of Nick's met with no greater success than his previous
efforts, for Rance, putting his foot down heavily upon the stove, voiced
a vigorous protest.
"All right," said the prisoner, resignedly. Nevertheless, his face
reflected his disappointment. Turning now to Nick he thanked him for his
efforts in his behalf.
"You must excuse Rance," remarked the little barkeeper with a
significant look at the Sheriff, "for bein' so small a man as to deny
the usual courtesies, but he ain't quite himself."
Weary of their cavilling, for he believed that in the end the Sheriff
would carry his point, and determined to go before his courage failed
him, Johnson made a movement towards the door. Speaking bravely, though
his voice trembled, he said:
"Come, boys--come."
But, odd as it may seem, Nick's words had taken root.
"Wait a minute," Rance temporised.
The prisoner halted.
"I don't know that I'm so small a man as to deny the usual courtesies,
since you put it that way," continued Rance. "I always have extended
them. But we'll hear what you have to say--that's our protection. And it
might interest some of us to hear what the Girl will have to say to you,
Mr. Johnson--after a week in her cabin there may be more to know than--"
Fire leapt to Johnson's eyes; he cried hoarsely--
"Rance, you don't know what you're sayin'," resented Nick, casting hard
looks at him; while Sonora put a heavy hand upon the Sheriff and
threatened him with:
"Now, Rance, you stop that!"
"We'll hear every word he has to say," insisted the Sheriff, doggedly.
"You bet!" affirmed Trinidad.
"Nick! Nick!" called the Girl once more, and while the little barkeeper
went over to admit her the Wells Fargo Agent took his leave, calling
back after him:
"Well, boys, you've got him safe--I can't wait--I'm off!"
"Dep, untie the prisoner! Boys, circle round the bar! Trin, put a man at
that door! And Sonora, put a couple of men at those windows!" And so
swift were the men in carrying out his instructions, that even as he
spoke, everyone was at his post, the Sheriff himself and Sonora
remaining unseen but on guard at the doors, while the prisoner, edging
up close to the door, was not in evidence when the Girl entered.
"You can think of something to tell her--lie to her," had been the
Sheriff's parting suggestion.
"I'll let her think I risked coming back to see her again," had replied
the prisoner, his throat trembling.
"She won't know it's for the last time--we'll be there," had come
warningly from the Sheriff as he pointed to the door that led to the
* * * * * *
"Why, what have you got the door barred for?" asked the Girl as she came
into the room; and then without waiting for an answer: "Why, where are
the boys?"
"Well, you see, the boys--the boys has--has--" began Nick confusedly and
"The boys--" There was a question in the Girl's voice.
"Has gone."
"Gone where?"
"Why, to the Palmetter," came out feebly from Nick; and then with a
sudden change of manner, he added: "Oh, say, Girl, I likes you!" And
here he laid his hand affectionately upon her shoulder. "You've been my
religion--the bar an' you. Why, you don't never want to leave us--why,
I'd drop dead for you."
"Nick, you're very nice to--" began the Girl, gratefully, and stopped,
for at that instant a gentle tap came upon the door. Turning swiftly,
she saw Johnson coming towards her.
"Girl!" he cried in an agony of joy, and held out his arms to receive
"You? You?" she admonished softly.
"Don't say a word," he whispered hurriedly.
"You shouldn't have come back," she said with knitted brow.
"I had to--to say good-bye once more." And his voice was so filled with
tenderness that she readily forgave him for the indiscretion.
"It's all right, it's all right," murmured Nick, his hand still on the
door, which he had taken the precaution to bolt after the Girl had
passed through it.
There was a moment's silence; then, going over to the windows, the Girl
pulled down the curtains.
"The boys are good for quite a little bit," she said as she came back.
"Don't git nervous--I'll give you warnin' . . ."
Nick, unwilling to witness the heartrending scene which he foresaw would
follow, noiselessly withdrew into the bar-room, leaving the prisoner
alone with the Girl.
"Don't be afraid, my Girl," said Johnson, softly.
But the Girl's one thought, after her first gladness, was of his safety:
"But you can't git away now without bein' seen?"
"Yes, there's another way out of Cloudy,--and I'm going to take it."
The grimness of his meaning was lost on the Girl, who answered urgently:
"Then go--go! Don't wait, go now!"
Johnson smiled a sad little smile:
"But remember that I'm sorry for the past, and--and don't forget me," he
said, with an odd break in his voice,--so odd that it roused the Girl
into startled wonderment.
"Forget you? Why, Dick . . .!"
"I mean, till we meet again," he reassured her hastily.
The Girl heaved a troubled sigh. Her fears for him were still on edge.
Then, with a nervous start, she asked:
"Did he call?"
"No. He'll--he'll warn me," Johnson told her unsteadily.
"Oh, every day that dawns I'll wait for a message from you. I'll feel
you wanting me. Every night I'll say to-morrow, and every to-morrow I'll
say to-day . . . Oh, you've changed the whole world for me! I can't let
you go, but I must, Dick, I must . . ." And bursting into tears, she
buried her face on his shoulder, repeating piteously, between shaking
sobs, "Oh, I'm so afraid,--I'm so afraid!"
He held her close, the strength of his arms around her reassuring her
silently. "Why, you mustn't be afraid," he said in tones that were
almost steady. "In a few minutes I'll be quite free, and then--"
"An' you'll make a little home for me when you're free--soon--will you?"
asked the Girl, with a wan smile dawning on her trembling lips. She was
drying her eyes and did not see how the light died out of the man's
face, as he gazed down at her hungrily, hopelessly. This time he could
not trust himself to speak, but merely nodded "yes."
"A strange feelin' has come over me," went on the Girl, brokenly, "a
feelin' to hold you--to cling to you--not to let you go. Somethin' in my
heart keeps sayin', 'Don't let him go!'"
Johnson felt his knees sagging oddly beneath him. The Girl's sure
instinct of danger, the piteousness of their case, were making a coward
of him. He tore himself from her in a panic desire to go while he still
had the manhood to play his part to the end; then suddenly broke down
completely, and with his face buried in his hands, sobbed aloud.
"Why, Girl," he managed to say, brokenly, "it's been worth--the whole of
life just--to know you. You've brought me nearer Heaven,--you, to love a
man like me!"
"Don't say that, Oh, don't say that," she hastened to say with a great
tenderness in her voice. "S'pose you was only a road agent an' I was a
saloon keeper. We both came out o' nothin' an' we met, but through
lovin' we're goin' to reach things now--that's us. We had to be lifted
up like this to be saved."
Johnson tried to speak, but the words would not come. It was, therefore,
with a feeling of relief that, presently, he heard Nick at the door,
saying, "It's all clear now."
Johnson wheeled round, but Nick had flown. Turning once more to the
Girl, he said with trembling lips:
The Girl's face wore a puzzled look, and she told him that he acted as
if they were never going to meet again.
"An' we are, we are, ain't we?" she questioned eagerly.
A faint little smile hovered about the corners of the road agent's mouth
when presently he answered:
"Why, surely we are . . ."
His words cleared her face instantly.
"I want you to think o' me here jest waitin'," she said. "You was the
first--there'll never be anyone but you. Why, you're the man I'd want
sittin' across the table if there was a little kid like I was playin'
under it. I can't say no more 'n that. Only you--you will--you must get
through safe an' come back--an' well, think o' me here jest waitin',
jest waitin', waitin' . . ."
At these words a tightness gripped the man's throat, and in the silence
that followed the tears ran steadily down his cheeks.
"Oh, Girl, Girl," at last he said, "that first night I went to your
cabin I saw you kneeling, praying. Say that in your heart again for me
now. Perhaps I believe it--perhaps I don't . . . I hope I do--I want
to--but say it, say it, Girl, just for the luck of it--say it . . ."
Quickly the Girl crossed herself, and while she sent a silent prayer to
Heaven Johnson knelt at her knees, his head bowed low.
"God bless you," he murmured when the prayer was finished and arose to
his feet; then bending over her hand he touched it softly with his lips.
"Good-bye!" he said chokingly and started for the door.
"Good-bye!" came slowly in return, her face no less moist than his.
Presently she murmured like one in a dream: "Dick, Dick!"
The man hastened his steps and did not turn. At the door, however, he
burst out in an agony of despair: "Girl! Girl . . .!"
But when the Girl looked up he had reached the open. She listened a
moment to the retreating steps, then raising her tear-stained face above
her arms, she sobbed out: "He's gone--he's gone--he's gone . . .!" She
started in pursuit of him, but half-way across the room she fell into
Nick's arms, crying out:
"He's gone, he's gone, he's gone! Dick! Dick! Dick . . .!"
Terribly affected at the sight of the Girl's sorrow, the little
barkeeper did his best to soothe her, now patting her little blonde head
as it rested upon his arm, now murmuring words of loving tenderness.
Suddenly she raised her head, and then it was that she saw for the first
time the men standing huddled together near the door. In a flash the
truth of the situation dawned upon her. With a look of indescribable
horror upon her face she turned upon Nick, turned upon them all with:
"You knew, Nick--you all knew you had 'im! You knew you had 'im an'
you're goin' to kill 'im! But you shan't--no, you shan't kill 'im--you
shan't--you shan't . . .!"
Once more she started in pursuit of her lover, but only to fall with her
face against the door, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Outside there was nothing in the enchanting scene to suggest finality.
Nature never was more prodigal of her magic beauties. The sun still
shone on the winter whiteness of the majestic mountains; the great arch
of sky was still an azure blue; the wild things still roamed the great
forest at will.
Life indeed was very beautiful.
Minutes passed and still the Girl wept.
A wonderful thing happened then--and as suddenly as it was
characteristic of these impulsive and tender-hearted men. In thinking
over their action long afterwards the Girl recalled how for an instant
she could believe neither her ears nor her eyes. With Sonora it was
credible, at least; but with Rance--it seemed wonderful to her even when
observed through the vista of many years. And yet, men like Rance more
often than not exhibit to the world the worst side of their nature. It
is only when some cataclysm of feeling bursts that their inner soul is
disclosed and joyously viewed by eyes which have long been accustomed to
judging them solely from the icy and impenetrable reserve which they
invariably wear.
And so it came about that Sonora--first of the two--went over to her
and laid an affectionate hand upon her shoulder.
"Why, Girl," he said, all the kindliness of his gentle nature flooding
his eyes, "the boys an' me ain't perhaps realised jest what Johnson
stood for you, an' hearin' what you said, an' seein' you prayin' over
the cuss--"
Rance's face lit up scornfully.
"The cuss?" he cut in, objecting to a term which is not infrequently
used affectionately.
"Yes, the cuss," repeated Sonora, all the vindictiveness gone from his
heart now. "I got an idee maybe God's back of this 'ere game."
The Girl's heart was beating fast; she was hoping against hope when, a
moment later, she asked:
"You're not goin' to pull the rope on 'im?"
"You mean I set him free," came from Rance, his tone softer, gentler
than anyone had heard it in some time.
"You set 'im free?" repeated the Girl, timidly, and not daring to meet
his gaze.
"I let him go," announced the Sheriff in spite of himself.
"You let 'im go?" questioned the Girl, still in a daze.
"That's our verdict, an' we're prepared to back it up," declared Sonora
with a smile on his weathered face, though the tears streamed down his
The Girl's face illumined with a great joy. She did not stop now to
dissipate the tears which she saw rolling down Sonora's face, as was her
wont when any of the boys were grieved or distressed, but fairly flew
out of the cabin, calling half-frantically, half-ecstatically:
"Dick! Dick! You're free! You're free! You're free . . .!"
The minutes passed and still the miners did not move. They stood with an
air of solemnity gazing silently at one another. Only too well did they
realise what was happening to them. They were inconsolable. Presently,
Sonora, all in a heap on a bench, took out some tobacco and began to
chew it as fast as his mouth would let him; Happy, going over to the
teacher's desk, picked up the bunch of berries which he had presented
her at the opening of the school session and began to fondle them; while
Trinidad, too overcome to speak, stood leaning against the door, gazing
sadly in the direction that the Girl had taken. As for Rance, after
calling to Nick to bring him a drink, he quietly brought out a pack of
cards from his pocket and, seemingly, became absorbed in a game of
A little while later, his eyes still red from weeping, Nick remarked:
"The Polka won't never be the same, boys--the Girl's gone."
The soft and velvety blackness of night was giving place to a pearly
grey, and the feathery streaks of a trembling dawn were shooting
heavenward when a man, whose head had been pillowed on a Mexican saddle,
rose from the ground in front of a tepee, made of blankets on crossed
sticks, and seated himself on an old tree-stump where he proceeded to
light a cigarette.
In the little tepee, sheltered by an overhanging rock, the Girl was
still sleeping; and the man, sitting opposite the mound of earth and
rock on which it was built, was Johnson.
A week had passed since the lovers had left Cloudy Mountain, and each
day, at the moment when the sun burst above the snow-capped mountains,
found them up and riding slowly eastward. No attempt whatever was made
at haste, but, instead, now climbing easily to the top of the passes,
now descending into the valleys, they rode slowly on, ever loathe to
leave behind them the great forests and high mountains.
Noon of each day found them always resting in some glen where the sun
made golden lacework of the branches over their heads; while at the
approach of night when the great orb was no longer to be seen through
the tree-tops and twilight was fast settling upon the woods, they would
halt near a pool of a dancing brook where, with the relish of fatigue,
they would partake of their rations; and then, when the silences came
on, Johnson would proceed to put up with loving skill the Girl's rude
quarters and, stretching himself out on a gentle slope, covered with
pine needles matted close together, the man and the Girl would go to
sleep listening to the music of the stream as it gurgled and dashed
along, foaming and leaping, over the rocks and beneath the little
patches of snow forgotten by the sun. And to these two, whether in the
depths of the vast forest or, as now, at the edge of the merciless
desert, stretching away like a world without end, their environment
seemed nothing less than a paradise.
There were moments, however, in the long days, which could be devoted to
reflection; and often Johnson pondered over the strange fate that had
brought him under the influence--an influence which held him now and
which he earnestly prayed would continue to hold him--and into close
relationship with a character so different from his own. A contemplation
of his past life was wholly unnecessary, for the realisation had come to
him that it was her personality alone that had awakened his dormant
sense of what was right and what was wrong, and changed the course of
his life. That his future was full of possibilities, evil as well as
good, he was only too well aware; nevertheless, his faith in himself was
that of a strong man whose powers of resistance, in this case, would be
immeasurably strengthened by constant association with a stronger
It was while he was in the midst of these thoughts that the Girl,
without letting him see her, quietly drew the blankets of the tepee a
little to one side and peered out at him. She, too, had not been without
her moments of meditation. Not that she regretted for an instant that
she had committed herself to him irrevocably but, rather, because she
feared lest he should find it difficult to detach himself, soul and
body, from the adventurous life he had been leading. Such painful
communings, however, were rare and quickly dismissed as unworthy of her;
and now as she looked at him with faith and joy in her eyes, it seemed
to her that never before had she seen him appear so resolute and strong,
and she rejoiced that he belonged to her. At the thought a blush spread
over her features, and it was not until she had drawn the blankets back
into their place that she called from behind them:
"Are you awake, Dick?"
At the sound of her voice the man quickly arose and, going over to the
tepee, he parted the blankets and held them open. And even as she passed
out the greyness of dawn was replaced by silver, and silver by pink
tints which lighted up the pale green of the sage brush, the dwarf
shrubs and clumps of Buffalo grass around them as well as the darker
green of the pines and hemlocks of the foothills in the near distance.
"Another day, Girl," he said softly. "See, the dawn is breaking!"
For some moments they stood side by side in silence, the man thinking of
the future, the woman serenely happy and lost in admiration of the calm
beauty of the scene which, in one direction, at least, differed greatly
from anything that she had ever beheld. Every night previous to the one
just passed they had encamped in the great forests; but now they looked
upon a vast expanse of level plain which to the north and east,
stretched trackless and unbroken by mountain or ravine to an
infinitude--the boundless prairies soon to be mellowed and turned to a
golden brown by the shafts of a burning sun already just below the edge
of an horizon aglow with opaline tints.
The Girl had ever been a lover of nature. All her life the mystery and
silences of the high mountains had appealed to her soul; but never until
now had she realised the marvellous beauty and glory of the great
plains. And yet, though her eyes shone with the wonder of it all, there
was an unmistakably sad and reminiscent note in the voice that presently
"Another day."
After a while, and as if under the spell of some unseen power, she
slowly turned and faced the west where she gazed long and earnestly at
the panorama of the snow-capped peaks, rising range after range, all
tipped with dazzling light.
"Oh, Dick, look back!" she cried in distress. "The foothills are growin'
fainter." She paused, but suddenly with a far-off look in her eyes she
went on: "Every dawn--every dawn they'll be farther away. Some night
when I'm goin' to sleep I'll turn an' they won't be there--red an'
shinin'." Again she paused as if almost overwhelmed with emotion, saying
at length with a deep sigh: "Oh, that was indeed the promised land!"
Johnson was greatly moved. It was some time before he found his voice.
At length he chided her softly:
"We must always look ahead, Girl--not backwards. The promised land is
always ahead."
It was perhaps strange that the Girl failed to see the new light--the
light that reflected his desire for a cleaner life and an honoured place
in another community with her ever at his side--the hope and faith in
his eyes as he spoke; but still in that sad, reminiscent mood, with her
eyes fixed on the dim distances, she failed to see it, though she
replied in a voice of resignation:
"Always ahead--yes, it must be." And then again with tears in her eyes:
"But, Dick, all the people there in Cloudy, how far off they seem
now--like shadows movin' in a dream--like shadows I've dreamt of. Only a
few days ago I clasped their hands--I seen their faces--their dear
faces--I--" She broke off; then while the tears streamed down her
cheeks: "An' now they're fadin'--in this little while I've lost
'em--lost 'em."
"But through you all my old life has faded away . . . I have lost
that . . ." And so saying he stretched out his arms towards her; but
very gently she waved him back with a murmured:
"Not yet!"
For a little while longer her gaze remained on the mountains in the
west. The mist was still over her eyes when she turned again and saw
that the sun was clearing the horizon in opulent splendour.
"See," she cried with a quick transition of mood, "the sun has risen in
the East--far away--fair an' clear!"
Again Johnson held out his arms to her.
"A new day--a new life--trust me, Girl."
In silence she slipped one hand into his; then she bowed her head and
repeated solemnly:
"Yes--a new life."
Suddenly she drew a little away from him and faced the west again.
Clinging tightly now to him with one hand, and the other raised high
above her head, she cried in a voice that was fraught with such
passionate longing that the man felt himself stirred to the very depths
of his emotions:
"Oh, my mountains, I'm leavin' you! Oh, my California--my lovely
West--my Sierras, I'm leavin' you!" She ended with a sob; but the next
moment throwing herself into Johnson's arms she snuggled there,
murmuring lovingly: "Oh, my home!"
A little while later, happy in their love and fearlessly eager to meet
the trials of the days to come in a new country, they had mounted their
mustangs and were riding eastward.
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Archive | May 18, 2012
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh Host a Diamond Jubilee Luncheon for Sovereign Monarchs From Around the World (VIDEOS)
On May 18, 2012, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh hosted a luncheon, held at Windsor Castle for the sovereign monarchs from around the world.
Here is the guest list:
1. Their Imperial Majesties Emperor Akihito and Empress Michiko of Japan
2. Their Majesties King Albert II and Queen Paola of Belgium
3. Her Majesty Queen Margrethe II and Prince Henrik of Denmark
4. Their Majesties King Constantine II and Queen Anne-Marie of Greece
5. His Serene Highness Prince Hans Adam II of Liechtenstein
6. Their Royal Highnesses Grand Duke Henri and Grand Duchess Maria Teresa of Luxembourg
7. Their Serene Highnesses Prince Albert II and Princess Charlene of Monaco
8. Her Majesty Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands
9. Their Majesties King Harald V and Queen Sonja of Norway
10. Their Royal Highnesses Crown Prince Alexander and Crown Princess Katherine of Serbia
11. Their Majesties King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia of Sweden
12. Their Majesties King Abdullah and Queen Rania of Jordan
13. Her Royal Highness Princess Lalla Meryem of Morocco
14. His Majesty King Hamad bin Issa al-Khalifa and Her Royal Highness Sheikha Sabika bint Ibrahim al-Khalifa of Bahrain
15. His Royal Highness Prince Mohammed Bin Nawaf Bin Abdulaziz Al Saud of Saudi Arabia
16. His Highness Sheikh Nasser Mohamed Al-Jaber Al-Sabah of Kuwait
17. His Highness Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani and Sheika Mozah bint Nasser Al-Missned of Qatar
18. His Majesty Seri Paduka Baginda Yang di-Pertuan Agong of Malaysia
19. Their Royal Highnesses Crown Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn andPrincess Srirasm of Thailand
20. The Sultan of Brunei and Her Majesty Raja Isteri Pengiran Anak Hajah Saleha of Brunei
21. His Majesty King Simeon II of Bulgaria
22. Their Majesties King Michael I and Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Margarita of Romania
23. His Majesty King Tupou VI of Tonga
24. Their Majesties King Letsie III and Queen Masenate Mohato Seeiso of Lesotho
25. His Majesty King Mswati III of Swaziland
26. Members of the British royal family
Source: and Telegraph
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"The Crusade"
01. Ignition
02. Detonation
03. Entrance of the Conflagration
04. Anthem (We Are The Fire)
05. Unrepentant
06. And Sadness Will Sear
07. Becoming the Dragon
08. To The Rats
09. This World Cna't Tear Us Apart
10. Tread the Floods
11. Contempt Breeds Contamination
12. The Rising
13. The Crusade
RATING: 8.5/10
TRIVIUM blasts back onto the scene with a third effort that is one of the best metal releases of 2006 and quite possibly the heavy music album of the year. "The Crusade" sounds like the record that METALLICA could have made during the height of its early years, and while some may be uncomfortable with frontman Matt Heafy's occasionally too-dead-on James Hetfield impersonation, his sheer energy, bravado and fire, coupled with the band's relentless onslaught of blistering leads, amazingly technical yet memorable riffing, and dizzying rhythms captures not just the best of METALLICA, but MEGADETH, TESTAMENT and a number of other bands from the glory days of speed and thrash.
But TRIVIUM isn't just a throwback: the band has a modern edge throughout their material, adding unexpected flourishes like the softer section in the middle of "Ignition" or even that song's lyrics, which tackle subjects like homophobia and warmongering leaders in a way that Eighties bands might not have touched. Meanwhile, songs like "This World Can't Tear Us Apart" exhibit a commercial edge while retaining the intricate and heavy guitarwork that gives the band its identity.
The best thing about TRIVIUM is the way the band balances its influences and its homages. While old-school speed/thrash is the cornerstone here, there are touches of European prog metal and even the modern and mainstream touches we mentioned earlier. Yet nothing sounds like a blatant ripoff, or a dated tribute, and the band's appeal can easily reach fans for whom its sound might be an entirely new experience. Best of all is the fearlessness and confidence shown throughout the album; unlike so much American hard rock of the last few years, whether it be nu-metal or emo, there is no woe-is-me, Mommy-help-me whining in TRIVIUM's sound. These guys are loudly and proudly doing what they love. Even despite its unnecessarily obvious title, "Anthem (We Are The Fire)" gets the fists pumping.
Some of the best tracks include the opening one-two punch of "Ignition"
and "Detonation", the slow-burning build of "Unrepentant" and "The Rising" and the blazing yet still catchy "Tread The Floods". And for anyone complaining about the quality of modern metal guitarwork, just check out the closing title instrumental. It's a virtual symphony of guitar styles, all meshing together in the kind of epic finale that used to be the hallmark of so many metal albums. This is one "Crusade" that every metal fan will want to join.
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Latest news from the 2014 Geneva Motor Show
Kepler spacecraft discovers tiniest solar system yet found
January 22, 2012
Artist's rendering of KOI-961 (Image: NASA)
Artist's rendering of KOI-961 (Image: NASA)
Image Gallery (6 images)
Astronomers using data from NASA's Kepler mission have discovered a tiny solar system consisting of a single red dwarf star, known as KOI-961 and three planets which are 0.78, 0.73 and 0.57 times the radius of Earth.
Comparison of KOI-961 and its planets to Jupiter and its moons (Image: NASA)
To find the size of the planets, data on a well-studied twin star to KOI-961 (known as Barnard's Star) was used. Once they were able to estimate the size of KOI-961 - or Kepler Object of Interest 961 - astronomers were able to determine how big the planets must be to have caused the observed dips in starlight. In addition to the Kepler observations and ground-based telescope measurements, the team used modeling techniques to confirm the discoveries.
The smallest of the three planets is approximately the size of Mars with a surface temperature of around 400-degrees Celsius (750-degrees Fahrenheit).
The planets are thought to be rocky - like Earth - but orbit much closer to their star making them too hot to hold liquid water, making them uninhabitable ... at least for us.
Although over 700 planets have been discovered and confirmed to orbit other stars - known as exoplanets - only a handful are known to be rocky.
With the planets orbiting a red dwarf, the most common type of star in the Milky Way, the finding suggests that our galaxy may be teaming with other rocky planets, some falling within the habitable region around those stars meaning the temperature may be just right for producing liquid water.
The Kepler spacecraft is an American space observatory that serves as the space-based portion of NASA's Kepler Mission. Kepler searches for planets by continuously monitoring the position of more than 150,000 stars and looking for changes in their luminosity levels caused by transiting planets. The crossing, or transiting phenomenon is known as "astronomical transit" and describes the process of one celestial body passing in front of another, partially obscuring a small part of it. The occurrence is not dissimilar to a solar eclipse, although that phenomenon is known as "solar transit."
Discovering KOI-961 and its orbiting planets are the latest amongst the Kepler mission's many accomplishments. In December 2011, scientists announced the mission's first confirmed planet in the habitable zone. The planet, which is 2.4 times the size of earth, is now called Kepler-22b. Later that same month, the team discovered the first extrasolar Earth-size planets. These planets are known as Kepler-20e and Kepler 20-f.
Source: NASA
But doesn't a red dwarf burn less hot. How about the far side of the last third planet. Also, we have mars right next to us. The sunny side can make tremendous amounts of solar energy, while living areas can be underground, with green plants and water system.
Dawar Saify
23rd January, 2012 @ 05:10 am PST
Tiny solar system. hehe that is an oxymoron if I ever heard one.
Paul Anthony
30th January, 2012 @ 02:19 pm PST
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Alright, is probably the right file. Please try using Wordpad instead of Notepad, since Wordpad supports Unix line-endings (that's what's causing the squares in Notepad).
You are using the latest Safari 3.1, right? It only works in that version (if it works at all on Windows).
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It has been nearly two weeks since a La Crescent Montessori Academy teacher was arrested on suspicion of molesting several students.
Jason Barker, 37, faces six counts of criminal sexual conduct.
He has not been convicted of any crime.
According to the criminal complaint, the school only became aware of the allegations after five students confronted Barker.
So what can be done to empower more students to speak up and help stop instances of abuse from happening?
In many cases of child sexual abuse, many kids never choose to come forward. In fact, research shows about less than 30 percent of children ever say anything.
Part of the solution for getting child sexual abuse to stop relies on the children being educated themselves, but the other big component relies on the adults.
“We need to educate and empower children on what to do,” said Jeanne Meyer of the Family and Children’s Center in La Crosse.
Meyer said for children being sexually abused, it’s oftentimes difficult for them to tell someone simply because of who is abusing them.
“The child knows that person and that always brings very difficult circumstances, because they generally like that person or they love that person, and they don't want that person to necessarily get in trouble, but they want the abuse to stop,” said Meyer.
To add to the problem, Meyer said children oftentimes don't know what sexual abuse is. That makes them a perfect target for predators.
So to prevent this from happening, Meyer said, adults, educators and parents should step in to teach kids.
“Talk to them when they're very young,” said Meyer. “Teach them what their body parts are, just like you teach them an eye or a nose or an arm. We talk about the other body parts, and we help children understand that no one should be touching them in places that is not OK.”
Alyson Holmay at the Parenting Place said while educating kids is a big step in prevention, adults have an even bigger role.
“We're adults, and it’s important to take that pressure off of children, because as adults we're meant to protect them,” said Holmay.
She said adults should be on the lookout for anything that doesn't look or seem right.
“Is there an adult in their agency that's really trying to spend a lot of alone time with children?” Holmay used as an example. “Are they always volunteering to take the kids to the bathroom or to take the one-on-one tutoring?”
The examples sound pretty harmless, but with training, Holmay said, adults will be able to decide what is appropriate and what is not.
Experts also suggest adults should remember child sexual abuse is something that can happen to anyone or any child, and if a child does say something is wrong, take it seriously.
For more information on what signs to look for or how to talk to children head to the Parenting Place's website or the Family and Children's Center website .
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Introduction to Climate Change
3. Customary International Law and Transboundary Air Pollution
The Trail Smelter dispute is perhaps the most famous international environmental dispute. It involved transboundary SO2 emissions emanating from a smelter located in British Columbia just a few miles north of the U.S. Canada border. The facts of the case were presented by the Arbitral panel's 1941 final decision.
In 1896, a smelter was started under American auspices near the locality known as Trail, B.C. In 1906, the Consolidated Mining and Smelting Company of Canada, Limited, obtained a charter of incorporation from the Canadian authorities, and that company acquired the smelter plant at Trail as it then existed. Since that time, the Canadian company, without interruption, has operated the Smelter, and from time to time has greatly added to the plant until it has become one of the best and largest equipped smelting plants on the American continent. In 1925 and 1927, two stacks of the plant were erected to 409 feet in height and the Smelter greatly increased its daily smelting of zinc and lead ores. This increased production resulted in more sulphur dioxide fumes and higher concentrations being emitted into the air. In 1916, about 5,000 tons of sulphur per month were emitted; in 1924, about 4,700 tons; in 1926, about 9,000 tons-an amount which rose near to 10,000 tons per month in 1930. In other words, about 300-350 tons of sulphur were being emitted daily in 1930. (It is to be noted that one ton of sulphur is substantially the equivalent of two tons of sulphur dioxide or SO2.)
This plume of sulfur dioxide traveled across the U.S-Canada border and damaged the property of apple growers in Washington state. For a variety of reasons (discussed below), the Washington State residents could not bring a lawsuit either in Washington State or in British Colombia, so they asked the U.S. government to intervene on their behalf in 1927. This started a long and involved process that would take thirteen years.
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“Wait, who’s ink are you using?” [Humor]
who's ink
Ha ha, this made me laugh out loud. What could be going through his head after this? Probably a lot of confusing thoughts.
[via Reddit]
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1 comment
1. sl0j0n
“Wait, who’s ink are you using? Ours or theirs?”
I know this is funny, at first, but think about it.
Sure, people don’t always get the “its digital, not literal” thing.
But do these people vote?
Do they hold ‘political’ views?
This is the reason the U.S. is in such ‘sheep dip’.
Some of the same people that ‘don’t get it’ that U.S. spends $200 MILLION it doesn’t have, EVERY HOUR!
This why so many can’t get their heads around what’s happening, or what’s needed to fix it.
Well, we had a good run anyway, right?
When the ‘government’ defaults, later this year, or next, you’ll know why.
Have a GREAT day, neighbors!
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NAME return::thence - return values from up above SYNOPSIS "return" has a seemed inconsistency when used within functions that take a code block, such as "try" below. use Try::Tiny; # will return 1 sub foo { try { return(2) }; return 1; } This module introduces a "return::thence" keyword which returns from where you really mean: # will return 2 sub bar { try { return::thence(2) }; return 1; } DESCRIPTION This module needs to perform a bit of guesswork to figure out where you want to return from. Looking at the call stack, it returns from the first named function (see Sub::Name, Sub::Identify) that was defined in the same file and same package as its immediate caller. "return::thence" doesn't especially differentiate between list and scalar context. sub baz { return::thence('a' .. 'z') }; my @baz = baz() # 'a' .. 'z' my $baz = baz(); # 'z' If you need more power, use Scope::Upper which is what this module uses under the hood. BUGS Please report any bugs to . SEE ALSO Scope::Upper. AUTHOR Toby Inkster . COPYRIGHT AND LICENCE This software is copyright (c) 2012 by Toby Inkster. This is free software; you can redistribute it and/or modify it under the same terms as the Perl 5 programming language system itself. DISCLAIMER OF WARRANTIES THIS PACKAGE IS PROVIDED "AS IS" AND WITHOUT ANY EXPRESS OR IMPLIED WARRANTIES, INCLUDING, WITHOUT LIMITATION, THE IMPLIED WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY AND FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
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Patience | January 30, 2010 Order Info
Scripture: Genesis 6:3; Exodus 34:6; Mark 4:26-29; Roman 15;5; Ephesians 4:1,2; James 1:2-4.
Imagine waiting 11 days under debris holding on to the hope that someone would eventually discover you alive. Just when authorities announced that efforts would be moving from an emphasis on search and rescue to relief and rebuilding, a 24 year-old Haitian was pulled from the rubble of what was once the hotel where he worked. Mr. Exantus told his rescuers that another four people were trapped with him but that they had stopped moving a couple of days earlier. Did patient perseverance make the difference?
Using Wikipedia’s definition of patience, certainly many, many people in Haiti endured under difficult circumstances. They persevered in the face of delay or provocation without becoming annoyed or upset exhibiting forbearance under strain, especially when faced with longer-term difficulties.1
On January 20th there were over 300 patients and their families camping outside the Hospital Adventiste d’Haiti waiting for life-saving surgery. They had to be patient in order to be treated by the volunteer medical staffworking in out-door operating rooms. To survive, many would require amputation of one or more arms or legs.2
By contrast via various news media we have also been able to observe impatient people. While trucks carrying much sought after food and water supplies arrived at relief stations, people moved out of an orderly line and began pushing and shoving, trampling on the weak. In similar scenes this week we’ve viewed chaos as citizens from other countries are storming their Embassy to get the documentation needed to exit Haiti. Anger is often a consequence of impatience.
Our lesson this week challenges us to develop patience, another fruit of the Spirit, and suggests that we can begin by focusing less on self and more on God’s patience with us.
What if others could observe how you behave in stressful situations? When a flight you are scheduled to board is cancelled or delayed, which of the two reactions do you usually exhibit? When stopped in traffic with no knowledge of what lies ahead, are you apt to be patient or impatient? Maybe at home something isn’t getting done as soon as you perceive it should be completed are you more likely to be tolerant or intolerant, patient or impatient?
In the Christian religion, patience is one of the most valuable virtues of life because it makes us better people. The ability to tolerate delay implies self control and forbearance as opposed to wanting what we want when we want it. Patience then is not only a virtue but a necessity for a happy existence.
We’ll never know for sure the extent that patience and faith have played in sustaining the people of Haiti. We have learned from reporters at the scene of the devastation how amazed they have been to find Christian groups worshipping in their make-shift camps singing hymns of praise–a marvelous testimony to their love of God and God’s love for them in the most trying of circumstances.
1. Wikipedia
How to Order Sharing Scripture
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Design Template by Bikingtoronto
« Monday Afternoon Commute - Mandatory | Main | Fort Myer gate closure will remove bike commuting route for S. Arlington »
All this talk about "educating" drivers/cyclists on how to use the L-Street bike lane concerns me. Parking is one thing, but actual flow through the area is another. A design shouldn't need explaining, it should be pretty darn easy to decipher. I haven't biked through the area yet, but I might have to make a trip downtown.
I drove on L for the first time a couple of weeks ago and had basically no idea what to do when the time came to turn left. It's a human interface disaster.
More specifically, in the parts where the left turn lane has no parking or standing during the work week, how do you make the left when there are cars in the left turn lane? There's still a solid line for the bike lane, so it seems like the left hook is actually mandatory?
Im pretty sure the first time I drove onto an expressway, I needed help figuring out what to do (I had a driving instructor with me at the time) despite having ridden on expressways with my parents for years. Similarly people get confused the first time with traffic circles, srvice lanes, etc. Given that cycle tracks are new, and most people approaching the L street track have never ridden on one quite like it before, I think some education is reasonable.
A delivery truck (between 15th and 16th) and a limo (by Hotel Quincy?) in the lane yesterday at 7:45am. The right hand turn from the lane on to the 15th street cycletrack is very hazardous on green.
I think they should protect the cycletrack fully and make it two-way, like the 15th street track. Put in protection cuts at garage entrances. Better for cyclists to just deal with cars turning through the lane mid-block or across the lane at intersections than the current high-speed merge setup coupled with cars and trucks parking in the lane.
Between the incessant parking in the lane and it's non-protected nature (waiting in the green stripe at 15th to make a right with cars speeding past on your right and on your left is ridiculously hazardous!) this cycletrack just needs a full redesign.
It's too intimidating for non-expert riders. The purpose of protected tracks is just that -- bikes can ride without the worry of being run over from behind at any speed they wish to ride. It's a safe place to ride, protected from same-direction traffic. This track fails that basic human test.
Peregrine Espresso on 14th has been delivering by bicycle ever since that location opened (two years ago?)
I hope that's not how you approached this.
I agree that the the safe methods for completing this right turn, which are to do a box turn by riding in the left turn lane and hopping into the 15th street cycletrack north of L or to merge into the right motor vehicle lane ahead of time, are not clearly spelled out to the users of this cycletrack.
What would help is having a standard for cycletracks throughout the city, so one doesn't work completely different than all the others. And this standard ought to be more protected than the current L-Street cycletrack and not require the large number of merges between the multiple modes.
This will surprise noone - really, not even me: last week I rode downtown DC (my commute is from upper NW to Bethesda) after work to meet my wife and for the first time got to use the L Street Cycle track - it was ~6 PM and sure enough a car was parked in the bike lane (19th - 20th?) and none of the drivers speeding (yes they were speeding) in the car lane would let me merge in (my right arm extended). Really, really annoying....
that route to the mall from bethesda is ugly, boring and BUMPY. there's nothing of interest and it traverses pasts the homes of SUPER SUPER rich people and their homes..until you hear the roar of the highway....
these are the same people who oppose anything that promotes social and economic justice. they are all white. they are all booooo-ring. none ride a bike for transport.
@Urban - that's exactly the mistake I made! I'm a seasoned bike commuter in DC (10k miles per year for the last couple years), and I totally screwed up that turn yesterday. I was concerned with a delivery truck blocking the lane and merging traffic from my right and didn't plan ahead and ended up stopped in the green stripe at the 15th street intersection with no way to go right or left and cars whizzing by on both sides!
I'll go out of my way to use DC bike infrastructure just on principle, but I think from now on, I'll just take the right lane on L and risk getting honked at rather than using the cycletrack. It's too hazardous to merge in and out of traffic when the track is blocked, and having to make a left turn behind a line of cars, just to pull off short on the 15th street track and do a 180 to go south is also a pretty awkward maneuver.
@Greenbelt - I don't even follow my suggestions. I turn right at whichever red light I hit and then make my way from there. Easier than merging or doing a box turn, but will sometimes put you on 16th or 14th, which aren't quite as friendly as 15th.
I love that pizza delivery rider. Unfortunately, they changed the boundaries for their delivery zones when the Dominoes on 15th closed, and now he won't come up to my house =(
I always supported them specifically because I liked that he delivered by bike.
I'm a big fan of the PA Ave and 15th St cycletracks, but haven't tried L St yet. They way people describe it, it sounds as though the best feature of a cycletrack, that it is non-expert friendly, has been lost in this case.
On the 15th St cycletrack, by contrast, I heard a fairly careful non-expert blurt out "this thing is great!" (My sister, visiting from her small town car-topia, on a CaBi).
I've taken to going a block out of my way to ride the L Street cycletrack in solidarity with the progressives. Most of it is fine. You do have to be cautious at each left turn location, every other block or so, and be especially careful at New Hampshire. There's nearly always a truck illegally parked there, and cars often turn illegally from the second lane across the cycletrack.
While frustrated, my comment should not be misconstrued: the L street track is great, and easy to follow (I had no problem on that first occasion). I did have the problem I describe, and didn't even mention at least one car making a left from the go-straight (to the right of the track) lane: but all in all, at rush hour the track is still much better than a non-track street. After all cars double park and make illegal turns all the time.
The problem with turning left to do a box turn onto 15th is that the vehicular traffic does not anticipate you suddenly moving into their lane. They see you in a cycletrack and expect you to stay put there because there is 0 chance they're thinking you may want to go right or left onto the 15th St cycletrack. I've tried this method before and it's asking for trouble.
I work about a block and a half north of this location and have ran into this problem several times. Often I move to the left or right of the track and wait for the red light because going either of the other two directions is begging for a collision (nevermind the people who try to turn right from the left turn lane over the cycletrack).
Going to 14th for me would be useless because I'm north of 15th & L so I would have to ride up 14th, around the circle (which no one respects the painted bike lanes) and then back down M. 16th is an option, albeit, I get slightly nervous as people seem to think that tunnel right past M is some sort of highway entrance.
I'm with Greenbelt on this one--a two way cycletrack that huges the left side or right side of L would be ideal.
I was suggesting going from the cycletrack to holding steady in the left turn lane to turning left into the front of the southbound 15th street cycletrack lane and then heading south from there to complete your right turn. This wouldn't require any sudden movements.
"I'm north of 15th & L"
So you're turning left out of the cycletack? You've got me confused. Turning left from the left turn lane across zero lanes of traffic isn't the issue. It's turning right which requires some planning ahead or the box turn.
WABA just posted a cycletrack 101 write up where they discuss exactly what we're discussing here.
They say to merge with traffic and turn as normal, do a box turn, or cross with the pedestrian signal.
For the L-Street cycletrack, crossing with the pedestrian signal to turn right would be difficult as there isn't a safe place to wait for the pedestrian signal as Greenbelt pointed out.
Nice things about each main cycletrack in DC
1) Penn Ave - Plenty of space
2) 15th street - sheltered from traffic by a parking area.
3) L street - convenient location
Here are the problems with the main cycletracks in DC
1) Penn Ave - Light timing, esp by the Capitol.
2) 15th Street - Paving (or lack thereof)
3) L Street - being on the left side of the street.
to expound on the last one, the problem (that I've seen emerge from) being on the left is that left turning traffic (in the correct lane for that, not talking about wrong lane hooks) drifts into 'your' (the bike) space because of left side steering column. Plus, the bike space immediately next to every left turn lane is physically smaller, by quite a bit.
IMO I would add being 2-way to the issue list for the 15th St track. I see some like it but when I tend to use it I'm riding counter to the main flow of traffic.
That makes for frequent kamikaze head-on approaches by passing cyclists.
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It's the kind of things that happen when it's 3 in the morning and you can't sleep.
Happens during the first series, before Annie learns about what Owen did.
AU where Aidan Turner can actually sing because we know from The Hobbit that he couldn't sing to save his life.
He lies in bed, legs crossed by the ankles, a cigarette between his fingers. It's his day off and he's going to spend it as humanly as possible: doing nothing. It's a beautiful day, though, the sun bright and high in the blue sky of Bristol, warm and comforting in his room. He could go out and enjoy such a pleasant weather, but he feels too lazy for that. The smoke slowly comes out of his mouth and is immediately answered by a little cough that makes him roll his eyes and smirk. Annie and he both know she can't actually feel the smoke in her lungs but she complains anyway, out of habit, as she keeps roaming the room. It might be a nice day, but with the light falling on her dark skin, making it golden, and that smile on her lips, Annie is more radiant than anything else.
It is the East and Juliet is the sun.
She goes through his book collection on the little mantelpiece, her finger lingering on the covers as she looks at the titles. He's tried, weeks ago, to have her understand he sometimes needs his privacy and his room to himself but "my house, my rules". So he lets her haunt the bedroom, all in her curiosity, and keeps an eye on her as he smokes. She moves from one side of the room to the other, now interested in his old vinyl records, a happy smile on her lips.
"Oh!" Her little exclamation of joy has him raising his head to focus on her. He doesn't have to ask, knows the explanation as to such a noise will come in the next seconds. "My grandpa loved this song, used to listen to it all the time!" She takes one of the records, flips it between her fingers in a way she must have seen in movies, and he wants to tell her to be careful, those are original, fragile objects, but it would make him sound old and annoying. And, because it's Annie, he lets her do as she wants. Soon, she puts the record on his turntable and the first notes of the song come out of it.
Louis Armstrong's La Vie en Rose, of course. "Satchmo was such a great performer. That show in New Orleans in the 50's... Unforgettable!" She gives him that look, the one when she's forgotten he's actually way older than he looks, and he grins smugly with his cigarette in his mouth. "But don't get me wrong, Piaf's version is better."
She rolls her eyes but says nothing, and continues her inspection of his room in silence. It's not awkward or uncomfortable, the nice silence of two people getting along and simply enjoying each other's company, and soon Mitchell lets his thoughts drift away, eyes to the ceiling. The song comes to an end at some point but she doesn't pick another record to listen and he doesn't feel the bed moving as she sits next to him. It's a weird feeling, knowing she's here but not feeling the air moving around her or the gravity affecting her, and it's something he's never really got used to with ghosts.
She sits cross-legged by his side, staring at him and it should be uncomfortable but, as everything else when it comes to Annie, it's not. "Do you know how to play all these instruments?" Her eyes go from the guitar to the saxophone to the squeeze box, frowning even slightly.
"No, I simply keep them and pretend I can." He laughs as she hits him, even if he can't actually feel the punch on his arm. "Of course I can! You'll realise soon enough eternity can be quite long and boring sometimes, you need to keep yourself busy."
He doesn't tell her he could already play the accordion when he was still human and that he used to play in the trenches, to cheer up the troops. He doesn't tell her he's actually started playing the saxophone after said live performance of Armstrong. He doesn't tell her playing the guitar helps flirting and flirting leads to sex and sex leads to drinking. Sometimes, things are best left unsaid.
There's scepticism in Annie's eyes, as if he were known to be a professional liar or something (true, but not when it comes to such normal trivial details). He rolls his eyes, crushes the end of his cigarette in the ashtray and sits straight. "Okay, give me the guitar."
She squeaks and claps her hands and he can't even make fun of her, she's too adorable for that. He tunes the guitar, thinking about what he can play for her until he remembers this one song that keeps playing on the radio and that she likes to sing when she's making tea or doing the dishes. And, indeed, it takes her only a few notes (and him whistling) to recognize the song and, much to his surprise, she starts singing softly, and he follows her in the duet. She keeps smiling and he grins back, and it's such a perfect moment. He doesn't think about the consequences, about the lyrics they're singing like they mean it. Thinking is for later.
Home is wherever I'm with you.
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Risk vs Reward; Stockpiling.
Have you forgotten about this nifty little "pet"? Well I'm here to remind you about him and the great gold making opportunities this nifty item brings along with him. My relationship with the Haunted Memento dates as far back as Wrath, roughly a year or two ago where everyone and their mother had one, now? Not so much. I snagged 5-6 of these at 3-500g per and just let them sit there because I knew that sooner or later the supply was going to slow down thus causing the price of this item to slowly rise ( also note the fact they're no longer obtainable ).
Nearly a year and a half later I value these puppies at 3-5k per. That's a 600% ROI on this item for holding onto it for nearly a year. My suggestion to you is to have this item on your TUJ snatch list ( which you should already ) and just snag it whenever it's cheap then proceed to flip it.
Another item that I've been holding onto for a bit is the infamous Orb of Deception. During Wrath and the cataclysm beta there were numerous reports that this orb would become unobtainable. I panicked and picked up four of these at 1500g per to simply keep & sell at a later date on my never played secondary bank alt. Now adays this item is worth nearly double and sometimes triple of what I paid for it. It's much harder to obtain than it was pre-shattering and pre-cataclysm.
The moral of this post? Stockpiling is almost always worth it. To make good amounts of gold you need to take risks. Taking risks is what is going to make you gold, You need to decide for yourself is the risk greater than the reward. If so, because about investing but if it's not; invest and invest hard. I'll give you an example, one of the most talked about topics in cataclysm thus far: Epic Gems.
If Epic gems come from pyrite ore, those who heavily invested in Pyrite will be making THOUSANDS of gold literally overnight. It will be Glyphmass 2.0 ( except renamed Gemmass 1.0 ). The ones who didn't invest? They get zero. But what happens if epic gems don't come from pyrite ore? The ones who invested will have a way to make their investment as close to "risk free" as they can, in this case my guess would be they would diversify the ore and try to sell it all off as other goods ( Belt Buckles, Rare Gems, Volatile Earth, Etc )
Sure there are ways you can make sure your investments are "risk free" but there aren't a whole lot of options, and if they are most of the time they're limited and rely on a single item, thus bringing you back to square one; Risk.
I'll give you another example: Dirge's Kicking Chimera Chops. This recipe was said to be become a vendor item for a couple silver during the Cataclysm beta. What ended up happening? The recipe was NOT sold by a vendor and the quest line for this recipe was removed. Those who took the risky route and bought those 3-5k recipe are now selling them for much, much more than they originally paid for them. I've seen a couple go for as much as 150,000g on several servers via The Undermine Journal.
How much is too much? How much is too little?
You'll have to figure that out on your own. I can't help you out here, it really depends on what item you're stockpiling. When stockpiling for something big, you'll typically want a good amount of surplus. Trust me you don't want to have too little when you realize that you're getting a 2000% ROI on your investment. You want to have a "fair" amount when stockpiling anything, you'll want somewhere in the middle where it's not too little, but it's not too much.
On the other hand, don't dump all your gold on a single item. Rule #1 of making gold like a pro: Diversify. What happens if your investment fails? Nothing good I can tell you that much. You're left with too much of a useless item that simply won't sell. Unless you can diversify with said item you're pretty much screwed.
At the end, investing in risky markets is what has made me thousands of gold. Sure I've lost some gold due to some of my deals falling through the floor but the reward almost always comes out on top when it battles risk.
14 comments: on "Risk vs Reward; Stockpiling."
1. Okay, I'll reveal my ignorance. I can't figure out which pet you're talking about in the first paragraph and now I'm dying to know, just so it stops bugging me!
2. Sooo... what's the name of the pet?
3. Of all the posts you made, I have to say this is the most relevant and most actually interesting ones.
Item-specific tips are so server dependant they more often than not won't be worth following, but rather they'll be worth investigating.
However, this is an overall true concept. Stockpiling is the way to go for serious goldmaking. Always.
4. Whats the name of the pet?
5. OK I'll bite.. which nifty little pet? you don't mention the name of the pet at all in the first part of the post.
6. Hey Mage, did you forget something? The first item you talk about, that "nifty little pet", has no name. Did you mean to link the word "pet" to something?
Stockpiling, just like any monetary venture we partake in in WoW, has it's risks. Before The Shattering/Cata release I went around and collected many recipes (of 5-10 of each) that were supposed to be going away. Some of them have sold, and some not. I still post them however in the hopes of that one person looking to complete his/her recipe tally.
What's funny though is that since the last patch, I've actually sold one of the recipes (two times for over 2.5k each) that have made it back into the game and is now learned by the trainer. The recipe is Deepdive Helmet. I was originally posting them for 9k+ because it was a recipe that was "supposed" to be gone. None of them ever sold before the patch. It goes to show that people are lazy, or don't know where to look for info.
7. Not sure which pet you are talking about in the first few paragraphs there mate, you haven't mentioned a name. I'm guessing there was supposed to maybe be a screenshot of it or something to go along with the post?
8. What "pet" are you talking about in the first paragraph? Admittedly my brain is half awake, but I don't see where you actually say what you're talking about.
9. I edited the post :P. I kind of cheated, it's not really a pet, but it kind of is. I was hoping someone would guess it but it's not a valid pet. It's the Haunted Memento
10. Most of what you say I agree with, but I'd throw an extra bit of caution in there.
What you say worked liked clockwork in previous expansions but Blizzard has changed the rules and have a recent track record of making radical changes that can turn investments upside down.
Check out my posts on the forums with regards to pets. This was an extremely lucrative investment for me for a long time but this all changed when Blizzard did the following.
Took the rarest BoE pet in the game and made it a common zone drop.
Went out of their way to make sure BoE pets that were becoming extinct in Cata were reintroduced through some other means. (Eg: Razzashi Hatchling).
Made every BoE pet available as rewards in bags for running any dungeon with the CTA system.
Since having one of my long term investments systimaticaly nuked like that I've been a lot less willing to invest heavily.
On a whim Blizzard could quadruple the drop rate of volatiles, or make epic gems only purchasable with JP, or make Haunted Momentos a common drop from mobs in Stratholme.
I'm not saying that you are wrong, only that Blizzard have been pretty ruthless recently when it comes to profiteering. I guess that is why I only have four bank tabs of pyrite ore and not forty ;)
11. Stockpiling really has helped me out quite a few times. I farmed the Baron's mount for a long time pre-cata and picked up tons of large brilliant shards. At first it seemed like I was the only one doing it so I could sell my LBS for 20g each. But the market slowly became saturated and the prices fell slowly, ending at nearly 2.5g each. This was unacceptable to me, so I kept my shards and deposited them into my back, ending with nearly 8 stacks of them when cata hit. And when cata hit, it lowered the instance levels of a few places where LBS dropped. LBS are now selling for 40g each on my server and I am selling my supplies, so happy that I waited.
12. It's the ghost. You throw it at people.. Now you all remember, right :)
13. Lifedream of Black Dragonflight said... May 23, 2011 at 9:04 AM
Hi guys,
Pre-cata, I stocked up on Black Tabbies. I have about 15 of them (still). Even though they are 'extinct' I cannot get more then 2K for them. So, my question, how long should I hold on to them. I really hate the idea of 'dumping' them at 2k (or less). I dont really fancy the idea of buying more of them.
14. @Lifedream
The Black Tabby is not an extinct pet. It is a zone drop, from random mobs, in Hillsbrad now. You might not be able to get more than 2k for this pet. I'm not quite sure of the drop rate of it, but I would imagine it is not as rare as it used to be when only Horde had a small chance of getting it from a rare spawn in Silverpine.
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NileGuide Expert Says:
Just the latest addition to the Ivy restaurant roster, and probably the best. Perfect pate or Beaujolais; it's lively, authentic and unpretentious, like any classic Parisian bistro.
2 Ash Street
2000 Sydney, Australia
tel: 02 9240 3000
visit website
Lunch, Mon-Fri, from 12pm
Dinner, Mon-Sat, from 6pm
There's something about a good chicken liver pate, that quintessential French bistro staple that defines Gallic gastronomy. Yes, there's your flank steak and fries, duck leg confit or bouillabaisse on Mondays, complete with brass table lamps and waiters wearing long aprons to conjure those Parisian cliches, but you just can't beat a good pate. Sadly, venues with such a menu and décor have been few and far between. Until now.
Felix, the latest addition to the burgeoning Merivale group, is a little bit of the Left Bank transported to a back alley in the city. Lauren Murdoch didn't have to move far to take up the role as head chef: She merely crossed from one side of Ash Street [Cellars] to the other, and in the process, has raised the bar when it comes to Sydney bistros.
There's steak and stews, and molds of shellfish piled high on mountains of ice. There's even a rotisserie section, Roquefort salad, as expected, and desserts to die for. But it's the chicken liver pate ($16) that excels, complete with piquant currant relish, cornichons and chunks of crusty sourdough. Wash it down with a glass of Chateau Riotor Cotes de Provence ($10), and you'll be saying "c'est magnifique" well before the tarte tatin with French vanilla ice cream ($16) turns up.
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by Jessica Queller |
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by Louise Penny |
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by Richard Price |
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A New York City bartender is shot after a night drinking with fellow aspiring artists. One tells detectives that hoodlums shot his friend for talking back, but other witnesses have a different take. Combining an uncanny sense of city life with compassionate portrayals of characters on various rungs of the social ladder, this eighth book by Price—co-writer of HBO's The Wire—proves he's one of the best urban crime writers working.
by Shirley Abbott |
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"I stumbled around in a fog, brooding over my existential dilemma: "To cut my breasts off, or not ... that is the question"
Three new books explore why human behavior so often defies logic—and offer tips on how to wise up
PREDICTABLY IRRATIONAL by Dan Ariely You'll eat more at a buffet even if you're full—and other stupid human tricks. Unlearn them here.
THE AGE OF AMERICAN UNREASON by Susan Jacoby Steeped in "infotainment" culture, Jacoby says, we're too uninformed to act rationally.
SWAY by Ori Brafman and Rom Brafman That's not you who's deciding, it's your unconscious—and it doesn't have a clue. (June pub.)
BE NICE There wasn't a grump in the bunch of centenarians I met. Being likeable makes people happier to provide you company and care as you age.
HARA HACHI BU Japanese for "Stop before you're stuffed." Cutting calories by 20 percent can add six years.
PICK HEALTHY PALS Your friends' habits can be as influential as diets or exercise programs.
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2013 Audi R8
Ten reasons why German cars are wildly popular
There are many reasons why the world is buying German flagship cars like BMW, Mercedes-Benz, Audi and Porsche at record numbers. They are what people want.
BMW, Mercedes-Benz, Audi and Porsche are all experiencing record sales numbers this year with their luxury and high-performance brands, and this is at a time when gasoline prices are up and most buyers worldwide are cutting back. Logically this doesn’t make much sense, but the German brands are doing very well selling their premium cars and expensive performance cars with powerful engines.
According to an article by CNN Money, in the first five months of this year, BMW's global sales are up 6.4%, Porsche has gained 13%, and Audi is a remarkable 14% better off. Buyers worldwide are scooping up the luxury German brands at record levels and they are forecasting even better sales numbers for 2013. But there are ten good reasons why, according to CNN Money, that our German friends enjoy a unique advantage.
1. A long History to draw from
The Germans have been building cars longer than anyone else. Karl Benz patented one of the first internal combustion engines back in the 1879. In 1886 he received a patent for his first automobile. The Germans have been at this thing for a long time and they love their cars.
2. Racing success
The Germans have a rich and storied racing history. And the famed Nurburgring that is nicknamed the “Green Hell’, is where legends are born. The Germans know that technology is developed at the track before it makes its way to production vehicles.
3. The Autobahn is for driving enthusiasts
The German autombahn is the only place in the world where you can be driving 100 mph and get passed by a Turbo Porsche Carrera going 150 mph legally. The German manufacturers limit their cars to 155 mph, but their cars are built to go fast.
4. Top Brand recognition
The Germans have built one of the top brands in the world. Even with Audi’s poor reputation for quality in the 80’s, they have rebounded with a strength that matches the other three. Everyone knows what the German brands represent in luxury and quality.
5. Technology is supreme
CNN Money notes that "Engineers occupy a high pedestal in a country that prizes technology and craftsmanship." Just look at the diesel engine that the Germans perfected for their passenger cars. The world is just beginning to catch up with this fuel-efficient technology.
6. Give people what they want
The Economist says, "It's quite simple really, Germany makes things which people in countries with growing economies want to buy." Audi sales are up 44.2% in China while BMW leapt ahead 31.5%, and both companies are growing faster than the overall market in the U.S. They are marketing their cars to the right buyers.
7. A confident attitude
The Germans aren’t afraid to tell us what they are about. Mercedes says they are “The best or nothing.” BMW, “The ultimate driving machine.” Maybe they are arrogant, but they are confident in what they are selling. As one Zurich newspaper put it, “cars are as central to Germany as secret bank accounts are to Switzerland.”
8. Price matters
Price is very nearly the object. CNN Money says "Sometimes, how much you pay for something – as opposed to its function – is the point of the exercise." Paying $137,500 for a 2013 Turbo 911 and then an extra $330 charge for a Porsche logo on the center console lid of a 911 is a good example.
9.Ultra exclusive cars
If a regular $47,000 5-series BMW doesn’t have quite enough power, buyers can get a specially equipped M5 for $90,695. Mercedes has its AMG high-performance cars that can take a C-Class coupe and turn it into a $125,000 ultra performance supercar.
10. German cars are number one
Lastly, BMW, Mercedes-Benz, Audi and Porsche are generally thought of as top brands in the automotive world because they are. Despite valiant efforts by Cadillac and Lexus to build cars that can keep up with the Germans, they simply can't compete at the same level.
Source: CNN Money
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Earlier this month, the NYPD released data from its stop-and-frisk activities after persistent requests from the New York Civil Liberties Union. The stats, from the year 2011, show that out of the 685,724 people who were stopped or detained under "reasonable suspicion," almost 90 percent of them were either Black or Latino. Overall, Blacks and Latinos make up 53 percent of the city's population.
At around the same time of the report's release, U.S. District Court Judge Shira Scheindlin ruled that the Clean Halls Program violated the constitutional rights of New York City residents. According to Scheindlin, for years the NYPD should have known (or already knew) that its officers had routinely violated constitutional rights through Clean Halls. Scheindlin said that the NYPD failed to properly train officers about when it was legal to make trespass stops in private residents. Scheindlin eventually suspended her ruling while the NYPD and the city made an appeal, but residents are pushing back against NYPD policies.
One of those people fighting against current NYPD policies is Joo-Hyun Kang of Communities United for Police Reform. Kang's group, made up of several organizations that advocate for police reforms that eliminate discrimination and improve accountability, has been a staunch advocate for ending the unlawful use of stop-and-frisk (a reform she feels is useful when done properly. She's also a fan of the inspector general idea.
"The NYPD currently lacks strong, independent oversight to protect the rights of New Yorkers from systemic rights abuses--that isn't provided by CCRB, Internal Affairs Bureau or any other existing entity," said Kang. "Establishing an inspector general would provide effective oversight with subpoena power and would be an important first step in ensuring New Yorkers have faith that the NYPD is accountable for their actions."
But Bloomberg argued during his final State of the City Address that stop-and-frisk was a part of the police's success in bringing down the crime rate.
"While the incarceration rate across America has increased by 6 percent over the past decade here in New York City, we've reduced it by 32 percent," said Bloomberg. "We've done it through proactive, targeted policing that prevents crime, and that includes stopping and questioning people who are acting suspiciously or who fit the description of a suspect. I understand that innocent people don't like to be stopped, but innocent people don't like to be shot and killed either. Stops take hundreds of guns off the street each year."
To people like Eugene O'Donnell, a lecturer at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice and a former NYPD officer, Bloomberg's remarks demonstrated the need for an inspector general. O'Donnell said that not only can the mayor and the Police Department not be trusted regarding conduct, but the alleged cost of hiring another overseer would be offset by the decrease in lawsuits.
"The city and its high officials are potentially liable for civil and criminal violations in connection with these activities," said O'Donnell, who participated in a panel discussion regarding an inspector general last fall. "Because tracking alleged 'Middle Eastern'-inspired terrorist actors inevitably involves allegations of racial, ethnic and religious profiling--issues that have caused consternation over the course of American history--the department must tread cautiously, deliberately and thoughtfully here on the basis of credible, solid, verifiable evidence and not based on whim, surmise or caprice.
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06 September 2007
Mom and Pop: Bloomberg Hates You
The New York Sun ran an article today saying that the City Council, worrying that New York's urban character is being washed away in a flood of faceless, ubiquitous chain stores, is mulling over "property tax breaks and zoning changes [that] could be used to prevent bigger businesses crowding out smaller ones." However, it is thought that Michael "Culture Crisis? What Culture Crisis?" Bloomberg would not support any such measure.
Well, of course he wouldn't. Free Market Capitalism worked very well for the fake-subway-rider, didn't it? So, it works for everyone else in New York City, right? Right?
The city's small-business commissioner, Robert Walsh—and this is the City's small-business commissioner, mind you—was quoted in the Sun that he was "concerned" that people "are frowning upon, if you will, many of the nationally recognized businesses."
Well, why would we do that? Those fine nationally recognized businesses—they're so kind, so benevolent, so nurturing, so nationally recognized. WTF!? Hey, Walsh!: the "people" do not view corporate monoliths as their pals just because they've heard of them. People may, however, have a friend at the corner store or the local pharmacy. I don't think Starbucks is going to let me pay for my coffee the next time I swing by if I happen to forget my wallet.
Walsh also said he doesn't know such Mom and Pop shop tax breaks would work. Well, Einstein, you and Bloomie figured out how to wedge a few hundred big boxes into a maze of narrow streets. Give this one a little think-think. Spend some pillow time with it. I'm sure you'll come up with something.
1 comment:
rexlic said...
Geez, not to mention that Starbucks' reiterated policy in the case of events like the midtown gasline explosion (and another 9/11?) is to lock the doors of its establishments. So along with a gross dereliction of any social responsibility, they're openly advocating mass kidnapping...I'll have that crapucinno to go, please.
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Take the 2-minute tour ×
We all do "browser testing" on a variety of web browsers, operating systems and devices. But what is the correct term to refer to a particular browser, OS and device combination?
Or, to put it another way - what is the type of which the following are tokens?:
• Google Chrome (latest version) on Mac OS X 10.8.5, MacBook Pro 13"
• Safari 6 on iOS 7, iPhone 4S
Reading through various developer blogs and websites of online browser testing services, it seems that most copywriters simply find ways to avoid using a term for this. But, in many cases, this strikes me as awkward and verbose.
The best term I've come up with so far is browser environment, but I'd love to hear if anyone either (a) knows the standard term for this or (b) can think of something better than my suggestion.
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2 Answers
I've always referred to it as "browser and platform". It isn't a single term, but it is short enough.
The header that that comes in is the "User-Agent" header. "User agent" is another general term for this combination. The only problem with 'user agent" is that the same browser on the same operating system can have multiple user agent strings based on smaller differences such as the user's language, and plugins that are installed.
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I am not sure its the term your looking for, but its means what you explain here.
"Cross Browser Testing" - The BrowserStack is one of the tool from this category it provides a correct results on different OS and browser versions. Its uses remote desktop access method and you can even check mobile devices too.
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Committee Decisions
33COM 8B.54
Examination of minor boundary modifications
The World Heritage Committee,
1. Having examined Documents WHC-09/33.COM/8B, WHC-09/33.COM/INF.8B1, WHC-09/33.COM/INF.8B1add and WHC-09/33.COM/INF.8B2 and having reflected upon its discussions on the inscriptions of properties to the World Heritage List;
2. Recognizes the reluctance of the World Heritage Committee to endorse the recommendations of the Advisory Bodies regarding deferral of the examination of properties and requests the Advisory Bodies to prepare a background document on the processes, benchmarks and time constraints resulting from World Heritage Decisions on referral and deferral for information to the 34th session of the World Heritage Committee (2010);
3. Notes that questions addressed to the State Party presenting a nomination which concern the justification of Outstanding Universal Value, application and validity of inscription criteria, and the preferred outcome, may invite advocacy and should in general be avoided;
4. Requests that in evaluating minor modifications and retrospective statements of Outstanding Universal Value, the Advisory Bodies review their recommendations with the State Party within a reasonable timeframe and prior to their submission to the World Heritage Committee for adoption.
Themes: Inscriptions on the World Heritage List
Session: 33COM
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★ What is Gossip Cop? Find out!
Grammys Weekend Underway As Celebs Hit Events Before Awards (PHOTOS)
The Grammy Awards air live from Los Angeles on Sunday, but the parties are already underway!
Some of the biggest names in music were out and about at Grammy-related events on Friday, with Katy Perry, Elton John, Sting, and John Legend on hand for the MusiCares Person of the Year gala honoring Bruce Springsteen.
Johnny Depp, Jon Stewart, Conan O’Brien, Jimmy KimmelEmmylou Harris, Natalie Maines, Faith HillTim McGraw and others were also in attendance.
Other celebs like Nikki Reed, Adam Lambert, Carly Rae Jepsen, and Cheryl Burke were also on the red carpet at different events as Grammy Weekend kicked off.
Check out the gallery below!
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"Oh my god, its Gojira!" - 90%
HexDemon666, May 14th, 2008
I've always sort of been a fan of groove metal, not necessarily the genre, but merely a few bands within it. Pantera, Lamb of God, Mastodon, etc. You know, those really popular dudes with all of their MTV fandom and such. It wasn't until I listened to Gojira and this album specifically that I actually began to make an effort towards collecting groove metal albums. I've since gotten all of Gojira's albums, but this is by far my favorite.
It starts off with Clone which has some sort of ambient intro (how the fuck else do you describe that?) before just ripping your face off in something that couldn't be called anything but death metal. The song continues on with some groovy guitar noodling before continuing forward in extreme brutality. And get this, about half way through, there's a breakdown! "Oh, how have you forsaken metal, Gojira, you've added a breakdown! ...wait a second, this breakdown kicks ass!" Seriously, I can't even continue reviewing this song because it changes so much, but the whole time, it retains it's amazingly tight, groovy, death metal nature. This is music you fuck to. No, actually, don't. You'd probably hurt someone.
Lizard Skin is very similar to the first song in nature, but otherwise entirely discernable and decently memorable. Then comes Satan is a Lawyer. Don't let the silly name fool you; this song will kick your ass. It starts off with a clean guitar interlude with some spoken lyrics before crushing you with another groovy, breakdown-esque riff, and then back to the clean. The song picks up pace about 2:30-3:00 minutes in.
I think I'm just going to quit while I'm behind. The songs are so amazingly diverse and so intricate, it's impossible to really review them all. Or any, for that matter. Words cannot do them justice. That's not to say that Gojira is made up of some sort of musical geniuses or anything whose work can only be ascribed to divine intervention. It's nothing of the sort. It's just tons of different shit slapped together in such a way that it works. Most of the songs have a general feeling to them: slow and crushing or fast and furious, always groovy. Many, however, have both. It's just the brilliance that is this album, I guess.
There's enough breakdowns and slow, "br00tal" riffing here to appease even the most casual of Hot Topic, deathcore kiddies and enough straight up metal and coherent songwriting to appeal to the strictest and purist of death metal fans. If you don't believe me, then get this and prove yourself wrong. This album has become one of my all-time favorites. Seriously, this is the best thing to come out of France since French Fries, and those came from Belgium.
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zbMATH — the first resource for mathematics
a & b logic and
a | b logic or
!ab logic not
abc* right wildcard
"ab c" phrase
(ab c) parentheses
any anywhere an internal document identifier
au author, editor ai internal author identifier
ti title la language
so source ab review, abstract
py publication year rv reviewer
cc MSC code ut uncontrolled term
A genetic algorithm for the multiple-choice integer program. (English) Zbl 0892.90139
Summary: We present a genetic algorithm for the multiple-choice integer program that finds an optimal solution with probability one (though it is typically used as a heuristic). General constraints are relaxed by a nonlinear penalty function for which the corresponding dual problem has weak and strong duality. The relaxed problem is attacked by a genetic algorithm with solution representation special to the multiple-choice structure. Nontraditional reproduction, crossover and mutation operations are employed. Extensive computational tests for dual degenerate problem instances show that suboptimal solutions can be obtained with the genetic algorithm within running times that are shorter than those of the OSL optimization routine.
90C09Boolean programming
90C10Integer programming
68T05Learning and adaptive systems
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IranTube Viral - Abortion? I love you. Life is beautiful. pregnant. Video about child development.
My New Video Site
My New Video Site My New Video Site
My New Video Site
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v... Watch what others are saying about abortion********************** **************************** *******_______________________ __________NEW FOX-News documentation about Planned-Parenthood: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v... http://www.abort73.com - click here to inform you about abortionForum at: http://www.prolifeamerica.com/... click here to discuss abortionDear President Obama, let me just ask you only one question: How can you let this happen? (Link only for President Barack Obama, not for woman, who had already an abortion! It shows a realtime abortion) http://sfaturiortodoxe.ortodox... Internetseite zum Thema Abtreibung: http://www.jugendfuerdasleben.... created this video 3 years ago within minutes. I am a student. The reason why I made this video was to inform the people about the fetal development. The development about the unborn children. There is one main reason, why I do this work. I talked to a lady. She wanted to know, how a baby in the 8th week looks like. I asked her, why she wants to know this. She told me, she had an abortion some weeks ago. Nobody told her before the abortion, that she would miss her child. I didn`t want to show her the pictures of the child in the 8th week, because I dodn`t want to shock her. But she wanted to see it. That`s why I gave her the link. And her reaction after this, made me thinking about the situation we have with abortion. I really understood that many young woman don`t know, what really happens with the small body of the child. Many don`t know anything about the development of the child. This lady, she really regreted her decision and told me that she would never do this again. Because there was a lack of information, I created this video, not knowing that it would be the No 1 abortion video on youtube. Today I see that small steps can be very powerfull. Many woman said that they never would do an abortion, if they had seen this video before. Ladies and Gentleman, please never judge a woman, who will do an aborion, but stand up for the lives of the UNBORN CHILDREN. I know, everybody reading this has his own story and his own talents to spread the truth about abortion. Please, never show wrong pictures, or wrong ages, becaue it takes away you creadability. Show the facts. They speak for themselves. Every human has the right to live. Even the smallest and weakest. Change this world by spreading informations and your love. Help the woman who need your help. Often they are waiting for help. But there is nobody, only people who judge. Show them the possibilities, so that they and their children can live the life in the fullest way. Thanks for your help!Jesajasen._______________ ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ http://www.jugendfuerdasleben.... http://vierundachzig.de/agirlc... - Click here Song: GoldenBand: A Girl Called Eddy: Thousands love the song in that video.
Category: People & Blogs
Author: jesajasen
Length: 05:05
Rating: 4.0292587
Views: 7099142
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Video Comments
TheSingingRingingTree (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
Live and be sure to let your baby live too!
Monkeystaxx (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
I don't see how feminists can support abortion in the name of women's rights when millions of the babies being aborted are female. Male or female, it's our human responsibility to protect and preserve all life from conception to it's natural end.
IL0VETHESUN (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
There's a concept called "bodily autonomy". It's generally considered a human right. Bodily Autonomy means a person has control over who or what uses their body, for what, and for how long. It's why you can't be forced to donate blood, tissue, or organs. Even if you're dead! Even if you'd save or improve 20 lives. It's why someone can't touch you, have sex with you, or use your body in any way without your continuous consent.A fetus is using someone's body parts. Therefore under bodily autonym, it's there by permission, not by right. It needs a person's continuous consent. If the pregnant person denies or withdraws consent, then she has a right to remove the fetus from that moment. A fetus is equal in this regard because if I need someone else's body parts to live, they also can legally deny me their use.By saying a fetus has a right to someone's body parts until it's born, despite the pregnant person's wishes, you are doing two things:1) Granting a fetus more rights to other people's bodies than any born person.2) Awarding a pregnant person less rights to their body than a corpse.
George Brown (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
Want to avoid the risk if STD's and abortion? Then simply confine your sexual activity to within long term and COMMITTED mutually loving relationships where an abortion would be UNTHINKABLE..and you won't go far wrong..it'll do wonders for your self respect too!
Digital Theology (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
Help stop abortion! #evangelizeourleaders and #getwendysaved
ProChoicerAlaska (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
say NO to LIES, YES to CHOICE!
Jonathan Ramos (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
oh would you look at this, you are now reporting me for spamming? My god, I knew you were stupid but a hypocrite as well? :O
Rebirth Cross (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
just because you've being bullied by people, you attempt to bully innocent bystanders who ended up becoming your bully, doesn't mean you have to be a whiner and put your rage against somebody who can't fight back.. come on old turd, grow some balls and man yourself up.. what a wuss.
Acorns ArentOaks (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
Keep abortion legal and safe, always!
ProChoice NorthCarolina (November 30, 1999 at 12:00 am)
Just CHOOSE!!! Legal abortion is VERY SAFE, much safer than giving birth in any case!
Upload To IranTube
IranTube Viral a service of IranTube © 2005 - 2011 All Rights Reserved.
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Click photo to enlarge
Karima el-Mahroug, the Moroccan woman at the center of ex-Premier Silvio Berlusconi's sex-for-hire trial, sits in a court room prior to to testifying as a witness for the first time, in Milan, Monday, Jan. 14, 2013. El-Mahroug was ordered by the court to appear Monday to testify after failing to show on two previous dates because she was reportedly in Mexico on vacation. She has been called as a defense witness. Berlusconi is accused of paying for sex with woman, better known as Ruby, when she was 17, and then trying to cover it up. Both deny sexual contact.
Berlusconi's lawyer accused the court of ''interfering heavily" in the Italian political campaign by refusing to suspend the trial so Berlusconi can dedicate himself to campaigning for his center-right coalition.
''A verdict will most certainly come before the election. It seems to me this is the clear intent of the court," defense lawyer Niccolo Ghedini told reporters. ''It doesn't bother us, but it should bother citizens since it is obvious that it will impact the electoral campaign."
Berlusconi denounced the trial as ''a comedy, a farce, a defamatory hoax," in an interview with Sky TG24.
Berlusconi is accused of having paid for sex with a Moroccan woman, Karima el-Mahroug, when she was 17, during racy ''bunga bunga" parties with attractive young women at his villa near Milan, and then using his influence to cover it up.
Both he and el-Mahroug have denied sexual relations.
In their ruling, the judges said Berlusconi's absences for a political campaign were a personal choice and couldn't be compared with having a parliamentary obligation—which has been accepted as a legitimate reason to delay a trial.
Ghedini told reporters that the campaign and Berlusconi's role in vetting a list of nearly 1,000 candidates was directly related to the parliament and ''of great political and institutional relevance."
Harald Heckle in Madrid contributed to this report.
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Categories an English text into a topic (Arts, Business, Computers, Games, Health, Home, Recreation, Science, Society and Sports). Each of those topics has more specific child classifier (Art Topics, Business Topics etc). It uses a subset of topics from the Open Directory Project at
Classify method:
Enter text to classify (html tags not allowed):
The Topics classifier is hosted by
URL API (supports XML and JSON responses)
Post the XML to using a post request. Note that since this is a published classifier the 'username' attribute is set to 'uClassify' in the <classify> element. This enables the API to recoginize published classifiers in foreign accounts.
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Rediff News All News » Business » How elections can swing markets
How elections can swing markets
April 06, 2009 11:36 IST
Elections are an important event for the country given its impact on the corporate sector, individuals and markets. This time around, if experts are to be believed, the importance of elections has only risen as they expect a fractured verdict with no single party garnering a meaningful majority.
Although it is too early to guess the outcome as well as how many seats the individual parties would secure, markets are more concerned about economic stability and continuity in reforms, which would drive growth in future.
So, expect markets to remain volatile as the poll dates come closer as well as if uncertainty prevails post-May 2009. History is proof of this. In 2004 elections, the BJP-led NDA government lost power paving way for the Congress-led UPA to form the new government at the centre completely surprising the market. Firstly, the markets were expecting the NDA to stay in power.
And secondly, the UPA government was supported by the Left parties raising questions regarding stability and policies of the new government. The result was that, on 17th May, 2004 the Sensex made an intra-day low of 4,227, which was over 16 per cent lower as compared to its previous close of 5,070 per cent. Thereafter, once it felt confident about the future prospects and growth rates improved, it secured new highs.
This time around, however, the key concern is that the economy is not in good shape and requires some bold initiatives if it has to once again grow robustly. Thus, the need for a strong and stable government at the centre is even higher. Read on to know the possible scenarios, and what it could mean for the markets.
Congress-led alliance
One of the important things during UPA's tenure was the support from parties like the Left parties, Lalu Prasad's Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD), Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) and Dravida Munnettra Kazhagam (DMK). Then, the Congress had only 145 seats. This time, its biggest alliance partner (the Left) has departed to form a Third Front.
Also, the performance of the Samajwadi Party in Uttar Pradesh (accounts for 80 seats) will count as Mayawati's Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP) is seen to have an upper hand. Similarly, its alliance partners like RJD and NCP are yet to fully confirm their support, but are open to do so post-elections.
Additionally, experts believe that Congress itself might get lesser seats. "In 2004 elections, Congress won about 45 seats in Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh and Bihar, which this time could come down to 22 seats," says P Phani Shekhar, fund manager (PMS), Angel Broking.
Nevertheless, the markets will give a thumbs up to a Congress-led UPA. Its manifesto lists economic revival and restoring high growth as its immediate priority. It also mentions that public expenditure on agriculture and infrastructure will be stepped up. Experts also expect policies in the nuclear power and related segments to gain traction.
They believe that UPA's policies towards allowing FDI in insurance, telecom and retail sectors have been good. On the flip side, experts indicate the lack of sufficient reforms in the past in areas like fuel pricing (still administered) and PSU divestment. Concerns also exist on how it will tackle the growing fiscal deficit.
However, all will depend on the combination of partners, which will ultimately have a bearing on the depth and execution of policy initiatives. And, this holds true for any coalition - UPA, NDA or the Third Front.
BJP-led alliance
Although, the BJP-led NDA is the other contender for forming the next government, the expected poor performance in Rajasthan and MP could pose some challenges. Additionally, since its large ally, Biju Janata Dal (BJD) in Orissa, has departed, the alliance will have to make up for this loss of 11 seats.
Meanwhile, while there are challenges before the party, how the alliance shapes up post elections ability to rope in parties like BSP will be crucial. Also, "if the Third Front is not supported by the Congress, it might lead to a split in Third Front, which could be good news for NDA," says Shekhar.
Meanwhile, on April 3, the BJP declared its manifesto mentioning income tax exemptions for individuals with an annual income of Rs 3 lakh and Rs 3.5 lakh for women. This could mean higher disposable incomes for individuals, and thus, increased consumption of consumer durables, automobiles, travel, FMCG and entertainment among others.
Its manifesto also indicates lower interest for farmers and certain housing categories besides, abolition of fringe benefit tax. This in turn, indicates gains for companies catering to rural India, as well some gains for India Inc.
Additionally, while the market believes that NDA, too, has similar policies towards agriculture, infrastructure and for reviving the economy, it has also been pro-divestment in the past. Thus, one could expect divestment of non-core PSUs as well as enhanced reforms to strengthen remaining companies.
Emergence of Third Front
The growing strength of Third Front, which has already upped its ante against the BJP and the Congress, is also a reason for experts now realising its impact on election results and subsequent government formation.
"The possibility of the Third Front emerging strong has increased over the past month given the alliances and seat sharing agreements across parties (like BSP, AIADMK, TDP, NCP)," says, Nischal Maheshwari, head research, Edelweiss Securities.
"There is high probability that the Third Front might come into the picture including the left parties. In that case, there would be lot of uncertainty and chances are high that significant or crucial ministries like finance and external could go to the Third Front," says Shekhar. Also, due to the involvement of a large number of parties, it could lead to instability and distorted policies.
We have already seen this in the past during 1989 (V P Singh government) and 1996-97 (H D Deve Gowda) supported by the Third Front.
But, both these governments had short life spans and there was uncertainty in the markets during these periods. Notably, the Third Front manifesto claims that it would restore long term capital gain tax and abolish STT (on equities) and remove tax concessions given to some sectors like IT, which may not go down well with the market.
Although, they will also focus on infrastructure, rural development and agriculture, experts believe that its policies towards SEZ, foreign trade, FDI and FII (in certain sectors) and PSU divestments may not be market-friendly.
What should you do?
As of now, most experts believe that the election results could be extremely fractured where no party will have a majority.
They say, based on the seats won by individual parties, alliances and negotiations among parties (besides Congress and BJP, there are a large number of big and small regional parties which account for almost 50 per cent of total Lok Sabha seats) would intensify and will also play a crucial role in portfolio (ministry) allocation, thus its impact on the markets.
"There could be lot more volatility in the market with a downward bias once the elections are over," says Satish Ramnathan, head equities, Sundaram BNP Paribas Mutual Fund.
"It is surprising to see the markets rally despite the looming uncertainty due to elections and fourth quarter results, which are expected to be as bad as we have seen in quarter three," says Ambareesh Baliga, VP, Karvy Stock Broking. In this context, what should investors do? Baliga advises, "Book profits and sit on some cash. I will rather invest at 10 per cent higher levels. At least at that point in time we will have some clarity as to who is forming the government and their policies."
Likewise, experts say, to deal with volatility, investors could hedge their existing portfolios by taking some suitable derivatives (options) exposure.
Besides, investors can avoid cyclicals and cling on to some defensives like FMCG, utilities and pharma. Exposure to infrastructure and agri-based companies, where revenue visibility is higher and which is the focus of all political parties, should prove beneficial.
Jitendra Kumar Gupta
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iStock_000026047476XSmallIn your organization or on your team, think for a moment about what you’d most like to see happen over the next 6 months to 2 years. Give yourself a minute…
Now would you say your greatest vision for your team or your organization is:
1. Do what we’re doing, only better, more effectively or more efficiently?
2. Do something somewhat different than what we do now?
3. Do something radically different than what we do now?
How do you think your boss would answer? What number would you pick if you were going to choose for them? Finally, what would you say is the prevailing pick for the rest of the organization? Include people at all levels.
One large part of what passes for “culture” of an organization is the collective response to this question. If the prevailing mindset at your place of business is #3 and you’re a #1, you’re probably very uncomfortable with all the chaos. You probably remain unsettled with the daily uncertainty of the change taking place. You may even be frustrated by your inability (or your boss’s) to “control” things.
What about people who would choose #3, to be radically different? Do you find yourself struggling with everyone in the building (or at least most people) about change? Do your co-workers and peers look at you with a puzzled look every time you make a suggestion? Is your discomfort with the organization met with resistance from just about every front?
c1f880e0dff2604711ab0f249d3f8a19How do you see the gap between your answer and your organization’s collective answer when it comes to employee engagement and job satisfaction? Do you see yourself (or others) agreeing at work but disagreeing in some other context? For example, are you OK with the direction of your workplace, but not your church or non-profit?
The need to align your change tolerance with that of your organization can be a huge factor in employee satisfaction. The greater the distance between the employee’s change tolerance and that of the organization, the greater the tension. I know this first hand due to several job changes I’ve made in the past. This change tolerance, or change bias, is an important factor in employee satisfaction. Employees who don’t fit, often are unsatisfied in their role in the company but they are unable to explain why. Employees often don’t understand how to communicate the tension they feel between their answer and their boss’ answer. I changed several jobs in my past mostly due to this very discrepancy. Have you?
So, do you agree with this assessment? Would you share any tips for people who feel disconnected? What would you recommend to people who feel like they’re in the change tolerance minority? Also, if you’re in the middle, or if you disagree with my premise, sound off. What is it that enables people to manage this gap?
Finally, if you categorize yourself more as a #2, above, please reply to this post and help me out. I think you’re pretty settled in your job. I’d guess you don’t necessarily live for Friday and watch the clock. I’d expect you volunteer for initiatives at work and do more than is expected of you. I’d bet you are perceived as a great employee by your peers and your boss, unless of course any of those are a #1 or a #3. Please respond and let us know which choice you’d make above and if you’re a “fit” where you are.
Photo © Momo64 iStockPhoto
Mike Henry
Mike Henry
Chief Instigator at Lead Change Group
Mike Henry
"Many times the need to be right is based on the fear of being wrong." More from @thehrgoddess on #leadchange - 3 hours ago
Mike Henry
Mike Henry
Latest posts by Mike Henry (see all)
Mike Henry
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Szabo-Maas Lab: Research
Studies in systems ranging from humans to lower vertebrates have demonstrated that neural circuits can be modulated by steroid hormones. Many organs in the body are receptive to steroid hormones, which exert their actions either indirectly via the circulation or directly via local production in tissues, including the brain. Two classic neuroethological model systems, the songbird and midshipman fish, have demonstrated that neurons in auditory circuits possess both the capability to produce 17β-estradiol (E2), a potent estrogen, as well as E2 receptors. E2 was first shown to act via a nuclear receptor, known as estrogen receptor alpha (ERα), resulting in transcriptional modifications. However, rapid effects of E2 have also been demonstrated which occur in a time period too short to be accounted for by genomic mechanisms. Currently, little is known about the mechanisms through which estrogens exert their rapid actions.
The research focus of my lab is understanding how steroid hormones modulate neuronal function acutely and chronically using a well-described sensory system, the Mauthner cell circuit of the goldfish, which controls the escape response. The Mauthner cell receives massive input from the auditory branch of the VIIIth cranial nerve and the circuit has been described over many decades anatomically, physiologically and behaviorally. Given the identifiably of the few cells involved in the circuit, it provides an ideal model for studying evolutionarily conserved cellular and circuit interactions in an intact vertebrate central nervous system. The Mauthner cell circuit also permits correlation of a well-defined behavior with its underlying physiological, anatomical and biochemical processes.
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Right for Bobby Ryan?
7thJul. × ’12
A while back I looked at cities that might be good or bad destinations for Rick Nash. Since it appears Bobby Ryan is also on the trading block, a similar look is in order, along with some of the factors that may (should) lead to his trade.
The Anaheim Ducks as a team don’t lack talent. They have guys who have scored 30 and 50 goals recently, and a goalie capable of leaving opponents frustrated night after night. What they lack is anything like commitment in the first half of the season. They have played at best mediocre hockey until the football season winds down, and then between Christmas and New Years they are suddenly nearly unbeatable. It happens like clockwork.
Bobby Ryan has turned in four straight 30+ goal seasons and played about an average number of minutes a game to do it. In the last two seasons he’s added penalty killing to his pedigree. He was part of the American Olympic team that won silver just a couple seasons ago picking up a goal and assist along the way. While he played for the Ducks in the season after they won the Cup, none of his other stops have been the top tier hockey spots. Owen Sound of the OHL is not exactly the NHL player factory that that teams like the London Knights, Kitchner Rangers or some others.
The New Jersey Devils
This team leaps to the top of the list for several reasons. You can start with their having just lost a high profile left wing. Or you can go with Bobby Ryan being a Cherry Hill, New Jersey native. Either works. They need to replace the scoring they lost, and Ryan is probably the closest points per game producer they can get at .780 ppg to Parise’s .817, an argument can even be made for Ryan being as good or better given the slight playing time advantage to Parise, and more first line minutes.
The New York Rangers
One than that is unlikely to be an issue here is ego. Ryan is well liked, well respected and about third or arguably fourth in prestige on the Ducks, on the Rangers there’s at least as many players ahead of him who would be in line for media blitz and blame after the shiny wore off. The top two goal scorers on the left side last season were Hagelin at 38 points in his rookie season, and Fedetenko (now elsewhere) with 20 points.
Minnesota Wild
Sure they just landed Parise and Suter, but they just means they have less expensive prospects and probably several of them to move. Yes the Miami Heat jokes would get old even before the season started, but Parise, Ryan, Heatley between them aught to be able to fix the offense. A return almost has to include at least one of Granland or Phillips and Coyle. With a smaller contract than some of the other names team moving contracts out for space only leaves the danger of a thin bottom six.
Washington Capitals
With the near certain departure of Alex Semin, another left wing will be needed, why not Ryan? The media will even have to find a real reason to dump on him since he’s not Russian. Hell, the raw physicality on wing with him and Ovechkin on the ice together probably makes them favorites to for deep runs on more than just paper. Skill isn’t really lost either.
Nashville Predators
Strong goaltending, got that. Tough defense, got that too. Go too scorer? Bueller? Or maybe Bobby? With the departure of Suter, getting Ryan might make it easier to nail Weber to the floor. At only 1.6m more than Suter’s last Predators contract, he’s more than affordable and fills a need. The rabid fans in Nashville could push him to even higher performances.
Carolina Hurricanes
They said they were looking for a scoring winger to play with Eric Staal. Bobby Ryan meets both of those qualifications. Adding Ryan without losing someone off the roster (unlikely) would only put the Canes about half a million over the cap floor with 21 players on the NHL roster. If your top six includes Eric Staal, Jordan Staal, Bobby Ryan, and Jeff Skinner you have as good an offense as 80% of the NHL.
Buffalo Sabres
With an expected revamping in the offing, Ryan in and nearly anyone not Leino going back probably does good things for both lineups. With Roy gone, and Hodgson and Luke Adam both pretty young, who the center the Ducks would want in return might be is a bit murky, but playing in Buffalo would only be a let down in climate.
Detroit RedWings
Not only do they need to start accumulating talent under 35, any draft picks they could send back would be at a twenty year high in value. With the loss of Lidstrom, and the aging of the rest of their roster,
Montreal Canadiens
If they decide to tweak their roster Tomas Plekanec almost certainly goes back as part of the exchange. This would leave the Habs spending only slightly more, and open up more ice time at center for the recently extended Lars Eller and local boy Louis Leblanc. With Cole and Pacioretty at left wing, it might mean some other moves in were needed, but as well mean one of the three plays out of position.
Toronto Maple Leafs
They can send back anything but a center unless they cough up Grabovski and he’s willing to be traded their. Brian Burke is the general manager who drafted him and adding him to the mix in Toronto could deflect attention from Phil Kessel and who ever is unfortunate enough to be playing goal for a while.
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App to convince kids to do chores for reward points takes top prize in Sears Holdings competition
The retailer announced Tuesday the winners of the contest, Team Omega Ortega, which developed the grand prize-winning app, The Chore Score, and received a test budget from the company. The app is designed to give kids an incentive to do their chores, developing a chore list, tracking their progress and earning reward points for doing chores that can be redeemed within the app, online or in the store.
"Part of our transformation into the world's greatest integrated retailer is our ongoing commitment to drive industry-leading innovation, fueled by world-class talent, Sears Holdings EVP and president for marketing, online, pricing and financial services said. "The Sears Startup + Developer Challenge showcased to some of the brightest minds in Silicon Valley how we've used technology to make the shopping experience convenient and rewarding for our Shop Your Way members to drive the business."
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OpenstarTs >
Ricerca >
Tesi di dottorato >
Scienze storiche, filosofiche, pedagogiche e psicologiche >
Please use this identifier to cite or link to this item:
Title: Basic tools for navigation: use of landmarks in the domestic chicks
Other Titles: Strumenti basilari della navigazione: uso di indizi locali nel pulcino di pollo domestico
Authors: Pecchia, Tommaso
Supervisor/Tutor: Vallortigara, Giorgio
Issue Date: 2-Apr-2009
Publisher: Università degli studi di Trieste
Abstract: Examined were the capabilities of the domestic chick (Gallus gallus) to reorient in a rectangular array of landmarks. In the first series of experiments, the subjects were required to ground scratch at the correct location, defined by the configural cues, to gain a food reward. When the array occupied the centre of a circular enclosure, there were no evidence of geometric computation. Chicks reoriented when the landmarks occupied the corners of a rectangular arena. Nevertheless, when a rectangular array of undistinguishable cues was located centrally within a larger rectangular enclosure, the subjects failed to reorient. In the subsequent experiments, the reward was hidden inside one of the landmarks. The subjects should gain the access to the food through a hole in front of the cues. Surprisingly, the chicks encoded the geometric information in this circumstance. In the presence of multiple openings, the subjects accessed the landmark from fixed direction as they became experienced, suggesting the use of a view-matching strategy of navigation. This hypothesis was further examined presenting multiple geometric cues, given both by the shape of the enclosure and the shape of the array. At the end of the training, the subjects were observed after having selectively removed the one or the other geometric cue. The chicks failed to reorient on the basis of the residual information, sustaining the hypothesis previously mentioned. It is possible that chicks and other vertebrate species rely on egocentric representations to reorient both in the presence of isolated cues and extended surfaces.
PhD cycle: XXI Ciclo
PhD programme: PSICOLOGIA
Description: 2007/2008
Keywords: spatial cognition, landmark, geometry, reorientation, piloting
Main language of document: en
Type: Tesi di dottorato
Doctoral Thesis
NBN: urn:nbn:it:units-7408
Appears in Collections:Scienze storiche, filosofiche, pedagogiche e psicologiche
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THESIS_Pecchia.pdfintegrale717.17 kBAdobe PDFView/Open
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Harry Potter Wiki
Marvolo Gaunt's Ring
11,510pages on
this wiki
Revision as of 00:39, December 29, 2012 by Yatanogarasu (Talk | contribs)
Marvolo Gaunt's Ring
Marvolo Gaunt´s Ring
Horcrux information
Death or Cadmus Peverell
Early Middle Ages (possibly)
Ring, Horcrux, reuniting the Deathly Hallows
Horcrux Victim
Tom Riddle Sr.
"See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"
Marvolo Gaunt brandishing his ring at Bob Ogden[src]
Marvolo Gaunt's Ring was an heirloom of the House of Gaunt, descendants of Salazar Slytherin and Cadmus Peverell. It is a gold ring inset with a black stone (actually the Resurrection Stone, but neither Marvolo Gaunt nor Lord Voldemort were aware of its existence) engraved with what Marvolo Gaunt called the Peverell coat of arms (having come into the Gaunt line from an heiress of the Peverells, not the Slytherin family), which is actually the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. The signet ring passed through the male Gaunts, generation to generation, until it was stolen from Morfin Gaunt by Tom Riddle while Tom framed Morfin for the murders of the Riddle family.
While at Hogwarts, Tom openly wore the ring. He later made the ring into his second Horcrux. Tom did not enchant the ring right away, as he was seen wearing it while asking Horace Slughorn about Horcruxes, as seen through Slughorn's memories in a pensieve.
In 1996, Albus Dumbledore retrieved the ring, eventually destroying it with Godric Gryffindor's Sword.
The ring is gold and set with a large, cracked, black stone, the crack appearing after Dumbledore struck the stone with Godric Gryffindor's Sword. It is, in Harry's eyes, an ugly ring that was made somewhat clumsily out of gold, probably a testament to the rudimentary skills and tools used to craft it. The ring had the sign of the Deathly Hallows on the black stone it, a triangle (to represent the Cloak of Invisibility) with a circle (the Resurrection Stone, which, conveniently enough, is the black stone in the ring) and a line through it (the Elder Wand). Marvolo Gaunt wore it on his middle finger.
The sign of the Deathly Hallows
The Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone in the ring (actually the Resurrection Stone) is the sign of the Deathly Hallows
To protect his Horcrux, Tom Riddle placed the ring under a very powerful curse, so much so that Albus Dumbledore himself mentioned that had it not been for his prodigious skill, he might have died in mere moments of being cursed. Severus Snape was extremely angry to find out Dumbledore had not proceeded with caution when it came to breaking open the ring. Even so, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape were only able to delay the curse's effects for roughly a year. Unknown to either the Gaunts or Riddle, however, the stone in it was the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows.
Peverell possession
The ring's story begins (and ends) with its black stone. The stone happened to be the Resurrection Stone, one of the Deathly Hallows of legend, and had the symbol of the Deathly Hallows engraved on its surface. According to The Tale of the Three Brothers, Cadmus Peverell, the middle brother, asked Death for the power to return people from the dead. Death supposedly picked up a black stone from the nearby river bank and gave it to Cadmus, promising him that it contained the power he had requested.
Once Cadmus returned to his home, he took out the Resurrection Stone and turned it over in his hand three times. In doing so, he brought back his lover who had suffered an untimely death. While she did return from the dead, she was not truly alive and wished to go back to the world of the dead since she no longer belonged in the living world. For Cadmus, it was like being able to see her but not able to touch her or truly be with her. Seeing the stone's limitations drove Cadmus to madness, and he took his own life to truly join his love in death.
Gaunt family possession
"Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn't the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He'd had loved to think that scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal."
Harry Potter on Gaunt's ignorance of the Hallows, despite possessing one of them[src]
The stone passed down Cadmus' family line. At some point, it was placed into a gold setting and made into a ring. The ring continued to be passed down the family line, eventually ending up in the hands of the Gaunts. Marvolo Gaunt, the family's patriarch at the time, prized this ring (along with Salazar Slytherin's Locket) more than anything (even his own daughter, Merope). When the family was visited by Ministry of Magic official Bob Ogden, Marvolo waved the ring in front of his face in an attempt to impress and intimidate Ogden. When Marvolo and his son Morfin Gaunt were arrested and imprisoned for assaulting Muggles and Ministry officials, his daughter Merope Gaunt abandoned the family to escape the mental torture her father continuously employed against her, taking Salazar Slytherin's Locket with her.
When Marvolo returned home, he had expected to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return. What he found however was a house covered with an inch of dust and a note from Merope explaining what she had done and why. Marvolo died shortly thereafter, either due to his inability to take care of himself or the weakening of his strength from Azkaban. The signet ring passed to Morfin when he was finally released from Azkaban, and he continued to wear it in his delusional state for several years afterward.
Tom Riddle's possession
Tom Riddle Half-Blood Prince Profile
Tom Riddle.
Cavalier OneAdded by Cavalier One
Some years later, Tom Marvolo Riddle returned to Little Hangleton to seek out his family. He had been expecting to meet Marvolo, but instead found the half-crazed Morfin in the Gaunt shack. Morfin remarked how Riddle looked very much like the muggle that had married his sister, Tom Riddle Sr.. He told Riddle how Riddle Sr. had abandoned Merope and returned to his parents' home, the Riddle House. Upon learning of his father's abandonment (and thus feeling that he had caused Merope's death), Riddle stunned Morfin and took his wand. He then proceeded to the Riddle House to confront his father. Frank Bryce, the Riddle's gardener, remarked later that he had seen Riddle ascending the hill toward the house. Riddle used a common spell to unlock the door and entered the house. Once inside, Riddle found his father, as well as his grandparents, Thomas Riddle and Mary Riddle, in the drawing room. Riddle then used the Killing Curse on his father and Muggle grandparents.
It is unknown if there were any words exchanged between them before the actual murders took place, but what is certain is that the Riddles were found dead in their drawing room, looking shocked. Riddle returned to the Gaunt shack and modified Morfin's memory to make him believe that he had killed the Riddles himself. Riddle replaced Morfin's wand on his person but absconded with the ring. When Morfin was arrested by the Ministry and found guilty of the Riddle murders, he was carted off to Azkaban for good this time. As he was being taken away, he continuously remarked that his father would kill him for losing the ring.
Screen shot 2012-04-16 at 8.21.11 PM
Tom Riddle with the ring.
AlastorMoodyAdded by AlastorMoody
Riddle openly wore the ring at Hogwarts after these events, as seen on his hand in a memory provided by Potions Master Horace Slughorn. Riddle then questioned Slughorn about Horcruxes, particularly what would happen to the wizard that created more than one. By this point, Riddle had already created his first Horcrux, his childhood diary, with the murder of a fellow student named Myrtle. At some point shortly before or after his graduation from Hogwarts, Riddle used the murder of his father, Tom Riddle Sr. to turn the ring into a Horcrux. After that, he lost interest in wearing it any longer and chose to return it to the very place he had stolen it from: the Gaunt shack. He placed the ring inside a golden box and hid it beneath the shack's rotting floorboards. He then set up many protective enchantments to deter outsiders from entering the shack and finding the ring. He also placed a powerful curse on the ring as well, one that would quickly lead to the death of the ring's wearer if not stemmed. The ring was left there in the ruin of the Gaunt shack for many decades to come.
Destruction by Albus Dumbledore
Albus Dumbledore trying on Marvolo Gaunt's ring
Me Potter FanAdded by Me Potter Fan
In 1996, Albus Dumbledore continued investigating Riddle's obsession with immortality and his fascination with Horcruxes. Dumbledore suspected that a good place to look for one of Riddle's Horcruxes would be the Gaunt shack, considering its importance to Riddle's past. Dumbledore traveled to Little Hangleton and found the remains of the shack, hidden amongst many weeds and brush. Dumbledore succeeded in passing through the enchantments protecting the shack and discovered the golden box holding the ring beneath the shack's floorboards. He brought the sword of Godric Gryffindor with him as it now had the power to destroy Horcruxes since Harry had used it to kill the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, which imbued the blade with the Basilisk's venom.
However, Dumbledore recognised the symbol of the Deathly Hallows on the ring's black stone and recognised it as the Resurrection Stone, something for which Dumbledore had searched for the greater part of his life. Hoping to revive his dead family members (particularly his sister Ariana Dumbledore), he disregarded the ring's status as a Horcrux and put it on. This enacted the ring's deadly curse, and it began to quickly spread through Dumbledore's body, starting with the hand on which he had put the ring. Dumbledore got the ring off and used Godric Gryffindor's Sword to crack the Resurrection Stone, believing this might stop the curse from spreading.
While the act did destroy the ring as one of Riddle's Horcruxes, it did not stop the curse that was now quickly killing Dumbledore. He took the ring and quickly returned to Hogwarts, only surviving that long because of his prodigious skill, where Severus Snape intervened and was able to stem the curse (confining it to Dumbledore's hand), but only temporarily. Snape gave Dumbledore a prognosis of about a year, and told him the curse would eventually bring upon him a very painful and humiliating death. It was then that Dumbledore asked Snape to kill him when the right time came to spare him the painful death the curse would exact upon him otherwise. After some persuasion, Snape agreed to the plan (which was enacted at the climax of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower).
Placing the Resurrection Stone within the Golden Snitch
DH1 Golden Snitch 'I Open at the Close'
"I open at the close" inscribed on the Snitch
You-Know-WhoAdded by You-Know-Who
Before his death at Snape's hands, Dumbledore magically sealed the cracked Resurrection Stone inside the very Snitch Harry had caught at his first ever Quidditch match. The snitch read "I open at the close", and would only open and yield the Resurrection Stone to Harry when he was about to yield himself to death. After Dumbledore's death, Rufus Scrimgeour delivered the snitch to Harry, along with other possessions left to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. During his quest for the Horcruxes, Harry riddled over the snitch, until he finally solved its mystery at the Battle of Hogwarts. As Harry was about to be "killed" by Voldemort, he placed the snitch to his lips and whispered "I am about to die", and it opened.
Resurrection Stone
Harry opens the Snitch to reveal the Resurrection Stone
Greater goodAdded by Greater good
Harry then used the Resurrection Stone of Cadmus Peverell to bring back the spirits of James Potter, Lily Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. Their spirits comforted Harry as he walked toward his supposed doom and shielded Harry from the effects of the Dementors guarding the Death Eaters' camp in the forest. Upon reaching Voldemort's camp in the Forbidden Forest, Harry intentionally dropped the Resurrection Stone near Aragog's lair so as to prevent another from ever uniting the Deathly Hallows ever again. After Voldemort's defeat at Harry's hands, Harry told Dumbledore's portrait that the stone was lost in the Forbidden Forest and that he would not go look for it, a plan that Dumbledore applauded.
After having been dropped in the Forbidden Forest by Harry, the Resurrection Stone was pressed into the earth by the hoof of a centaur, and would never be found again.[1]
"He was standing inside a ruined stone shack, and the rotting floorboards were ripped apart at his feet, a disinterred golden box lay open and empty beside the hole, and Voldemort's scream of fury vibrated inside his head."
—Harry witnessing Voldemort discovering his missing Horcrux through the connection of their minds[src]
After Voldemort discovered that Harry was hunting his Horcruxes due to Harry's break-in of Gringotts and theft of Helga Hufflepuff's cup, another Horcrux, Voldemort decided to make sure that each of his Horcruxes were safe and redouble their protections, now that Harry was after them. Voldemort tried to think of which one was in the most danger, and knowing that Dumbledore knew his middle name Voldemort realised the Headmaster would have made the connection between him and the Gaunts and possible trace this to the Gaunt shack where the Horcrux was hidden. He decided that the ring was perhaps the least safe, and thus visited the shack. Upon discovering that that the ring was, in fact, gone from its hiding place, Voldemort let out a scream of fury before deciding to check whether the locket was safe in the seaside cave.
Behind the scenes
Marvolo Gaunt's Ring with Resurrection Stone
The ring and the stone
DanniesenAdded by Danniesen
Peverell Seal ring
The ring and the stone
ParaknightAdded by Paraknight
• The ring is the only item that is both a Hallow and a Horcrux.
• Though the stone was damaged from when Dumbledore destroyed the Horcrux, it still worked perfectly as the Resurrection Stone.
• Voldemort used a ring as one of his Horcruxes. This is similar to the dark lord Sauron in J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, who puts part of his power in the One Ring, which is Sauron's only container of power, whereas Voldemort had seven.
• In the film adaptation of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dumbledore refers to the ring as having belonged to Voldemort's mother. However, in a deleted scene in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1, Harry tells Ron and Hermione that the ring belonged to Voldemort's grandfather.[2] Additionally, when Harry touches the ring, there is a flash of images as the ring reacts to him, which Dumbledore explains as an identifiable trace of lingering Dark magic.
• In the books the ring is described as being ugly and clumsily made; in the films the ring is more detailed, with a design of snakes biting the stone.
• Collectable replicas of Marvolo Gaunt's Ring are made by the Noble Collection.
• In Deathly Hallows: Part 1, there is a flashback of Dumbledore trying on the ring. However, he tries it on his middle finger instead of his ring finger, as shown in Half-Blood Prince, and instead of the ring flying from his hands, it merely glows and forces his hand away as he touches it.
Notes and references
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I have a laptop connected wirelessly to my home network. I'm planning on installing a CentOS server on my network, used for a web server, a file server, and experimentation. I want to access it from my laptop in the form of a dual-boot - one main operating system, and one that's just a very simple system that automatically starts a remote connection to the server and opens up a GNOME session on the server that is then displayed on my computer. I'm thinking about using Arch Linux as the OS which will connect to the server, since I've been meaning to try it for a while and it seems rather configurable.
My questions are the following :
1. How can I start a GNOME session on my laptop which controls the other computer (no ssh -X tunneling or VNC remote control; I want my computer to be a "dumb terminal" to the server)?
2. Will speed be an issue over wireless? Would SSH compression help?
3. Is Arch Linux indeed the best option for the terminal OS?
share|improve this question
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2 Answers
up vote 4 down vote accepted
As stated by sarnold, XDMCP should be what you are looking for. However, if "I want my computer to be a 'dumb terminal' " is not a hard requirement, I would encourage you to use NX (implemented, e.g., by FreeNX) instead. It is an improved version of X forwarding over SSH, but it will require a desktop environment on your laptop to run its GUI. However, it has several advantages, mainly bandwidth usage.
That brings us to your second questioN: X forwarding should work fine on a 100 MBit network. Compression will most likely be unnecessary. However, X does take some bandwidth, especially when you have animated content on your screen. So in order to free up your network for other transfers, the low bandwidth needed by NX would help.
Wrt your third question: Well, Arch has a rolling release principle, meaning that there is a continuous stream of updates. It's nice for older machines because it can be tailored so it works perfectly with your machine, and there's good documentation for that. You can definitely make it very slim and efficient, and that will be easier than "trimming down" a SuSE / Fedora / CentOS/... installation. However, if you really only need a dumb terminal, a rolling release system is perhaps less practical than just using a simple Debian installation or something similar, which you can keep on "stable" with minimal updates for a long time.
share|improve this answer
If I'm going the FreeNX route, would a Chrunchbang installation with OpenBox be best? Seems pretty mininal and stable. Also, could I automatically start the FreeNX client and make it full-screen? – Lyrositor Dec 6 '11 at 12:32
Sorry, didn't see your followup question... If the comparatively small CrunchBang community (which might lead to support problems in the future) is no problem for you, why not? -- The bit about starting the client fullscreen... most probably, but I don't have FreeNX handy right now. – jstarek Dec 23 '11 at 21:01
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It sounds like you're after XDMCP -- is that correct? An old HOWTO is available (though it reads like it was written by an over-enthusiastic Linux "convert") -- I'm sure the GDM and KDM configuration details have changed since then. XDM might be pretty similar these days; XDM is very well documented, though it feels like it could use a one-page "common use" guide.
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10 Songs To Get You Jacked For The Coming of College Football
I am unbelievably excited for college football to start. Why? I flipped on the BTN a couple nights ago at the gym, threw on my Ipod headphones, and listened to ACDC and Gun's and Roses while watching the 2007 Illinois upset of OSU. So whether you need a mix for a pregame party or just want to whip yourself into a frenzy, here are 10 songs that will help you do it.
10. "Another One Bites The Dust" Queen. Bass line kills, old people love it, young people love it, plus you can play it when a player from a scandal plagued school drops out for academic or personal reasons.
9. "Let's Get Rocked" Def Leppard. Because it's the Leppard. And it might be one of the best titled songs in all of history.
8. "Immigrant Song" Led Zeppelin. Screaming about marauding viking invaders pretty much inspires the hell out of me. That elongated animalistic warrior scream at the start always makes me want to hit someone (in a football sense).
7. "Striptease For Me Baby" Jeff Buckley. This song hits so hard and never lets up. I couldn't find a link to it on YouTube, but this is a needed download.
6. "The Purple Bottle" Animal Collective. Trippy and wild, I'm addicted.
5. "Mama Said Knock You Out" LL Cool J. Allows you to say "I've been here for years" constantly.
4. "Bombs Over Baghdad" Outkast. When we invaded Iraq in 2002, people in my dorm room turned this on and danced. Oops, that probably wasn't a great reaction. I did go to a pretty conservative U though. Either way, brilliant song that everyone loves, great for parties so everyone can blow that first line ("Yeah Intranational Underground under pounds the hum down the pounds").
3. "Patiently Waiting" Eminem/50 Cent. This song would fit PERFECTLY as once of those pre-game montages for a matchup when your team got blown out last year...
2. "Chop Suey" System of a Down. Old old song, but truly priceless for it's ability to bring 100 undergraduate students into a synonymous "wake up grababrushandputalittlemakeup whyyouputtheuponthetable." Plus, even if its 12 years old, it has to be better than Jordin Sparks and the Black Eyed Peas.
1. "Panama" Van Halen. Yeah, don't really need to say a lot about this one. Superbad anyone?
-Ed Note: I left out the token pump up songs, "Welcome to the Jungle", "Thunderstruck", "Born to Run", etc...Everyone knows those songs, they get the job done yearly...I also left out some solid songs like Queens "I Want It All" (it's been inserted into a (?)Best Buy commercial), Pearl Jams "Black" (too emotional), Eminems "Lose Yourself" (overdone for inspiration purposes, plus all I can think about is throwing up spaghetti on myself), "Your The Best Around" from Karate Kid (because you don't need me to tell you how amazing that song is)...
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Wednesday, March 20, 2013
'International Cyber-Crime and Fake Dating Site Profiles'
by Allan Waye / Published on Wed. Mar 20, 2013
Dating Site Impostors
Today's deviant criminal mind and online impostor can be summed up in two words the 'Romance Scammer.' Who's only true motivation in life is to fraudulently con a targeted audience out of their financial resources through the use of confidence tricks. These fraudsters can be observed browsing dating sites and lurking upon all types of social media for potential victims
Fake Dating Site Profiles
The images that Romance Scammers prefer to use on fake dating site profiles are that of professional models and are not a true reflection of themselves. Most often the impostors behind these stolen photos are found to be non specific with their gender preferences and are of a completely different race.
Masquerading online as attractive people these fraudsters attempt to allure their potential victims into providing them with financial support. This may be in the form of medical expenses airplane tickets, educational expenses or any other means of advance fee fraud. The promise of an intimate relationship made by one of these impostors rarely occurs, leaving numerous victims feeling embarrassed, traumatized and in many cases, financial ruin.
Organized Dating Site Criminals
International Romance Scammers are 'dating site impostors', fraudsters and identity thieves who often work together collaboratively though out a network of internet cafes. These internet pirates operate in countries that are customarily outside of the victims legal recourse or jurisdiction. Two such notorious gangs operating from the African continent are the 'Sakawa Boys' from Ghana and the 'Yahoo Boys' from Nigeria.
Sakawa Boys believe they have the religious right to blink the 'western foe' out of their monies though the use of online spiritual witchcraft. Often involving superficial sacrifices associated with voodoo, these deviant con-artists will go to lengthy extremes in order to appease 'The Master' or 'Juju priest'.
This culture or cult, of deplorable but yet lucrative criminal activity has subverted many government agencies and officials into the acceptance of this practice. This belief system has become so deeply entrenched within the Ghana culture, that cinema and movie icons have evolved from its facetious portrayal
Nigerian impostors or Yahoo Boys are also well known for combining the use of voodoo and email scams to cheat foreign peoples out of their monies online. Typically found through out the numerous internet cafe's in Lagos these computer educated cyber-criminals are said to rip-off the international community billions of dollars annually.
The number of organized and self serving criminals within these two countries have grown beyond the control of traditional justice. The crime can only truly be combated through the use of online education or public awareness. To approach these criminals after the fact is not recommended wherein the gangster or terrorist mentality prevails. Claimants have gone missing while traveling though out these countries .
Combating Cybercrime
There are several anti-scam agencies and individuals providing online educational support with combating these deviant criminals.
Here are just a few examples
Beware of fake dating site profiles on line. You never know for sure who the person is behind the picture you are seeing. There are now 'criminal gangs' and 'terrorists' masquerading as models both male and female upon these sites...All of them impostors...!
Internet Scamming in Ghana
EFCC Busts Nigerian Scammers
$500,000 Scammed From Woman
419 The Nigerian Scam
Travel Advisory
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The New Conservative Transformation and Tough on Crime Agenda
...."As the conservative Party of Canada we do not believe in putting the rights of criminals above the rights of victims"...
Public Safety Minister Vic Toews
says the government wants
criminals to pay for the
administrative costs
of a Canadian Pardon
(Chris Wattie/Reuters)
In May of 2010 the Conservative government announced a bill to essentially eliminate pardons, in favour of more narrowly defined "criminal record suspensions," thereby making it much harder for people convicted of a serious crime to be granted a pardon.
Under new legislation the time period that a convicted felon has to wait prior to applying for a Canadian Pardon has increased from three years to five for a summary offense, and from five years to ten for an indictable offense.
Typically the cost of having an agency prepare a Canadian Pardon is approximately $500, and the wait period for this application to be approved or denied by the National Parole Board takes between eight to twelve months.
What is a Federal Pardon
"The National Parole Board says a regular pardon is simply 'a recognition that you are of good conduct".
Many jobs in banking, health care, teaching, security and government require that you are able to be bonded. Having a criminal record may prevent a prospective employer from hiring you as a employee.
The purpose of a 'Canadian Pardon' is to give those people who have been convicted of a past criminal offense a 'second chance in life' by removing their criminal records from public availability.
A pardon is not meant to erase or excuse a persons prior criminal act, nor should it be considered as an admission of guilt to the various convictions or dismissed charges that will appear upon the Canadian Police Information System.
Canada's Extra-Judicial Solution to Homelessness
The average age of the homeless people living in Canadian shelters is between the ages of thirty-five and fifty-five and they have been drifting across this country in search of food, shelter and employment for the past twenty to thirty years.
In the 1980's only 5% of this homeless population mentioned above had a criminal record. Today over 70% of them now have a criminal record with charges ranging from totalitarian to completely moronic. For example; urinating in a public place could land you a prison term and then a life sentence down at one of the many Canadian Homeless Shelters.
According to Pardons Canada four million people can not find suitable employment, ascertain a post-secondary education, or cross the American border due to criminal record checks, thereby leaving them as unproductive citizens in society with a higher aptitude to re-offend.
It would be interesting to know how many of Canada's inmates have resided at a Canadian homeless shelter and were forced into working for Temporary labor Agencies prior to their various convictions .
Snapshots of Canada's Homeless Shelters
The Tories want to hike the fees for a Canadian Pardon
The Public Safety Minister Vic Toews said that the Harper government wants to charge more to those applying for an Canadian Pardon and has asked the Parole Board of Canada to begin consultations on the proposed increase
"Increasing the user fee will contribute to the effectiveness and long-term sustainability of the Parole Board of Canada's pardons program, which is not sustainable at the current cost, and ensure it is able to continue to meet its mandate"...Vic Toews....
The current administrative fees for filing a Canadian Pardon sits at $150 if the purposed new legislation is approved this cost will increase to $631.
Human Rights Conflict
Rule of Law
In a free and democratic society the role of the Federal government should not be to protect the rights of one group of people over that of another whether they be big or small, left or right, rich or poor but instead the government should be representing the rights of all 'Canadians' as guaranteed underneath the 'Canadian Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms'
When a legal dispute arises between two parties it is up to to courts to decide the rights of the accused and that of the victim, this is why we have a court system in the first place
Therefore the role of the Canadian government should be to protect equal rights and rule of law for all Canadians
The Bottom Line
Criminal records cost the community and in reality which costs the taxpayer more the amount of time a prisoner is in prison or the time period the former inmate has to wait for a criminal pardon
Is the federal government prepared to reimburse provincial and municipal governments the necessary monies required to house all these unemployed former inmates on social programs while they are awaiting a Canadian Pardon.
Read More;
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Ice Pirates is one of those movies that keeps on giving in all the ways you want from an early-1980s B movie about, well, a ship of sword-wielding pirates. The "ice" part is because they steal frozen water in a universe of thirsty, resource-depleted planets. I cannot do justice in words to the mind-blanking whatever of this clip, where the captured pirates are "processed" into gelded servants — and then rescued surreptitiously by a shiny, disco princess. It's Ultra Reagan Era, including a moment of pre-PC "race humor." But wait, there's more! The flick features appearances from a strangely hunky Ron "Hellboy" Perlman, and a seriously droolworthy silver-bikini'd Angelica Huston looking very Siouxie Sioux. There are a ton of gratuitous space sword fights, junior high sex humor (yay!), an appropriately cheesy quest for the missing, watery "lost planet," and (goofiest of all) the party scenes where people "get high" by shooting themselves with electricity and floating on the ceiling. You probably didn't realize that there was some serious steampunk swashbuckling in early 80s movies — or that it looked like the movie equivalent of Adam Ant. Except with skintight white bodysuits. [Ice Pirates via IMDB]
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PhosphoSitePlus Homepage Cell Signaling Technology
HomeAbout PhosphoSiteUsing PhosphoSiteCuration ProcessContact
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Protein Page:
WNT5A (human)
WNT5A Ligand for members of the frizzled family of seven transmembrane receptors. Can activate or inhibit canonical Wnt signaling, depending on receptor context. In the presence of FZD4, activates beta-catenin signaling. In the presence of ROR2, inhibits the canonical Wnt pathway by promoting beta-catenin degradation through a GSK3-independent pathway which involves down-regulation of beta-catenin-induced reporter gene expression. Suppression of the canonical pathway allows chondrogenesis to occur and inhibits tumor formation. Stimulates cell migration. Decreases proliferation, migration, invasiveness and clonogenicity of carcinoma cells and may act as a tumor suppressor. Mediates motility of melanoma cells. Required during embryogenesis for extension of the primary anterior-posterior axis and for outgrowth of limbs and the genital tubercle. Inhibits type II collagen expression in chondrocytes. Interacts with PORCN. Interacts with WLS. Expression is increased in differentiated thyroid carcinomas compared to normal thyroid tissue and anaplastic thyroid tumors where expression is low or undetectable. Expression is found in thyrocytes but not in stromal cells. Belongs to the Wnt family. 2 isoforms of the human protein are produced by alternative splicing. Note: This description may include information from UniProtKB.
Protein type: Secreted, signal peptide; Secreted
Cellular Component: extracellular space; proteinaceous extracellular matrix; cell surface; endoplasmic reticulum lumen; Golgi lumen; plasma membrane; extracellular region
Molecular Function: protein domain specific binding; receptor tyrosine kinase-like orphan receptor binding; frizzled binding; cytokine activity; transcription factor activity; receptor agonist activity; frizzled-2 binding
Biological Process: activation of MAPK activity; embryonic skeletal development; positive regulation of transcription, DNA-dependent; negative chemotaxis; negative regulation of synaptogenesis; positive regulation of interleukin-1 beta secretion; Wnt receptor signaling pathway through beta-catenin; uterus development; protein amino acid phosphorylation; activation of NF-kappaB transcription factor; negative regulation of BMP signaling pathway; neuron differentiation; positive regulation of fibroblast proliferation; determination of anterior/posterior axis, embryo; positive regulation of mesenchymal cell proliferation; positive regulation of macrophage activation; somitogenesis; cell fate commitment; urinary bladder development; olfactory bulb interneuron development; activation of protein kinase B; vagina development; positive regulation of interleukin-6 production; negative regulation of fat cell differentiation; keratinocyte differentiation; Wnt receptor signaling pathway, calcium modulating pathway; positive regulation of angiogenesis; genitalia development; positive regulation of protein catabolic process; midgut development; positive regulation of endothelial cell proliferation; positive regulation of transcription from RNA polymerase II promoter; embryonic digit morphogenesis; negative regulation of transcription, DNA-dependent; negative regulation of apoptosis; lens development in camera-type eye; axon guidance; wound healing; negative regulation of fibroblast growth factor receptor signaling pathway; hypophysis morphogenesis; positive regulation of cytokine secretion during immune response; positive regulation of JNK cascade; palate development; negative regulation of axon extension involved in axon guidance; activation of JNK activity; response to organic substance; establishment of planar polarity; heart looping; negative regulation of epithelial cell proliferation; cervix development; Wnt receptor signaling pathway; positive regulation of meiosis; male gonad development; positive regulation of peptidyl-serine phosphorylation; positive regulation of ossification; positive regulation of cGMP metabolic process; convergent extension involved in organogenesis; positive regulation of interferon-gamma production; positive regulation of chemokine biosynthetic process; cartilage development; ameboidal cell migration; neural tube closure; epithelial to mesenchymal transition; hindgut morphogenesis; lung development; positive regulation of inflammatory response
Reference #: P41221 (UniProtKB)
Alt. Names/Synonyms: hWNT5A; Protein Wnt-5a; wingless-type MMTV integration site family, member 5A; WNT-5A protein; WNT5A
Gene Symbols: WNT5A
Molecular weight: 42,339 Da
Basal Isoelectric point: 8.83 Predict pI for various phosphorylation states
Select Structure to View Below
Protein Structure Not Found.
Modification Sites and Domains
Modification Sites in Parent Protein, Orthologs, and Isoforms
Show Multiple Sequence Alignment
0 1 S116-p RHRRWNCstVDNtsV
0 1 T117-p HRRWNCstVDNtsVF
0 1 T121-p NCstVDNtsVFGRVM
0 1 S122-p CstVDNtsVFGRVMQ
©2003-2013 Cell Signaling Technology, Inc.
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Anchor Babies: Is Citizenship an Entitled Birthright?
"In 1994, Alma Meza Guitierrez travelled hundreds of miles with her
three year old son through Mexico and across the U.S. border in order
to reach her aunt and uncle's small apartment in San Diego. She lives
in squalid conditions in the apartment's kitchen, she does not speak
English and has little prospects for employment. Why would a 20-
year-old mother of one give up her life in Mexico to endure such
circumstances? Alma is pregnant and she, like thousands of other
women who enter the United States illegally each year, knows that
giving birth in the U.S. means her child will be an "anchor baby" and
granted U.S. citizenship. For Alma, that means her child will immedi-
ately qualify for a slew of federal, state and local benefit programs.
In addition, when Alma's child turns 21, he can sponsor the immigra-
tion of other members of the Guitierrez clan."
"Born In the USA" San Diego Union-Tribune, Feb. 20, 1994.
Anchor Babies and Interpreting the 14th Amendment
It is well known that a person born in the United States is an automatic citizen regardless of the mother's citizenship status. However, the United States is unusual in its offer of citizenship to anyone born on U.S. soil. Only a few European countries still grant automatic citizenship at birth. The United Kingdom and Australia repealed their U.S. style policy in the 1980s after witnessing abuses similar to those plaguing the U.S. today. Why does the United States continue to allow a practice subject to widespread fraud? The answer lies in how American jurisprudence has interpreted the 14th Amendment to the Constitution.
The 14th Amendment was added to the Constitution as part of the post Civil War reforms aimed at addressing injustices to African Americans. It states that "all persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof are citizens of the United States" and was crafted so that state governments could never deny citizenship to anyone born in the United States. However, when the amendment was crafted, the United States had no immigration policy, and thus the authors saw no need to state explicitly, what they believed was understood. The phrase "subject to the jurisdiction thereof" was intended to exclude from automatic citizenship American-born persons whose allegiance to the United States was not complete. In the case of illegal aliens who are temporarily or unlawfully in the United States, because their native country has a claim of allegiance to the child, the completeness of the allegiance to the United States is impaired and logically precludes automatic citizenship.
Senator Jacob Howard, Co-author of the citizenship clause of the 14th Amendment, 1866.
The Price We Pay
What This All Means and What Can Be Done
Higher Taxes: The federal government has control over immigration law for the United States. By not addressing this abuse, the funds that state and local governments must provide to anchor babies amounts to a virtual tax on U.S. citizens to subsidize illegal aliens.
Disrespect for the rule of law: By not closing this loophole, the federal government in effect rewards law-breakers and punishes those who have chosen to follow the rules and immigrate legally. Allowing illegal aliens to give birth to American citizens, in effect, makes citizenship a license for welfare. [Peter Brimelow. National Review, April 7, 1997.]
The present guarantee under American law of automatic birthright citizenship to the children of illegal aliens can one more incentive to illegal migration and violation by nonimmigrant aliens already here[.] When this attraction is combined with the powerful lure of the expanded entitlements conferred upon citizen children and their families by the modern welfare state, the total incentive effect of birthright citizenship may well become significant.
Profs. Peter Schuck and Rogers Smith, "Consensual Citizenship," Chronicles, July 1992.
Congressional action warranted: The 14th Amendment stipulates that Congress has the power to enforce its provisions by enactment of legislation and the power to enforce a law is necessarily accompanied by the authority to interpret that law. Therefore, an act of Congress stating its interpretation of the 14th Amendment, as not to include the offspring of illegal aliens, would fall within Congress's prerogative.
[FAIR supports legislation introduced into the current Congress to change the automatic conferral of citizenship to children of illegal aliens. See the Legislative Update page for H.R.7 by Rep Brian Bilbray (R-CA) and H.R.346 by Rep Bob Stump (R-AZ). An excellent description of the issue written by Rep. Bilbray was published by the San Diego Union-Tribune on August 17, 1997. Bilbray Op-Ed]
FAIR, 8/97.
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* * * ** * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * ** * * * * * *
~Line Test~
If the following line is readable without scrolling over, you can easily
read this walkthrough.
Welcome readers! I'm Deathborn 668 on the message boards and this is
a walkthrough for Pokemon Pinball-Ruby and Sapphire for the Game Boy
Advance. Although a pretty old game as of now, I still play it quite often
and feel like I should write a walkthrough for it. So enjoy, and please
keep these Do's and Do not's in mind:
-Use this walkthrough as a refrence tool
-Tell people about it
-Print it for personal use
-Give to other people for no profit
-Plagerize this walkthrough without any credit
-Call this walkthrough "yours"
-Sell this walkthrough for profit
ONLY the following sites have permission to use this walkthrough without
the need to contact me:
Anybody else wishing to use this walkthrough will need to draw attention
to me on the message boards. I do not want any e-mail. I'm sick of spam and
people who can't read e-mailing me. If you need to find anything in this
guide quickly, just hit CTRL+F and type what you're looking for. Please
don't bug me on something you can't find in this walkthrough even though it
is clearly visible.
Thanks for your concern.
| ~Table of Contents~ |
|1.Controls |
|2.The Board Basics |
|3.Catch 'em Mode |
|4.Egg Hatch Mode |
|5.Evolution Mode |
|6.Travel Mode |
|7.Pokeball Upgrades |
|8.The Pokemart Items |
|9.The Slots Rewards |
|10.The Bonus Stages |
|11.Pokemon Board Locations |
|12.Capturing Rare Pokemon |
|13.Tips and Tricks |
The controls to the game are very customizable. There are four preset
button layouts you can choose from or, if you prefer, you can edit what
buttons do which actions yourself.
Type A:
Left Flipper-Left on D-Pad
Right Flipper-A button
Tilt Left-L button
Tilt Right-R button
Tilt Up-L+R buttons
Type B:
Left Flipper-Left on D-Pad
Right Flipper-A button
Tilt Left-L button
Tilt Right-R button
Tilt Up-B button
Type C:
Left Flipper-L button
Right Flipper-R button
Tilt Left-Left on D-Pad
Tilt Right-A button
Tilt Up-Left on D-Pad+A button
Type D:
Left Flipper-L button
Right Flipper-R button
Tilt Left-Left on D-Pad
Tilt Right-Right on D-Pad
Tilt Up-Up on D-Pad
By choosing this option you can change the settings for each of the five
commands to whichever buttons you want to. You can also have the same
button do more than one action. If you want to, you can have both flippers
set to the same button. However, this makes it impossible to do some events
on the boards (rather, it makes it more difficult actually) so the choice
is yours. Feel free to use this option of one of the preset layouts.
~2.The Board Basics~
There are two different boards that you can play on. They are the Ruby
board and the Sapphire board. Each of these boards has a decent amount of
differences between them, such as the general board layout, how to activate
certain modes, and most of all, the Pokemon you are able to catch in them.
You'll need to play each board multiple times before you can complete the
Before I describe the boards, when you start a new game you will notice
some numbers on the bottom row of the screen. The large number to the left
if your score. Doing almost anything on the board will earn in points, and
in turn increase your score. That's pinball basics. There are several other
numbers on the right side. From left to right, the first number next to the
Pokeball symbol is how many Pokemon you have caught. Whenever you catch or
evolve a Pokemon, this will increase by one. You will earn an extra ball
when you catch 15 Pokemon.
The second number next to the Coin symbol is how many coins you currently
have. Shooting the ball up a certain ramp on both boards will earn you
coins. You can spend these at the Pokemart for fabulous items to aid you
on your current ball. The final symbol next to the colored Pokeball is how
many balls you have remaining. You can get extra balls in several ways. You
get one for catching 15 Pokemon, you can get them very rarely on the slots,
or you can buy them in the Pokemart for 99 coins. If you lose all of your
balls, then it's game over. Simple as that.
You start the game with 2 extra balls and 10 coins. You can collect more of
each if you are good. Coins are pretty easy to get, but Extra Balls are
rare. Always try to get Extra Balls if you have the chance to do so.
Ruby Board
The Ruby Board is considered to be the easier of the two boards. The ball
will always start at the plunger, which is a Spoink here. Hit the A button
to launch the ball. At the bottom you have the typical flippers and side
bummpers. The side gutters will make you lose the ball if the saver isn't
on, or Pikachu can save it. Hit the left flipper button to make Pikachu
move to the left side, and the right flipper to make him move to the right
side. If you have the Pika Charge stored, Pikachu will save the ball before
it falls down the gutter.
Above the flippers is a button near Chikorita. She will use Razor Leaf to
make Linnone pop his head out on the left and right sides of the board
nearby. If you hit the one on the left, it will make a Gulpin fall down.
Repeat this three times to have three Gulpins total, activating Travel
Mode. If you hit the right Linoone, Makuhita will turn to face the right
loop. You can push the A button to make him punch the ball when it comes
near him. If you do this right, it will send the ball up a side ramp and
into a Nuzleaf. After the third hit, Nuzleaf will cover the gap with his
body, making a bridge. Hit through this loop again and you'll hit the
Upgrade Arrow, upgrading your Pokeball to the next level.
The right loop is the GET loop, and the left if the EVO loop. Right next to
the GET loop is Sharpedo. When two or more GET lights are flashing, you can
hit the ball into Sharpedo to start Catch 'em Mode. To the left of
Sharpedo's ramp is a ramp leading to the Pokemart. Hit up the ramp once to
hit the doors, opening the shop. Hit up the ramp again to enter the shop.
The doors will remains open until you start another mode, at that time you
will need to reopen the doors.
Left of that ramp is a small button with a number above it. This is the
bonus multiplier. At the end of ball bonus, your final total bonus score
will be multiplied by this number. Hit the switch to increase it by one.
You can also increase it by hitting the Bonus Multiplier option in the
Slots occasionally. Left of this is the bumpers. There's a switch to the
left of the pool. This will change what the bumpers are. They can be three
stationary Chinchous, three rotating Chinchous, one rotating Chinchou,
three stationary Lotad's, and rarely Whiscash will appear. If you hit the
ball into his mouth he will take you to the Spheal Bonus Stage. Hit any
other part of his body and he'll use Earthquake, violently shaking the
screen, before disappearing. Above the bumpers are three lights. The ball
with light them up as it passes them. Light all three to upgrade the ball
one level.
Left of the bumpers is the Hatch Lane. Hit Cyndaquil three times to make
it back up into the egg hut. Hit him again to make the egg hatch. After the
egg hatches, hit the hut again to make another egg appear. The lane to the
left of the hatch lane is where you can collect coins. The flashing light
shows you how many coins you'll earn when you hit the ball up the lane.
Also, on the right loop is a spinner with a Pikachu face on it. Hit this
to charge the Pika Meter. When it is full, you can make Pikachu save the
ball as it falls down the side gutters. The charge will disappear when you
use it, so you'll have to recharge the meter.
Sapphire Board
The Sapphire Board is generally considered to be the more difficult of the
boards. The ball will start on the Spoink plunger, so push A to send it
onto the board. It will pass around the Egg chamber before going down a
ramp to the flippers. On the left side of the board, near the flippers, is
a button. Each time you hit this, a Seedot will fall into the basket. Get
three Seedot's in the basket to start Travel Mode. However, the Seedot's
will leave one at a time about every 30 seconds. This will reset each time
a new Seedot is dropped into the basket. If you want to start Travel Mode
you will need to be quick.
The button on the right side of the flippers makes Zigzagoon active. You
can tell he's active when he's on all four legs, looking like he's ready to
strike something. If he's like this and you are playing the slots, you can
push A to have him use Quick Attack and he will stop the wheel instantly.
You can use this to get the prizes you want with little difficulty.
The right loop as always is the GET loop. Each time you hit the ball
through here, one of the letters lights up. Once at least 2 letters are lit
up, you can start Catch 'em Mode. The spinner is here on this loop as well.
Hit it enough to charge the Pika Meter so Pikachu can save the ball if it
falls on the outer lanes. Next to this loop is the Hatch Lane. Hitting the
ball up this ramp will send it into the Egg Incubator. One of the lights
will turn on each time you send the ball up here. Once you light all four
lights, the egg will hatch. Hit the ball up this ramp again after the egg
hatches to replace the egg.
Next to the Hatch Lane is a Wailmer. Hit the ball into him when you have
at least 2 GET lights active to start Catch 'em Mode. Right next to Wailmer
you will see a small switch with a P on it and a number on a panel on the
table. This is the Bonus Multiplier increaser. The number is the current
End of Ball Bonus multiplier. Hit the P switch to increase this by one.
This also makes Pelipper, who is sitting in a nest above the P switch, to
turn and face the end of the coin ramp above him. If you shoot it up the
Coin Ramp, the ball will drop into his beak and he'll fly away with it and
drop the ball into the bumpers. If the P switch is flashing, and you hit it
and then get the ball into Pelipper's mouth, he will fly you away to the
Spheal Bonus Stage.
The Bumpers are in the top-center of the board. They are just three
Shroomish. Above them are the same three lights from the Ruby Board. If
you make all three lights active you will upgrade the ball one level. Next
to the Bumpers is the Pokemart. It is guarded by a force field, however. To
remove the force field, you need to hit the + and - buttons on the sides of
the entrance. This will disable Plusle and Minun's attack. Once you hit
both buttons you can enter the Pokemart at will. The barrier will reappear
and you'll need to deactivate it again if you start any game mode.
The Coin Ramp is left of the Pokemart. Hit the ball up this ramp to get the
amount of coins on the flashing arrow. You can get 1, 5, or 10 coins. The
ball will be dropped into the bumpers at the end of the ramp, or Pelipper's
mouth if he's facing the ramp. The EVO loop is next to the Coin Ramp. Hit
the ball up this loop to light up each letter in EVO. Once you do this
three times, the Pokemart will change into the EVO area. The barrier will
also disappear. Hit the ball into here to start EVO Mode.
~3.Catch 'em Mode~
Catch 'em Mode is the game mode you will often be activating while on the
boards. It isn't very difficult to start and is rather easy to complete,
but the only downside is that you won't recieve very many points for doing
so. However, it does bring you close to reaching the bonus stages where you
can rack up huge points. Catch 'em Mode is done in similar ways on both
boards, but there are some differences. You have 2:00 to catch the Pokemon.
If you fail to do so in two minutes, you will have to try again later after
relighting the GET lights.
Ruby Board
In the Ruby Board, to start Catch 'em Mode you need to shoot the ball into
Sharpedo. When Catch 'em Mode starts, you will see the silhouette of the
Pokemon you are trying to catch in the center of the board. You need to
reveal the Pokemon before you can catch it. To reveal the picture, you need
to hit the bumpers three times. This can either be easy or very hard
depending on the current bumper setup. One rotating Chinchou is difficult
to hit, but three Lotad's or rotating Chinchous should make this quite
simple. The first hit reveals one square, the second hit reveals another
two squares, and the last bumper hit will reveal the last three squares.
They will be revealed one at a time. If you want to instantly reveal the
picture, hit the bumpers three times before the ball falls back to the
One the Pokemon has been revealed, you will need to catch it. The Pokemon
will stay at the bottom of the screen. You need to hit it three times to
light up "Catch!" and you will catch the Pokemon. Don't worry about what
kind of Pokeball you currently have; you will ALWAYS capture a Pokemon when
it does the animation for it.
Once you catch your first Pokemon at the beginning of the board, you will
need to relight the GET lights to start Catch 'em Mode again. Shoot the
right loop to light up the letters. You can start Catch 'em Mode with just
GE lit up, but you can occasionally get better Pokemon if you light up GET.
Either way, when you see the "Catch" light pointing at Sharpedo flashing,
you should know you can catch a Pokemon then. The Latios Ball Saver will
be lit for the first sixty seconds of this mode.
Sapphire Board
In the Sapphire Board, Catch 'em Mode is started in a similar way. You need
to shoot the ball in Wailmer to start the mode. Like before, the silhouette
of the Pokemon you are trying to catch will appear in the middle of the
table, and you need to hit the Shroomish bumpers to reveal the picture. You
need to hit them three times. If you hit them three times before the ball
falls back to the bottom of the table, the entire picture will be instantly
revealed without wasting any of the time limit. Once you have hit the
bumpers three times, the Pokemon will appear and you can start catching it.
There's an easy trick to catching the Pokemon. If the Latias Ball Saver
light is still lit, lose the ball and resend it up the plunger. Don't shake
the table and you will get an easy two hits on the Pokemon before the ball
reaches the flippers again. From there, one more hit and you'll catch the
After catching your first Pokemon when you start the board, you will need
to relight the GET lights at the right loop. Once again, you can start
Catch 'em Mode with just GE lit, but you can get better Pokemon if you
light up GET. You will have the Latias Ball Saver lit for sixty seconds.
~4.Egg Hatch Mode~
On both boards you will notice an Egg sitting on an area of the board. With
a little work you can make this Egg hatch, starting the Egg Hatch mode. The
process to hatch the Egg is slightly different on both boards, but what you
need to do stays the same.
Ruby Board
You will notice a Cyndaquil in the Hatch lane. Each time you hit Cyndaquil,
he will back up just a little but. After the third hit, he will be pushed
into the hut where the Egg is resting and start incubating it. Once you hit
Cyndaquil again, Egg Hatch Mode will begin. The Egg will hatch into a
random Pokemon that can only come out of Eggs (see the Pokemon Availability
section to see which ones can be hatched). The Pokemon will drop into the
center area of the board and will move around randomly in the middle area.
You have about 45 seconds to catch the Pokemon before it disappears. Since
the Pokemon is small, you only need to hit it twice. Try to aim as best as
possible so you don't waste time getting the ball stuck somewhere. The
Latios Ball Saver will be lit for about 20 seconds. Once you complete/fail
the mode, send the ball back into the hut Cyndaquil was to make a new Egg
appear, starting the process anew.
Sapphire Board
When you shoot the ball at the beginning, the ball will pass through the
Incubator. There is a Hatch ramp leading to the incubator at the bottom of
the screen. Each time you shoot the ball up this ramp, one light will turn
on and heat up the Egg. Once all four lights have been lit, the Egg will
hatch. Again, you get the Latias Ball Saver for about 20 seconds and you
only have roughly 45 seconds to hit the small Pokemon twice to capture it.
It's slightly harder here because the middle area of the board is larger
than its Ruby counterpart. Once you complete/fail the mode, hit the ball up
the Hatch ramp to make a new Egg appear on the Incubator, starting the
process all over again.
~5.Evolution Mode~
In order to obtain most Pokemon, you will have to evolve them. Some Pokemon
even evolve more than once, while others don't evolve at all. To evolve a
Pokemon, you will need to start EVO Mode. This mode can be started nearly
the exact same way on both boards. You cannot start this mode unless you
have at least one Pokemon that can be evolved. You have two minutes to
complete the mode. You can only evolve Pokemon you have caught on this
playthrough of the table. You can't evolve an Abra you caught last game and
got a game over on, you can only evolve Pokemon that have been caught this
In EVO Mode, you will need to collect three evolutionary items to light up
EVO in the center of the table, opening the hole. Hit the ball into the
hole to evolve the Pokemon. The items can be and Experience symbol, Water/
Fire/Leaf/Thunder/Sun/Moon stones, GBA Link Cables, Happiness Hearts, or
Pokeblocks. It depends on the Pokemon being evolved. Evolving a Machoke
would make you collect GBA Link Cables while evolving a Zigzagoon would
make you collect Experience. You must get the items one at a time. Once you
collect the item, the next one will appear on the board. They appear in
certain locations on the board so you can somewhat know what to expect.
Ruby Board
You will need to send the ball up the left loop three times, lighting up
EVO. Once you have done this, the Pokemart will change its sign into the
Pokemon Center. The doors will stay open unless you start another mode, and
when you shoot the ball here you will be taken to a screen showing your
Pokemon that can be evolved. You can check to see if you have their evolved
forms here or not. Choose your Pokemon to begin the mode. The items you
need to collect will appear in several spots on the board. During any
single EVO Mode no two items will appear in the same spot. Here are the
locations the item can appear:
-In the outer loop (lose the ball and send it through the plunger to get
this easily)
-In the center of the board
-Right infront of Sharpedo
-Halfway up the ramp to the Pokemart
-The middle of the Coin lane
-Halfway up the ramp leading to Nuzleaf
Sapphire Board
Like the Ruby Board, you will need to send the ball around the left loop
three times to light up the EVO lights. The barrier infront of the Pokemart
will disappear, and the sign above it will read EVO instead of "Shop".
Shoot the ball into the cave to start EVO Mode. Choose your Pokemon and
begin the mode. The items are far more difficult to reach on the Sapphire
Board, so try not to waste any time attempting to get these items. They can
appear in the following locations:
-At the top of the Coin ramp (lose the ball and send it through the plunger
to reach this one easily)
-In the center of the board
-Right infront of Wailmer
-Halfway up the ramp leading to the Incubator
-Infront of the P Bonus Multiplier switch
-In the outer loop
-In the center of the Shroomish bumpers (this one is nearly impossible to
get skillfully. You have the be VERY lucky to get the item if your unlucky
enough for it to land here)
~6.Travel Mode~
You start the board in a randomly selected area, but perhaps you have
milked all the Pokemon you can catch out of that area. In such an event you
should try traveling to a different area. The process is slightly different
on each board. If you are sucessful, you will be given the option of
whether or not you want to travel to a different area. Each board has seven
different areas you can visit. The first six can be randomly selected at
the beginning and are usually traveled to, but the last area can only be
visited under certain circumstances.
Ruby Board
In this board, hit the button where Chikorita is to make her use Razor Leaf
on the two Linnone's, making them pop their heads out. If you hit the
Linnone on the left, a Gulpin will fall down. You only have a limited time
to hit the Linnone so hurry up! Once you have three Gulpin's (they don't
disappear), Travel Mode will initate. You have one minute to shoot the
ball through either the left or right loop. It doesn't matter which one you
choose. Once you do, the center hole will open. Shoot the ball into it and
choose whether you want to travel or not. That's all there is to it. Here
are the locations you can travel to:
1.Granite Cave
2.Petalburg Forest
3.Safari Zone
4.Mt. Chimney
5.Lilycove City
Sapphire Board
On this board, traveling is slightly easier but you need to be quick. There
is a button on the left side of the board near the flippers. If you hit it,
a Seedot will fall into a basket. You need to get three Seedot's into the
basket to begin Travel Mode. However, one Seedot will jump out about every
30 seconds, so you need to keep hitting the button to replace them. Get
three in the basket to begin the mode. Like the Ruby Board, just shoot the
ball up the left or right loops to open the hole in the center of the
board. Shoot it in here to get the option to travel.
1.Granite Cave
2.Petalburg Forest
Although both boards share several areas, several Pokemon can only be
caught in these areas on seperate boards. Both areas can reach the Ruins,
but this is the special circumstance area.
Reaching the Ruins Area
Several rare Pokemon, including Jirachi, only appear in the Ruins area.
However, this area is fairly hard to reach. You need to travel at least
five times to reach this area. Basically, you need to shoot the ball up the
same loop five times. It doesn't need to be consecutive. So, if you shot
the ball up the left loop 3 times, the right loop once, then the left loop
2 more times, you'd be in the Ruins area. Realistically, you are guarenteed
to reach the Ruins by your ninth travel.
~7.Pokeball Upgrades~
During the game you should try to upgrade the ball as often as possible.
This will allow you to earn more points, especially during the Bonus
Stages. Both stages have a similar way of upgrading the ball, but one board
has an extra, easier way of doing so as well. The ball upgrades are as
Pokeball-The normal red and white ball you start every game with. You earn
normal points with this ball, nothing special.
Great Ball-The first upgrade makes the ball become a Great Ball, which is
blue with red striped on it. You will earn twice the normal points with
this ball.
Ultra Ball-If you manage to upgrade the Great Ball, it will become an Ultra
Ball which is yellow with black stripes. You will earn triple the normal
amount of points earned on the board and in bonus stages.
Master Ball-If you upgrade the Ultra Ball, it will become the purple with
red dots Master Ball. You will earn quadruple the normal amount of points
with this ball, and that's a ton of points you can get for finishing a
Bonus Stage with it.
All ball upgrades last about one minute, then the ball goes back down one
level. So if you have an Ultra Ball, after a minute it will become a Great
Ball, then after another minute it will be a Pokeball again. Upgrading the
ball when it's a Master Ball will reset to minute timer you have. In Bonus
Stages, you will not go back a stage due to time. However, if you lose the
ball in a Bonus Stage, when it reappears it will have gone back a level. Do
your best not to lose the ball in these stages. You can earn upgrades also
by getting them on the slots, or by buying them in the Pokemart.
Ruby Board
At the top of the board, just above the bumpers, are three lights. As the
ball passes these lights, they will light up. If you light up all three
lights, the ball will upgrade one level. The lights shut off so you can
redo the process to upgrade the ball even further. If the current bumper
setup is that of the rotating Chinchou, this should be rather easy to do
with some luck. It won't require too much effort to upgrade the ball if it
gets stuck in a loop with the bumpers. Not that you should complain about
it or anything, since it's easy upgrades. You can change the positions of
the lights by hitting the flipper buttons to make your job even easier.
Another way of upgrading the ball is hitting the arrow just past Nuzleaf.
In order to reach this arrow, you need to activate Makuhita. Hit Chikorita
to have her use Razor Leaf on the Linoone. Hit the one on the right to
make Makuhita face north. When you hit the right flipper, he will make a
punch. He can hit the ball with his punches and they almost always head up
the ramp that leads to Nuzleaf. Hit Nuzleaf three times with this tactic
and he will fall over, making a bridge across the gap. Hit the ball up the
ramp one last time and you will roll over Nuzleaf and into the arrow,
giving you an easy upgrade.
Sapphire Board
Unlike the Ruby Board, you have only one way of upgrading the ball here.
There are the same three lights above the Shroomish bumpers that you can
light up by passing them. Light up all three lights and you will upgrade
the ball. Again, this upgrade only lasts about a minute. The Shroomish
bumpers have a tendency to keep the ball above them for a long time, so
getting a Master Ball can be pretty easy.
~8.The Pokemart Items~
There is a Pokemart on both boards. You have to unlock it first before you
can enter, but once you do you can spend your coins on fabulous items. Some
of them are pretty useless, but there are some you should always buy as
soon as possible. Here's the list of the items:
-30 Second Ball Saver-10 Coins (The Latios/Latias Ball Saver will be lit
up for the next 30 seconds)
-Great 60 Second Ball Saver-20 Coins (The Latios/Latias Ball Saver will be
lit up for the next 60 seconds)
-Ultra 90 Second Ball Saver-30 Coins (The Latios/Latias Ball Saver will be
lit up for the next 90 seconds)
-Upgrade-40 Coins (The ball is upgraded one level for about one minute)
-Pika Saver-50 Coins (Pichu joins Pikachu in the right side gutter. The
Pika Meter will be forever charged until you lose the ball, and Pichu will
stay until you lose the ball)
-Spheal Bonus Challenge-60 Coins (Starts the Spheal Bonus Challenge)
-Extra Ball-99 Coins (You get an extra ball. As fas as I know, you can only
buy this twice per game)
You should always buy the Pika Saver first, as the ball will very often go
down the side gutters. Extra balls should be yor next priority, as there's
no better way to rack up points than have extra balls to do so with. The
Spheal Bonus Challenge is nice if you currently have an Ultra/Master Ball,
as the amount of points you get in the stage will be multiplied by the
level of the ball. Here's how to open the shop on both boards.
Ruby Board
Shoot the ball up the Shop ramp to hit the doors, opening them. Shoot the
ball up the ramp again to enter the shop. The doors will stay open until
you start a mode, in which case you will need to reopen them. You can't
enter the Pokemart when all the EVO lights are lit up, as the Pokemart
changes into the Pokemon Center. You also can't enter the Pokemart during
any mode.
Sapphire Board
The Sapphire Board has a harder to open Pokemart. You will see Plusle and
Minun standing on a platform, creating an electric barrier blocking the
shop. Hit the + and - buttons to disable Plusle and Minun, destroying their
barriers and allowing you to enter the shop. You can't enter the shop when
the EVO lights are on, as this becomes the starting point of EVO Mode. You
also can't go into the shop when any other mode is currently ongoing. You
will need to disable Plusle and Minun each time another mode starts.
~9.The Slots Rewards~
At the bottom of the board there are four lanes. Two are the outer gutters
which will make you lose your ball as they lead to the bottom drain
(Pikachu and Pichu can save the ball here), and two inner lanes that lead
to the flippers. There are lights above each lane, each representing a
letter. As you pass them, the letter lights up. Light all four to spell
"SLOT" to open up the slots hole in the center of the board. You can use
the flipper buttons to shift the position of the letters to make it easier
to spell "SLOT". Once you hit the ball into the hole, a roulette will play.
Stop it with the A button, and it will slow down and stop at your prize.
The prizes suck at first, but as you keep getting slots with the same ball,
you will find the prizes get insanely good before resetting to the
beginning again. On the Sapphire Board, you can use Zigzagoon's Quick
Attack to stop the slots immediately to grab your prize. It's best to do
this as the roulette starts slowing down, making it easier to time. Here
is what can appear on the slots:
-30 Second Ball Saver (The Latios/Latias Ball Saver will be lit
up for the next 30 seconds)
-Great 60 Second Ball Saver (The Latios/Latias Ball Saver will be
lit up for the next 60 seconds)
-Ultra 90 Second Ball Saver (The Latios/Latias Ball Saver will be
lit up for the next 90 seconds)
-Upgrade (The ball is upgraded one level for about one minute)
-Max Upgrade (The ball is upgraded to a Master Ball instantly)
-Pika Saver (Pichu joins Pikachu in the right lane. The Pika Meter will be
charged indefinitely until you lose the ball for good. Thusly, you can
never lose the ball through the outside lanes)
-Bonus Multipler (Adds 1-5 extra to the current End of Ball Bonus
-Catch 'em Mode Start (Begins Catch 'em Mode)
-Small (You get between 100 and 900 points)
-Big (You get between 1,000,000 and 9,000,000 points)
-EVO Mode Start (Begins EVO Mode provided you have a Pokemon that can be
-Coin +10 (You get 10 Coins)
-Coin +30 (You get 30 Coins)
-Coin +50 (You get 50 Coins)
-30 Second Timer Up (The next timed event with a visible timer will have a
bonus 30 seconds added to it. The Latios/Latias Ball Saver will still last
the standard amount of time it would if the mode didn't have this bonus)
-Spheal Bonus Challenge (You get warped to the Spheal Bonus Challenge)
-Kecleon Bonus Stage (You get warped to the Kecleon Bonus Stage, Ruby
Board only)
-Groudon Bonus Stage (You get warped to the Groudon Bonus Stage, Ruby Board
-Dusclops Bonus Stage (You get warped to the Dusclops Bonus Stage, Sapphire
Board only)
-Kyogre Bonus Stage (You get warped to the Kyogre Bonus Stage, Sapphire
Board only)
-Rayquaza Bonus Stage (You get warped to the Rayquaza Bonus Stage, only
available as the bonus stage after you catch Groudon/Kyogre)
-Extra (You recieve an extra ball)
-Jirachi Arrival (Jirachi will appear on the board with a 30 second time
limit for capture. This only appears on the slots if you are in the Ruins
area, and is ALWAYS on the slots until you hit it. However, once you
attempt this mode, the Jirachi Arrival space on the slots will not reappear
until after you start a new round and get a game over)
~10.The Bonus Stages~
Below the picture of the area you are currently in you will see three
Pokeball symbols. Each time you catch a Pokemon, one of these lights up. If
you evolve a Pokemon, two of them light up. Once all three have been
lighted, the hole will open leading to a Bonus Stage on the board. The
Bonus Stage you go to depends on the board you are on, and what the last
bonus stage you beat was. Here is the order you will visit the Bonus
Stages. You have to beat one to move to the next stage in the loop.
Ruby Board:Kecleon > Groudon > Kecleon > Groudon > Rayquaza
Sapphire Board:Duskull > Kyogre > Dusclops > Kyogre > Rayquaza
After beating Rayquaza's Bonus Stage, the loop restarts. The Bonus Stages
are setup for maximum point getting. Clearing these stages nets you massive
points, with the exception of the Spheal Bonus Challenge where your goal is
just to score as many points as you can. You CANNOT lose your ball in the
Bonus Stages. However, if you lose the ball it won't reappear for about 6
seconds, and you have a strict time limit so try not to lose the ball.
Also, if the ball has been upgraded, there is no downgrade timer during the
Bonus Stages. Instead, when you lose the ball, it goes down a stage. Again,
just don't lose the ball. However, it can sometimes be a strategic move.
Here are the Bonus Stages with diagrams of them. The "F"'s are the
Spheal Bonus Challenge
| ** ** |
| ** ** BASKET ** ** |
| ** SEALEO SEALEO ** |
| ** ** |
| ** ** |
| ** ** |
| ** ** |
|\ ** ** /|
| \ / |
| \ / |
| \ / |
| FF FF |
| FF FF |
Time Limit-2:00
Reward-5,000,000 points per Spheal into the basket, 1,000,000 points per
Pokeball into the basket
You can get to this stage either by getting it from the slots, shooting the
ball into Pelipper's mouth when the P switch is flashing, shooting the ball
into Whiscash's mouth when he appears on the Ruby Board, or by buying it at
the Pokemart. This Bonus Challenge is available on both boards.
When you are thrown onto the board, you will see a smal pool of water in
the area with the flippers, two icy slides leading to a Sealeo, and a small
basketball hoop. Your object is to hit as many Spheal's and Pokeball's into
the basket as possible in 2:00. You want to aim for Spheal's more, though,
as you get far more points for them. So how do you get basket with them?
That's rather simple for just the Pokeball. Shoot the ball up one of the
icy ramps. Sealeo will bounce the ball three times before shooting it into
the basket, at which point it was fall back to the flippers. You want to
aim for Spheal's more for higher points, however. In the small pool you
will see two Spheal's swimming around. Hit them to make them dive back
underwater. Keep doing this until at least one of them tries to climb one
of the icy slides. Hit the Spheal with the Pokeball (a light tap works just
fine) and it will be propelled to the top of the slide and onto the Sealeo,
who will bounce him into the basket. If you hit Sealeo when he is bouncing
the Spheal, he will drop the Spheal and you'll need to try again. This is
all you have to do for the two minute time limit. Once time is up, the game
will count how many Pokeball baskets you got and how many Spheal baskets
you got, and add the scores together. This total is multiplied by the
Pokeball bonus, so you'd get triple the points with an Ultra Ball. Quite
Kecleon Bonus Stage
| \TREE/ |
| ---- |
| |
| ROCK |
| SIGN |
| |
|\ /|
| \ / |
| \ / |
| \ / |
| FF FF |
| FF FF |
Time Limit-2:00
Reward-30,000,000 points
This is the first Bonus Stage you will go to on the Ruby Board. It takes
place in the Safari Zone, and your job is to defeat Kecleon within two
minutes. It would be easy, but Kecleon turns himself invisible, making him
difficult to find. What you need to do is hit him with the ball to make him
trip, then hit him again while he's tripped to deal damage. You will clear
the stage if you hit him 10 times.
There are some telltale signs of where he is. You can occasionally see dust
clouds he makes when he's scuttling from one place to the next. Rustling
grass and ripples in the water also point out where he's moving. If you're
having trouble, there is help. Hit the large tree in the back to make the
Devon Scope fall from the branches. Hit this with the ball to equip them
for about 15 seconds, allowing you to see Kecleon. Once they wear off you
will need to recollect them in the same manor.
When you hit Kecleon, he turns visible again before quickly moving to a new
location and turning invisible. You can make him trip easily when he's
visible and get free hits on him if you're quick. This stage isn't too
difficult, but if you are unable to find and hit Kecleon quickly this can
get quite annoying.
Groudon Bonus Stage
| 11 22 |
| 11 GROUDON 22 |
| 33 44 |
| 33 44 |
| |
| |
|\ /|
| \ / |
| \ / |
| \ / |
| FF FF |
| FF FF |
Time Limit-3:00
Reward-50,000,000 points
You can go to this Bonus Stage after you have cleared the Kecleon Bonus
Stage. Your object is to defeat Groudon within the three minute time limit.
It seems pretty hard, but once you understand how this stage works, it is
actually very simple. At the start, Groudon will fall from the ceiling and
use Rock Throw, dropping three rocks in random locations onto the board.
These may be out of your way, or totally block your path. They take three
hits to destroy.
After a short time, Groudon will use Eruption, destroying the rocks and
flinging your ball into the wall from the resulting shockwave. Four pillars
(marked with the numbers on the diagram). These fire pillars will make it
impossible to hit Groudon. The pillars will slowly go away by themselves,
but you need to hurry up the process. Keep hitting the front pillars until
they disappear, allowing you to get many free hits onto Groudon. About the
time you do this, Groudon will rear his head back and shoot Fire Blast at
the ball. This is a highly inaaccurate attack for him, and as long as the
ball is moving side to side it should miss. If it hits, keep hitting the
flipper buttons to be released from its grasp quicker.
Groudon will use Rock Throw again after Fire Blast. Once all of the pillars
have disappeared (they disappear after about 25 seconds if you don't hit
them enough), Groudon will use Eruption again and this loop will start
anew. Keep up this cycle to hit Groudon 15 times and you will clear the
stage. There's an easy way to get about 8 free hits on Groudon. Before he
uses Eruption, if you can get the ball above Groudon then the ball can't
fall down due to the pillars blocking the way. This will make the ball keep
hitting Groudon, allowing for many easy hits.
If this is your second time beating this Bonus Stage in the same game (as
in, without getting a game over), then you will catch Groudon upon your
second completion.
Dusclops Bonus Stage
| |
| XX |
| XX |
| |
| |
| XX XX |
|\ /|
| \ / |
| \ / |
| \ / |
| FF FF |
| FF FF |
Time Limit-2:00
Reward-30,000,000 points
The setting of this Bonus Stage is in an abondoned graveyard, with several
tombstones on the board (marked by the X's). When you start, you will see
two Duskull's slowly floating from side to side. You need to hit the
Duskull's once to make them disappear. If you take too long to hit a
Duskull, it will warp to another area on the board. When you hit a Duskull,
another one will appear. Basically, you need to kill 20 Duskull's. This
should take about a minute, depending on how lucky you are with the
locations the Duskull warp to.
Once you have defeated the last Duskull, the timer will stop briefly, and
the ground will shake with stomping several times. The timer will resume
when a large Dusclops finishes materializing in the center of the board.
You need to hit Dusclops five times to defeat him. That may seem simple,
but he will suck up the ball if you hit him with a frontal attack. Bounce
the ball around the board to strike him in the back. Every few seconds he
will walk a little close to the flippers, and eventually back up. When he
is walking, you can hit him with a frontal attack and he won't suck up the
ball. Only five hits do him in, and since you can abuse the time where he
walks to get asy hits, this part of the stage shouldn't present too much of
a problem unless you are very low on time.
Kyogre Bonus Stage
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|\ /|
| \ / |
| \ / |
| \ / |
| FF FF |
| FF FF |
Time Limit-3:00
Reward-50,000,000 points
You can only go to the Kyogre Bonus Stage once you beat the Dusclops Bonus
Stage on the Sapphire Board. Kyogre will begin at the top of the board in
his resting area. After about four seconds he will shake a bit, flashing
white, and attack using Sheer Cold which sends a shockwave of frost around
the field, guarenteeing that the ball gets frozen. Rapidly push the flipper
buttons to unfreeze the ball. You can stop this attack. When you see him
shaking, hit him with the ball. This will cancel out his attack. After
using, or failing to do so, Sheer Cold, Kyogre will create two whirlpools.
If you hit the ball into these, they will ensnare it for about 8 seconds.
Try to avoid them.
Right after using Whirlpool, Kyogre will use Dive. The whirlpools will
disappear before he resurfaces for the first time. Look for the bubbles. He
only reappears for about 1.5 seconds, so you have little time to hit him.
He will resurface twice before returning to his original spot. Kyogre will
repeat this process all over again after finishing Dive. Hit Kyogre 15
times to clear the stage.
If this is the second time you defeat the Kyogre Bonus Stage without
getting a game over, then you will capture Kyogre instead of just defeating
Rayquaza Bonus Stage
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|\ /|
| \ / |
| \ / |
| \ / |
| FF FF |
| FF FF |
Time Limit-3:00
Reward-99,999,999 points
This is the final Bonus Stage you can go to, and you can only visit it
after catching Groudon/Kyogre. You need to hit Rayquaza 15 times within the
time limit. Seems pretty easy as the board doesn't look too tricky. Too bad
Rayquaza isn't going to take that crap. Rayquaza will move from side to
side. As if that wasn't bad enough, it will be hovering above the ground.
If your timing isn't dead on, the ball will harmlessly pass under Rayquaza
instead of hitting it. After several seconds, Rayquaza will stop and glow
yellow, then use Thunder on the ball. While he's stopped you can get an
easy hit in. If Thunder hits, hit the flipper buttons quickly to escape the
grasp. There's a trick you can use with Thunder to get several more easy
hits. Hit the ball right next to Rayquaza so the Thunder hits it next to
him. Rayquaza will hover up and down in place, and the ball will touch him
each time, counting as a hit. You can get about 5 easy hits this way. The
timing is rather tricky, however.
Several seconds after using Thunder, Rayquaza will use Fly and leave the
stage. He will then use Extremespeed to zip across the screen, flinging
your ball to the wall. This also creates two tornadoes that trap the ball
for about 8 seconds if you touch them. Rayquaza will return to the screen
after the tornadoes appear. After Rayquaza uses Thunder, the twisters will
disappear. Try not to waste time getting hit by the twisters, as you need
every second to keep hitting Rayquaza. 15 attacks, and you will clear this
stage. If you have a Master Ball when you finish, that's nearly 400,000,000
points you will earn!
If this is your second time clearing this stage in the same game, as in
without getting a game over, you will catch Rayquaza. In short, the Bonus
Stage where you catch Rayquaza will be the 10th one you beat. It's
difficult, but with some effort you should be able to do it eventually.
~11.Pokemon Board Locations~
Every Pokemon is bound to a specific area where it will only appear. Some
Pokemon only appear on a certain board. You will need to go through each
board many times before you are able to catch all of the Pokemon. And if
just catching them in their areas wasn't enough, a decent amount of Pokemon
can only be obtained from hatching them. The hatched Pokemon can be found
on any area on any board, but the Pokemon inside will always be random from
a certain list.
Ruby Board
~Granite Cave~
~Petalburg Forest~
~Safari Zone~
~Mt. Chimney~
~Lilycove City~
-Jirachi (only available on the slots)
~Has a 1% chance of appearing in any area~
~Caught by beating respective bonus stage twice in the same game~
Sapphire Board
~Granite Cave~
~Petalburg Forest~
-Jirachi (only available on the slots)
~Has a 1% chance of appearing in any area~
Caught by Egg Hatching
~12.Capturing Rare Pokemon~
There are some Pokemon that can't be caught by normal means, so they
require a bit more effort and luck to capture. Here's those Pokemon, and
how you need to capture them.
Kyogre is only found in his respective bonus stage. The first time you beat
it in any one game, Kyogre will run away when defeated. If you return to
the stage in the same game without getting a game over, then instead of
him running away when defeated, you will capture him.
Groudon is only found in his respective bonus stage. Like Kyogre, he runs
away the first time he's defeated. Return to the stage the second time in
the same game and when you defeat him you will instead capture him.
Rayquaza can only be found in his respective bonus stage. Like before, he
will run away when you defeat him the first time around. If you somehow
manage to get back to his stage a second time in the same game, upon his
defeat you will capture Rayquaza.
Latios only appears in the Ruby Board. He has a 1% chance of appearing any
time you start Catch 'em Mode. He has the same odds of appearing in ANY
Latias only appears in the Sapphire Board. Like Latios, she has a 1% chance
of appearing whenever Catch 'em Mode starts. She can be found in any area.
Jirachi is a difficult Pokemon to obtain. Firstly, you need to be in the
Ruins area. You need to keep traveling until you finally arrive at this
area. Once you have arrived, whenever you start the slots you should notice
the "Jirachi Arrival" panel. If you land on this, Jirachi will float down.
She will move around the center of the board in a slow pace and you'll need
to hit her 3 times to catch her. She's the same size as a normal Pokemon so
it isn't too tough. However, you only have 30 seconds (You don't need to
hit the bumpers or anything, just flat out hit Jirachi 3 times). If you can
get the 30 Second Time Bonus before this, it'd be very helpful. This stage
can easily be done in about 15 seconds though, just don't panic.
Chikorita, Cyndaquil, Totodile, Aerodactyl
You have a 1% chance of finding these Pokemon in any area on the Ruby
Board. They can't be found on the Sapphire Board. There's nothing too
special about these guys, and the three starters CAN'T be evolved. They are
just for novelty to slightly extend the Pokedex.
~13.Pokedex Descriptions~
Here's a list of all of the Pokemon in the Pokedex in numerical order, as
well as their Pokedex descriptions. You can check here which Pokemon you
are still missing.
Wood Gecko Pokemon
"Treeko has small hooks on the bottom of its feet that enable it to scale
vertical walls. This Pokemon attacks by slamming foes with its thick tail."
Wood Gecko Pokemon
"The leaves growing out of Grovyle's body are convenient for camouflaging
it from enemies in the forest. This Pokemon is a master at climbing trees
in the jungle."
Forest Pokemon
"The leaves growing on Sceptile's body are very sharp edged. This Pokemon
is very agile - it leaps all over the branches of trees and jumps on its
foe from above or behind."
Chick Pokemon
"Torchic sticks with its trainer, following behind with unsteady steps.
This Pokemon breathes fire of over 1,800 degrees F, including fireballs
that leave the foe scorched black."
Young Foul Pokemon
"Combusken toughens up its legs and thighs by running through fields and
mountains. This Pokemon's legs possess both speed and power, enabling it
to dole out ten kicks in one second."
Blaze Pokemon
"In battle, Blaziken blows out intense flamers from its wrists and attacks
foes courageously. The stronger the foe, the more intense this Pokemon's
wrists burn."
Mud Fish Pokemon
"In water, Mudkip breathes using the gills on its cheeks. If it is faced
with a tight situation in battle, this Pokemon will unleash its amazing
power - it can crush rocks bigger than itself."
Mud Fish Pokemon
"Marshtomp is much faster at traveling through mud than it is at swimming.
This Pokemon's hindquarters exhibit obvious development, giving it the
ability to walk just on its hind legs."
Mud Fish Pokemon
"Swampert predicts storms by sensing subtle differences in the sounds of
the waves and tidal winds with its fins. If a storm is approaching, it
piles up boulders to protect itself."
Bite Pokemon
"At first sight, Poochyena takes a bite at anything that moves. This
Pokemon chases after prey until the victim becomes exhausted. However, it
may turn tail if the prey strikes back."
Bite Pokemon
"Mightyena gives obvious signals when it is preparing to attack. It starts
to growl deeply and then flattens its body. This Pokemon will bite savagely
with its sharply pointed fangs."
Tinyraccoon Pokemon
"Zigzagoon restlessly wanders everywhere at all times. This Pokemon does so
because it is very curious. It becomes interested in anything that it
happens to see."
Rushing Pokemon
"Linoone always runs full speed and only in striahgt lines. If facing an
obstacle, it makes a right-angle turn to evade it. This Pokemon is very
challenged by gently curving roads."
Worm Pokemon
"Wurmple is targeted by Swellow as prey. This Pokemon will try to resist
weaken the foe by leaking poison from the spikes."
Cocoon Pokemon
"Silcoon was thought to endure hunger and not consume anything before its
evolution. However, it is now thought that this Pokemon slakes its thirst
by drinking rainwater that collects on its silk."
Butterfly Pokemon
"Beautifly has a long mouth like a coiler needle, which is very convenient
for collecting pollen from flowers. This Pokemon rides the spring winds as
it flits around gathering pollen."
Cocoon Pokemon
"If it is attacked, Cascoon remains motionless however badly it may be
hurt. It does this so because if it were to move, its body would be weak
upon evolution. This Pokemon will also not forget the pain it endured."
Poison Moth Pokemon
"When Dustox flaps its wings, a fine dust is scattered all over. This dust
Pokemon searches for food using its antennae like radar."
Water Weed Pokemon
"Lotad is said to have dwelled on land before. However, this Pokemon is
thought to have returned to water because the leaf on its head grew large
and heavy. It now lives by floating atop the water."
Jolly Pokemon
"Lombre's entire body is covered by a slippery, slimy film. It feels
horribly unpleasent to be touched by this Pokemon's hands. Lombre is often
mistaken for a human child."
Carefree Pokemon
Upon hearing an upbeat and cheerful rhythm, the cells in Ludicolo's body
become very energetic and active. Even in battle, this Pokemon will exhibit
an amazing amount of power."
Acorn Pokemon
"Seedot attaches itself to a tree branch using the top of its head. It
sucks moisture from the tree while hanging off the branch. The more water
it drinks, the glossier this Pokemon's body becomes."
Wily Pokemon
"Nuzleaf live in densely, overgrown forests. They occasionally venture out
of the forest to startle people. This Pokemon dislikes having its long nose
Wicked Pokemon
"Shiftry is a mysterious Pokemon that is said to live atop towering trees
fans it holds."
Tinyswallow Pokemon
"Taillow courageously stands its ground against foes, however strong they
other hand, it cries loudly if it becomes hungry."
Swallow Pokemon
"Swellow flies high above out heads, making graceful arcs in the sky. This
Pokemon dives at a steep angle as soon as it spots its prey. The hapless
prey is tightly grasped by Swellow's clawed feet, preventing escape."
Seagull Pokemon
"Wingull has the habit of carrying prey and valuables in its beak and
flies as if it were skating across the sky."
Water Bird Pokemon
"Pelipper is a flying transporter that carries small Pokemon and eggs
inside its massive bill. This Pokemon builds its nest on steep cliffs
facing the sea."
Feeling Pokemon
"Ralts senses the emotions of people using the horns on its head. This
Pokemon rarely appears before people. But when it does, it draws closer if
it senses that the person has a positive disposition."
Emotion Pokemon
"It is said that a Kirlia that is exposed to the positive emotion of its
trainer grows beautiful. This Pokemon controls psychokinetic powers with
its highly developed brain."
Embrace Pokemon
"Gardevoir has the ability to read the future. If it senses impending
danger to its trainer, this Pokemon is said to unleash its psychokinetic
energy at full power."
Pond Skater Pokemon
"If Surskit senses danger, it secretes a thick, sugary syrup from the tip
of its head. There are Pokemon that love eating this syrup."
Eyeball Pokemon
"Masquerain's antennas have eyelike patterns that usually give it an angry
look. If the eyes are 'droopy' and appear sad, it is said to be a sign that
heavy rainfall is on the way."
Mushroom Pokemon
"Shroomish live in damp soil in the dark depths of the forests. They are
often found keeping still under fallen leaves. This Pokemon feeds on
compost that is made up of fallen, rotten leaves."
Mushroom Pokemon
"Breloom closes in on its foe with light and sprightly footwork, then
throws punches with its stretchy arms. This Pokemon's fighting technique
puts boxers to shame."
Slacker Pokemon
"Slakoth's heart beats just once a minute. Whatever happens, it is content
to loaf around motionless. It is rare to see this Pokemon in motion."
Wild Monkey Pokemon
"Vigoroth is simply incapable of remaining still. Even when it tries to
sleep, the blood in its veins grows agitated, compelling this Pokemon to
run wild throughout the jungle before it can settle down."
Lazy Pokemon
"Wherever Slaking live, rings of over a yard in diameter appear in grassy
fields. They are made by the Pokemon as it eats all the grass within reach
while laying prone on the ground.
Psi Pokemon
"Abra needs to sleep for eighteen hours a day. If it doesn't, this Pokemon
escapes using Teleport while still sleeping."
Psi Pokemon
"Kadabra holds a silver spoon in its hand. The spoon is used to anplify the
alpha waves in its brain. Without the spoon, the Pokemon is said to be
limited to half the usual amount of its telekinetic powers."
Psi Pokemon
"Alakazam's brain continually grows, infinitely multiplying brain cells.
This amazing brain gives this Pokemon an astounding IQ of 5,000. It has a
thorough memory of everything that has occured in the world.
Trainee Pokemon
"Nincada lives underground for many years in complete darkness. This
Pokemon absorbs nutrients from the roots of trees. It stays motionless as
it waits for evolution."
Ninja Pokemon
"Ninjask moves around at such a high speed that it cannot be seen, even
when its crying can clearly be heard. For that reason, this Pokemon was
long thought to be invincible."
Shed Pokemon
"Shedinja's body doesn't move - not even a twitch. In fact, it's body
appears to be merely a hollow shell. It is believed that this Pokemon will
steal the spirit of anyone peering into its hollow body from its back."
Whisper Pokemon
"Whismur is very timid. If it starts to cry loudly, it becomes startled by
its own crying and cries even harder. When it finally stops crying, the
Pokemon goes to sleep, all tired out."
Big Voice Pokemon
"Loudred shouts while stomping its feet. After it finishes shouting, this
Pokemon becomes incapable of hearing anything for a while. This is
considered to be a weak point.
Loud Noise Pokemon
"Exploud communicates its feelings to the others by emitting whistle-like
sounds from the tubes on its body. This Pokemon only raises its voice when
it is in battle."
Guts Pokemon
"Makuhita has a tireless spirit - it will never give up hope. It eats a lot
of food, gets plenty of sleep, and it trains very vigorously. By living
that way, this Pokemon packs its body with energy."
Arm Thrust Pokemon
"Hariyama's thick body may appear fat, but it is actually a hunk of solid
muscle. If this Pokemon bears down and tightens all its muscles, its body
becomes as hard as a rock."
Goldfish Pokemon
"Goldeen loves swimming wild and free in rivers and ponds. If one of these
Pokemon is placed in an aquarium, it will shatter even the thickest glass
with one ram of its horn and make its escape."
Goldfish Pokemon
"Seaking is very protective of its eggs. The male and female will take
turns patrolling around their nest and eggs. The guarding of these eggs by
these Pokemon goes on for over a month."
Fish Pokemon
"Magikarp is virtually useless in battle as it can only splash around. As a
result, it is considered to be weak. However, it is actually a very hardy
Pokemon that can survive in any body of water no matter how polluted it
Atrocious Pokemon
"Once Gyarados goes on a rampage, its ferociously violent blood doesn't
calm until it has burned everything down. There are reports of this
Pokemon's rampages lasting a whole month."
Polka Dot Pokemon
Azurill's tail is large and bouncy. It is packed full of the nutrients
this Pokemon needs to grow. Azurill can be seen bouncing and playing on its
big, rubbery tail."
Aqua Mouse Pokemon
its tail around the trunk of a tree. This Pokemon's tail is flexible and
configured to stretch."
Aqua Rabbit Pokemon
"Azurill can make balloons out of air. It makes these balloons if it spots
a drowning Pokemon. The air balloons enable the Pokemon in trouble to
Rock Pokemon
"When Geodude sleeps deeply, it buries itself halfway into the ground. It
will not awaken even if hikers step on it unwittingly. In the morning, this
Pokemon rolls downhill in search of food."
Rock Pokemon
"Rocks are Graveler's favorite food. This Pokemon will climb a mountain
Upon reaching the peak, it rolls back down to the bottom."
Megaton Pokemon
"Golem is known for rolling down from mountains. To prevent them from
sides of mountains to serve as guideways for diverting this Pokemon's
Compass Pokemon
"Nosepass's magnetic nose is always pointed to the north. If two of these
Pokemon meet, they cannot turn their faces to each other when they are
close because their magnetic noses repel one another."
Kitten Pokemon
"Skitty has a habit of becoming facinated by moving objects and chasing
them around. This Pokemon is known to chase after its own tail and become
Prim Pokemon
"Delcatty prefers to live an unfettered existance in which it can do as it
pleases as its own pace. Because this Pokemon eats and sleeps whenever it
decides, its daily routines are completely random."
Bat Pokemon
"Zubat avoids sunlight because exposure causes it to become unhealthy.
During the daytime, it stays in caves or under the eaves of old houses,
sleeping while hanging upside down."
Bat Pokemon
"Golbat bites down on prey with its four fangs and drinks the victims
blood. It becomes active on inky dark moonless nights, flying around to
attack people and Pokemon."
Bat Pokemon
sound. This Pokemon rests by hanging on a tree branch the serves as wings."
Jellyfish Pokemon
"Tentacool's body is largely composed of water. If it is removed from the
sea, it dries up like parchment. If this Pokemon happens to becomes
dehydrated, put it back into the sea."
Jellyfish Pokemon
the vicinity with a harsh ultrasonic blast. This Pokemon's outburst creates
rough waves around it."
Darkness Pokemon
"Sabeleye digs the ground with sharpened claws to find rocks that it eats.
Substances in the eaten rocks crystalize and rise up to the Pokemon's body
Deceiver Pokemon
"Mawile's huge jaws are actually steel horns that have been transformed.
When the foe least expects it, Mawile chomps with its gaping jaws."
Iron Armor Pokemon
"Aron has a body of steel. With one all-out charge, this Pokemon can
demolish evem a heavy dump truck. The destroyed truck then becomes a handy
meal for the Pokemon."
Iron Armor Pokemon
"Lairon feeds on iron contained in rocks and water. It makes its nest on
mountains where iron ore is buried. As a result, the Pokemon often clashes
with humans mining the iron ore."
Iron Armor Pokemon
"Aggron is surprisingly protective of its environment. If its mountain is
ravaged by a landslide of a fire, this Pokemon will haul topsoil to the
area, plant trees, and beautifully restore its own territory."
Superpower Pokemon
"Machop's muscles are special - they never get sore no matter how much they
are used in exercise. This Pokemon has sufficient power to hurl a hundred
adult humans."
Superpower Pokemon
"Machoke's thoroughly toned muscles possess the hardness of steel. This
Pokemon has so much strength, it can easily hold aloft a sumo wrestler with
just one finger."
Superpower Pokemon
Pokemon tends to leap into action before it thinks."
Meditate Pokemon
"Meditite heightens its inner energy through meditation. It survives on
just one berry a day. Minimal eating is another aspect of this Pokemon's
Meditate Pokemon
"Through the power of meditation, Medicham developed its sixth sense. It
gained the ability to use psychokinetic powers. This Pokemon is known to
meditate for a whole month without eating."
Lightning Pokemon
"Electrike stores electricity in its long body hair. This Pokemon
stimulates its leg muscles with electric charges. These jolts of power give
its legs explosive acceleration performance."
Discharge Pokemon
"Manectric is constantly discharging electricity from its mane. The sparks
sometimes ignite forest fires. When it enters a battle, this Pokemon
creates thunderclouds."
Cheering Pokemon
"Plusle always acts as a cheerleader for its partners. Whenever a teammate
create the crackling noises of sparks to show its joy."
Cheering Pokemon
"Minun is more concerned about cheering on its own partners that its own
safety. It shorts out the electricity in its body to create brillant
showers of sparks to cheer on its teammates."
Magnet Pokemon
"Magnemite floats in the air by emitting electromagnetic waves from the
units at its sides. These waves block gravity. This Pokemon becomes
incapable of flight if its internal electrical supply is depleted."
Magnet Pokemon
"Magneton emits a powerful magnetic force that is fatal to electronics
and precision instruments. Because of this, it is said that some towns
warn to keep this Pokemon inside a Poke Ball.
Ball Pokemon
"Voltorb was first sighted at a company that manufactured Poke Balls. The
link between that sighting and the fact that this Pokemon looks very
similar to a Poke Ball remains a mystery."
Ball Pokemon
"Electrode eats electricity in the atmosphere. On days when lightning
strikes, you can see this Pokemon exploding all over the place from eating
too much electricity."
Firefly Pokemon
"Volbeat's tail glows like a lightbulb. With other Volbeat, it uses its
tail to draw geometric shapes in the night sky. This Pokemon loves the
sweet aroma given off by Illumise."
Firefly Pokemon
"Illumise attracts a swarm of Volbeat using a sweet fragrance. Once the
Volbeat have gathered, this Pokemon leads the lit-up swarm in drawing
geometric designs on the canvas of the night sky."
Weed Pokemon
"Oddish searches for fertile, nutrient-rich soil, then plants itself.
During the daytime, while it is planted, this Pokemon's feet are thought
to change shape and become similar to the roots of trees."
Weed Pokemon
"From its mouth Gloom drips honey that smells absolutely horrible.
then drools even more of its honey."
Flower Pokemon
"Vileplume has the world's largest petals. They are used to attract prey
that are then doused with toxic spores. Once they prey are immobilized,
this Pokemon catches and devours them."
Flower Pokemon
Gloom - the stinkier the better. At night, this Pokemon closes its petals
and goes to sleep."
Twin Bird Pokemon
"Doduo's two heads never sleep at the same time. Its two heads take turns
sleeping so one head can always keep watch for enemies while the other
Triple Bird Pokemon
"Watch out if Dodrio's three heads are looking in separate directions. It's
a sure sign that it is on its guard. Don't go near this Pokemon if it is
being wary - it may decide to peck you."
Thorn Pokemon
"On extremely rare occasions, a Roselia is said to appear with its flowers
in unusual colors. The thorns on this Pokemon's head contain a vicious
Stomach Pokemon
"Most of Gulpin's body is made up of its stomach - its heart and brain are
very small in comparison. This Pokemon's stomach contains special enzymes
that dissolve anything."
Poison Bag Pokemon
"Swalot has no teeth, so what it eats, it swallows whole, no matter what.
Its cavernous mouth yawns widely. An automobile tire could easily fit
inside this Pokemon's mouth.
Savage Pokemon
"Carvanha's strongly developed jaws and its sharply pointed fangs pack the
destructive power to rip out boat hulls. Many boats have been attacked and
sunk by this Pokemon."
Brutal Pokemon
"Nicknamed the 'bully of the sea,' Sharpedo is widely feared. Its cruel
fangs grow back immediately if they snap off. Just one of these Pokemon can
thoroughly tear apart a supertanker."
Ball Whale Pokemon
"Wailmer's nostrils are located above its eyes. This playful Pokemon loves
to startle people by forcefully snorting out seawater it stores inside its
body out of its nostrils."
Float Whale Pokemon
"Wailord is the largest of all identified Pokemon up to now. This giant
Pokemon swims langurously in the vast open sea, eating massive amounts of
food at once with its enormous mouth."
Numb Pokemon
"Numel is extremely dull witted - it doesn't notice being hit. However, it
can't stand hunger for even a second. This Pokemon's body is a seething
cauldron of boiling magma."
Eruption Pokemon
"Camerupt has a volcano inside its body. Magma of 18,000 degrees F courses
through its body. Occasionally, the humps on this Pokemon's back erupt,
spewing the superhated magma."
Lava Pokemon
"Molten magma courses throughout Slugma's circulatory system. If this
Pokemon is chilled, the magma cools and hardens. Its body turns brittle and
chunks fall off, reducing its size."
Lava Pokemon
"Magcargo's shell is actually its skin that hardened as a result of
to crumble apart. This Pokemon returns to its original size by dipping
itself in magma."
Coal Pokemon
"Torkoal digs through mountains in search of coal. If it finds some, it
fills hollow spaces on its shell with the coal and burns it. If it is
attacked, this Pokemon spouts thick black smoke to beat a retreat."
Sludge Pokemon
"Grimer emerged from the sludge that settled on a polluted seabed. This
Pokemon loves anything filthy. It constantly leaks a horribly germ-infested
fluid from all over its body."
Sludge Pokemon
"This Pokemon's favorite food is anything that is repugnantly filthy. In
dirty towns where people think nothing of throwing away litter on the
streets, Muk are certain to gather."
Poison Gas Pokemon
and jets them out from all over its body. This Pokemon may also overinflate
its round body, then explode."
Poison Gas Pokemon
"Weezing loves the gases given off by rotted kitchen garbage. This Pokemon
people in the house are asleep, it will go through the trash."
Bounce Pokemon
"Spoink bounces around on its tail. The shock of its bouncing makes its
heart pump. As a result, this Pokemon cannot afford the stop bouncing -
if it stops, its heart will stop."
Manipulate Pokemon
"Grumpig uses the black pearls on its body to amplify its psychic power
waves for gaining total control over its foe. When this Pokemon uses its
special power, its snorting breath becomes labored."
Mouse Pokemon
"Sandshrew has a very dry hide that is extremely tough. The Pokemon can
roll into a ball that repels any attack. At night, it burrows into the
desert sand to sleep."
Mouse Pokemon
"Sandslash can roll up as if it were a ball covered with large spikes. In
battle, this Pokemon will try to make the foe flinch by jabbing it with its
spines. It then leaps at the stunned foe to tear wildly with its sharp
Spot Panda Pokemon
"All of the Spinda that exist in the world are said to have utterly unique
spot patterns. The shaky, tottering steps of this Pokemon give it the
appearence of dancing."
Armor Bird Pokemon
"Skarmory is entirely encased in hard, protective armor. This Pokemon flies
at close to 190 MPH. It slashes foes with its wings that possess swordlike
cutting edges."
Ant Pit Pokemon
"Trapinch is a patient hunter. It digs an inescapable pit in a desert and
waits for its prey to come tumbling down. This Pokemon can go a whole week
without access to any water."
Vibration Pokemon
"Vibrava's wings have not yet completed the process of growing. Rather than
flying long distances, they are more useful for generating ultrasonic
waves by vibrating."
Mystic Pokemon
"Flygon whips up a sandstorm by flapping its wings. The wings create a
series of notes that sound just like singing. Because the 'singing' is the
only thing that can be heard in a sandstorm, this Pokemon is said to be the
desert spirit."
Cactus Pokemon
"The more arid and harsh the environment, the more pretty and flagrant
flower Cacnea grows. This Pokemon battles by wildly swinging its thorny
Scarecrow Pokemon
"If a traveler is going through the desert in the thick of night, Cacturne
will follow in a ragtag group. The Pokemon are biding their time, waiting
for the traveler to tire and become incapable of moving."
Cotton Bird Pokemon
"Swablu loves to make things clean. If it spots something dirty, it will
Pokemon finds a stream and showers itself."
Humming Pokemon
"Altaria sings in a gorgeous soprano. Its wings are like cotton clouds.
This Pokemon catches updrafts with its buoyant wings and soars way up into
the wild blue yonder."
Cat Ferret Pokemon
"Memories of battling its arch-rival Seviper are etched into every cell of
Zangoose's body. This Pokemon adroitly dodges attacks with incredible
Fang Snake Pokemon
"Seviper's swordlike tail serves two purposes - it slashes foes and
douses them with secreted poison. This Pokemon will not give up its long-
running blood feud with Zangoose."
Meteorite Pokemon
"Lunatone becomes active around the time of the full moon. Instead of
walking, it moves by floating in midair. The Pokemon's intimidating red
eyes cause all those who see it to become transfixed with fear."
Meteorite Pokemon
"Solrock is a new species of Pokemon that is said to have fallen from
space. It floats in the air and moves silently. In battle, this Pokemon
releases intensely bright light."
Whiskers Pokemon
"Barboach's body is covered with a slimy film. If a foe grabs it, this
Pokemon just slips out of the enemy's grip. This Pokemon grows weak if the
slimy coating dries up."
Whiskers Pokemon
"If Whiscash goes on a wild rampage, it sets off a quake-like tremor with
a radius of over three miles. This Pokemon has the ability to predict real
Ruffian Pokemon
"Corphish catches prey with its sharp claws. It has no likes or dislikes
when it comes to food - it will eat anything. This Pokemon has no problem
living in filthy water."
Rogue Pokemon
"Crawdaunt molts (sheds) its shell regularly. Immediately after molting,
its shell is soft and tender. Until the shell hardens, this Pokemon hides
in its steambed burrow to avoid attack from its foes."
Clay Doll Pokemon
"As soon as it spots others of its kind, Baltoy congregates with them and
then begins crying noisily in unison. This Pokemon sleeps while cleverly
balancing itself on its one foot."
Clay Doll Pokemon
"Claydol is an enigma that appeared from a clay statue made by an ancient
civilization dating back 20,000 years. This Pokemon shoots beams from both
its hands."
Sea Lily Pokemon
"Lileep became extinct approximately a hundred million years ago. This
ancient Pokemon attaches itself to a rock on the seafloor and catches
approaching prey using tentacles shaped like flower petals."
Barnacle Pokemon
"Cradily roams around the ocean floor in search of food. This Pokemon
freely extends its tree trunk-like neck and captures unwary prey using its
eight tentacles."
Old Shrimp Pokemon
"Anorith is said to be a type of Pokemon predecessor, with eight wings at
the side of its body. This Pokemon swam in the primordial sea by
undulating these eight wings."
Plate Pokemon
"Armaldo is a Pokemon species that became extinct in prehistoric times.
This Pokemon is said to have walked on its hind legs, which would have been
more convenient for life on land."
Balloon Pokemon
marshmellow. From this body wafts a gently sweet fragrance that soothes and
calms the emotions of its foes."
Balloon Pokemon
"When this Pokemon sings, it never pauses to breathe. If it is in a
battle against an opponent that does not easily fall asleep, Jigglypuff
cannot breathe, endangering its life."
Balloon Pokemon
"Wigglytuff's body is very flexible. By inhaling deeply, this Pokemon can
inflate itseld seemingly without end. Once inflated, Wigglytuff bounces
along lightly like a balloon."
Fish Pokemon
"While Feebas's body is in tatters, it has a hardy and tenacious life
force that enables it to live anywhere. However, this Pokemon is also slow
and dimwitted, making it an eays catch."
Tender Pokemon
"Milotic live at the bottom of large lakes. When this Pokemon's body glows
a vivid pink, it releases a pulsing wave of energy that brings soothingly
calm to restless spirits."
Weather Pokemon
"Castform borrows the power of nature to transform itself into the guises
of the sun, rain clouds, and snow clouds. This Pokemon's feelings change
with the weather."
Star Shape Pokemon
"Staryu's center section has an organ called the core that shines bright
these Pokemon look like the stars in the sky."
Mysterious Pokemon
"Starmie's center section - the core - glows brightly in seven colors.
Because of its luminous nature, this Pokemon has been given the nickname
'the gem of the sea.'"
Color Swap Pokemon
"Kecleon alters its body coloration to blend in with its surroundings,
allowing it to sneak up on its prey unnoticed. Then it lashes out its long,
sticky tongue to instantly ensnare the unsuspecting target."
Puppet Pokemon
"Shuppet is attracted by feelings of jealousy and vindictiveness. If
someone develops strong feelings of vengeance, this Pokemon will appear in
a swarm and line up beneath the eaves of that person's home."
Marionette Pokemon
"Banette generates energy for laying strong curses by sticking pins in its
own body. This Pokemon was originally a pitiful plush doll that was thrown
Requiem Pokemon
"Duskull wanders lost among the deep darkness of midnight. There is an
oft-told admonishment given to misbehaving children that this Pokemon will
spirit away bad children who earn scoldings from their mother."
Beckon Pokemon
"Dusclops absorbs anything, however large the object may be. This Pokemon
its single eye to bear. The hypnotized foe is made to do Dusclops's
Fruit Pokemon
"Children of the southern tropics eat as snacks that fruit that grows in
bunches around the neck of Tropius. This Pokemon flies by flapping the
leaves on its back as if they were a pair of wings."
Wind Chime Pokemon
"In high winds, Chimecho cries as it hangs from a tree branch or the eaves
with its long tail and eats them."
Disaster Pokemon
"Absol has the ability to foretell the coming of natural disasters. It
ventures down from the mountains."
Fox Pokemon
"At the time of its birth, Vulpix has one white tail. The tail seperates
into six if this Pokemon recieves plenty of love from its trainer. The six
tails becomes magnificently curled."
Fox Pokemon
control over its foe's mind. This Pokemon is said to live for a thousand
Tiny Mouse Pokemon
"Pichu charges itself with electricity more easily on days with
thunderclouds or when the air is very dry. You can hear the crackling of
static electricity coming off this Pokemon."
Mouse Pokemon
"Whenever Pikachu comes across something new, it blasts it with a jolt of
electricity. If you come across a blackened berry, its evidence that this
Pokemon mistook the intensity of its charge."
Mouse Pokemon
"If the electrical sacks become excessively charged, Raichu plants its tail
this Pokemon's nest."
Duck Pokemon
"Psyduck uses a mysterious power. When it does so, this Pokemon generates
brain waves that are supposedly only seen in sleepers. The discovery
spurred controversy among scholars."
Duck Pokemon
of Golduck give it frightening speed. This Pokemon is definately much
faster than even the most atheletic swimmer."
Bright Pokemon
"Wynaut can always be seen with a big, happy smile on its face. Look at its
tail to determine if it is angry. When angered, this Pokemon will be
slapping the ground with its tail."
Patient Pokemon
"If two or more Wobbuffet meet, they will turn competitive and try to outdo
the longest without food. Trainers need to beware of this habit."
Tiny Bird Pokemon
"Natu cannot fly because its wings are not yet fully grown. If your eyes
meet with this Pokemon's eyes, it will stare back intently at you. But if
you move even slightly, it will hop away to safety."
Mystic Pokemon
"Xatu stands rooted and still on one spot all day long. People believe that
this Pokemon does so out of fear of the terrible things it has forseen in
the future."
Long Neck Pokemon
"Girafarig's rear head also has a brain, but it is small. The rear head
attacks in response to smells and sounds. Approaching this Pokemon from
behind can cause the rear head to suddenly lash out and bite."
Long Nose Pokemon
they thoroughly douse each other with water. These Pokemon can be seen
Armor Pokemon
destroyed. Using its massive strength, the Pokemon helps clear rock and mud
slides that block mountain trails."
Stag Beetle Pokemon
"Pinsir is astoundingly strong. It can grip a foe weighing twice its weight
in its horns and easily lift it. This Pokemon's movements turn sliggish in
cold places."
Single Horn Pokemon
"Heracross charges in a straight line at its foe, slips beneath the foe's
grasp, and then scoops up and hurls the opponent with its might horn. This
Pokemon even has enough power to topple a massive tree."
Spikes Pokemon
"Rhyhorn runs in a straight line, smashing everything in its path. It is
not bothered even if it rushes headlong into a block of steel. This Pokemon
may feel some pain from the collision the next day, however."
Drill Pokemon
can topple a building. This Pokemon's hide is extremely tough. Even direct
cannon hits don't leave a scratch."
Snow Hat Pokemon
"Snorunt live in regions with heavy snowfall. In seasons without heavy
snow, such as spring and summer, this Pokemon steals away to live quietly
among stalagtites and stalagmites deep in caverns."
Face Pokemon
This Pokemon has the ability to freeze moisture in the atmosphere into any
shape it desires."
Clap Pokemon
"Spheal is much faster rolling than walking to get around. When groups of
this Pokemon eat, they all clap at once to show their pleasure. Because of
this, their mealtimes are noisy."
Ball Roll Pokemon
"Sealeo has the habit of always juggling on the tip of its nose anything it
sees for the first time. This Pokemon occasionally entertains itself by
balancing and rolling a Spheal on its nose."
Ice Break Pokemon
"Walrein's two massively developed tusks can totally shatter blocks of ice
weighing twn tons with one blow. This Pokemon's thick coat of blubber
insulates it from subzero temperatures."
Bivalve Pokemon
"Clamperl grows while being protected by its rock-hard shell. When its body
becomes too large to fit inside the shell, it is sure evidence that this
Pokemon is getting close to evolution."
Deep Sea Pokemon
"Huntail's tail is shaped like a fish. It uses the tail to attract prey,
then swallows the prey whole with its large, gaping mouth. This Pokemon
swims by wiggling its slender body like a snake."
South Sea Pokemon
"Although Gorebyss is the very picture of elegance and beauty while
swimming, it is also cruel. When it spots prey, this Pokemon inserts its
thin mouth into the prey's body and drains the prey of its body fluids."
Longevity Pokemon
"Relicanth is a Pokemon that existed for a hundred million years without
ever changing its form. This ancient Pokemon feeds on microscopic
organisms with its toothless mouth."
Coral Pokemon
hiding places for smaller Pokemon. When the water temperature falls, this
Pokemon migrates to the southern seas."
Angler Pokemon
"Chinchou's two antennas are filled with cells that generate strong
electricity. This Pokemon's cells create so much electrical power, it even
makes itself tingle slightly."
Light Pokemon
ship at night, you can sometimes see this Pokemon's light rising from the
depths where it swims. It gives that sea an appearence of a starlit night."
Rendezvous Pokemon
"Luvdisc live in shallow seas in the tropics. This heart-shaped Pokemon
earned its name by swimming after loving couples it spotted in the ocean
Dragon Pokemon
"If Horsea senses danger, it will reflexively spray a dense black ink from
its mouth and try to escape. This Pokemon swims by cleverly flapping the
fins on its back."
Dragon Pokemon
"Seadra generates whirlpools by spinning its body. The whirlpools are
strong enough to swallow even fishing boats. This Pokemon weakens prey with
these currents, then swallows it whole."
Dragon Pokemon
a storm arrives, this Pokemon is said to awaken and wander about in search
of prey."
Rock Head Pokemon
this Pokemon hurls itself off of cliffs. As a result of its dives, its head
has grown tough and as hard as tempered steel."
Endurance Pokemon
"Inside Shelgon's armor-like shell, cells are in the midst of
transformation to create an entirely new body. This Pokemon's shell is
extremely heavy, making its movements sluggish."
Dragon Pokemon
in this Pokemon's cells, causing it to sprout magnificent wings."
Iron Ball Pokemon
"Beldum keeps itself floating by generating a magnetic force that repels
earth's natural magnetism. When it sleeps, this Pokemon anchors itself to
a cliff using the hooks on its rear."
Iron Arm Pokemon
"When two Beldum fuse together, Metang is formed. The brains of the Beldum
are joined by a magnetic nervous system. This Pokemon turns its arms to the
rear for traveling at high speed."
Iron Leg Pokemon
"Metagross is the result of two Metang achieving fusion. When hunting, this
Pokemon pins the prey to the ground under its massive body. It then eats
the helpless victim using the large mouth on its stomach."
Rock Peak Pokemon
"Regirock was sealed away by people long ago. If this Pokemon's body is
repair itself."
Iceberg Pokemon
"Regice cloaks itself with frigid air of negative 328 degrees F. Things
will freeze solid just by going near this Pokemon. Its icy body is so cold,
it will not melt even if it is immersed in magma."
Iron Pokemon
"Registeel has a body that is harder than any kind of metal. Its body is
apparently hollow. No one has any idea what this Pokemon eats."
Eon Pokemon
"Latias is highly intelligent and capable of understanding human speech. It
is covered with a glass-like down. The Pokemon enfolds its body with its
down and refracts light to alter its appearance."
Eon Pokemon
"Latios has the ability to make its foe see an image of what it has seen
of imagines in its head. This Pokemon is intelligent and understand human
Sea Basin Pokemon
"Kyogre is named in mythology as the Pokemon that expanded the sea by
covering the lands with torrential rains and towering tidal waves. It took
to sleep after a cataclysmic battle with Groudon."
Continent Pokemon
"Groudon has long been discribed in mythology as the Pokemon that raised
lands and expanded continents. This Pokemon tok to sleep after a
cataclysmic battle with Kyogre."
Sky High Pokemon
"Rayquaza is said to have lived for hundreds of millions of years in the
earth's ozone layer, above the clouds. Its existance had been completely
unknown because it lived so high in the sky."
Wish Pokemon
notes and attached to its head when it awakens. If this Pokemon senses
danger, it will fight without awakening."
Leaf Pokemon
"Bonus appearence on Ruby Field."
Fire Mouse Pokemon
"Bonus appearence on Ruby Field."
Big Jaw Pokemon
"Bonus appearence on Ruby Field."
Fossil Pokemon
"Bonus appearence on Ruby Field."
~13.Tips and Tricks~
There isn't much else I can describe for tips and tricks. Just remember
that most of your points will come from the bonus stages. However, there
is another way you will get a ton of points. The Bonus Multiplier will
increase the End of Ball Bonus score. It can reach a maximum of 99,
unfortunately (I've hit that maximum several times before). But how big
does that bonus go? When I reached the multiplier to 99 once, and lost the
ball quite a while later, my final bonus was roughly 3,200,000,000 points.
Yeah, that's 3.2 billion points, effectively nearly doubling my current
score. Focus on getting a high multiplier, but also focus on things that
increase the End of Ball Bonus (catching/evolving Pokemon, slot plays,
Pika Savers, Travels done, etc.).
Overall, you just need to keep the ball alive to keep earning points.
Always buy the Pika Saver first in the shop, or try to get it first on the
slots. Having both side alleys guarenteed to never be able to lose the ball
(since Pikachu or Pichu will always save it) is damn nice, making it only
carelessness the way you can lose the ball between the flippers. Don't
forget you can tilt the board as much as you want. It may prove useful.
If you are aiming just for points, you will want to go to the Bonus Stages
as often as possible, preferably with an Ultra/Master ball. By the time you
catch Rayquaza, you will have earned a minimum of about 520,000,000 points.
If anyone's curious about my high scores, here they are:
Ruby Score-8,474,747,736
Sapphire Score-5,003,758,006
Good luck on achieving high scores. You don't get anything for getting a
high score except putting your name on the list, and you also get nothing
for completing the Pokedex but the knowledge that you finally accomplished
that annoying task.
Me-For writing this walkthrough
You, the reader-For making this walkthrough have a purpose
CJayC-For operating the largest collection of Video Game FAQ's for so long
This FAQ/Walkthrough is Copyright Deathborn 668. All rights reserved.
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Goatriders of the Apocalypse
Sooo...about these four aces
Or three aces...whatever.
At what point are we going to start winning some games, because it's getting hard to write about this team. To be honest, it's getting hard just to watch this team. And it's really getting hard to try and push some line about this being the year when the Cubs are the greatest thrill ride since Millenium Force (but in a more "Haunted Carnival" sort of way).
I nominated tonight as "must win" night. There will be all sorts of "must win" related prizes and everyone will pain their faces/chests in a "must win" themed manner. And maybe, just maybe, this sort of "must win" mentality will translate to the Cubs getting actual, physical hits off a crappy, young pitcher. Well, probably not, but maybe.
So here's the trend I've found. And you can trust me with these numbers, because I know math. So, the Cubs lost three in a row. Then the Cubs won 4 in a row. Then the Cubs lost 5 in a row.
See the pattern?
Today is the start of a 6 game win streak. I'm just glad to be a part of it.
...not looking forward to the seven game losing streak, though.
Whoops. Looks like you forgot to tell them that...
Jason R.
I knew I forgot something.
The cubs have not won since they won their 40th game. I think the current losing streak can be blame on the goatriders for not updating their win meter.
Chicago Tribune's Chicago's Best Blogs award
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TL16: New FDA cUTI Draft Guidance and Design Implications
*Prasanna Ambati, PPD, Inc.
The thought process which went into this guidance have been incorporated into the study design in past few years, so there is some accumulated experience which will aid the discussion. This roundtable will discuss the different aspects of clinical trials affected by the new draft guidance. The topics to be considered include: 1. Changes from the existing practice 2. Impact on designing new studies 3. Impact on ongoing studies 4. Experience based on recent trial development from interactions with FDA
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Congress, mayors seek assurances on contract towers
Uncertainty drives calls for DOT to commit
May 2, 2013
Also, some 70 mayors reacted to the lingering uncertainty by releasing a letter to Secretary of Transportation Ray LaHood and FAA Administrator Michael Huerta, stressing the impact of tower closings on jobs and local economies. The towers are scheduled to close after June 15.
AOPA supports the position of Sens. Jerry Moran (R-Kan.) and Richard Blumenthal, authors of the tower-support letter signed by 41 senators, that Congress’s intent, when providing $253 million in FAA funding authority for fiscal year 2013, was to avoid air traffic controller furloughs—and to prevent the contract tower closings. The Department of Transportation, however, has not disclosed its plans. A department spokesman told Politico that officials were “evaluating” the legislation’s details.
The senators’ letter urges LaHood and Huerta, “to ensure that in addition to ending furloughs for 47,000 FAA employees, the agency also end the planned closure of 149 contract towers. This legislation gives FAA the flexibility and funding it needs to do both.”
Doing less, they wrote, “would ignore the flexibility outlined” in the legislation. The senators added that their support “was based on the understanding that the contract towers would be fully funded” by the legislation that—at $253 million—provided funding authority “far above the amount required to prevent furloughs.”
In the House, a letter from Reps. Bob Goodlatte (R-Va.) and Frederica Wilson (D-Fla.) asserted that unobligated FAA funds made available by Congress “should be used to prevent the closure of the 149 contract air traffic control towers as well as halt the furloughs of our air traffic controllers.” Eighty-three representatives requested an explanation from LaHood as to what “immediate steps” will be taken to fund the towers’ continued operation.
Were assurances given?
Despite the Department of Transportation’s reticence to clarify its plans, some members of Congress were already treating tower closings as a thing of the past: Maryland’s two U.S. senators, Democrats Barbara Mikulski and Ben Cardin, issued a statement that appeared to reflect an understanding that towers had been saved. Their statement praised the Obama administration “for keeping all of the 149 federal air traffic control contract towers (ATC) in the country open. This includes the five federal ATC contract towers in Maryland located in Easton, Frederick, Hagerstown, Martin and Salisbury-Ocean City.”
The impact on FAA operations demonstrated that the sequester “is not good policy,” they said.
On May 1 President Barack Obama signed the resolution titled “Reducing Flight Delays Act of 2013.” The measure “provides the Secretary of Transportation with the flexibility to transfer certain funds to prevent reduced operations and staffing of the Federal Aviation Administration,” said the White House in a brief announcement.
“Senators Moran and Blumenthal have been committed to this issue of keeping the 149 contract towers open since earlier this year when the FAA announced this undertaking,” said Lorraine Howerton, AOPA vice president of legislative affairs. “AOPA will continue the Congress’ unrelenting fight and continue to seek resolution to the contract tower closures. This is not an issue that is going to fade into the background in the halls of Congress.”
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Frequently Asked Questions
Frequently asked questions about Lake Superior Fisheries Management
Q. What is the goal of the Lake Superior Fisheries Management Plan? The long-term goal for fisheries management in the Minnesota waters of Lake Superior is:
A. "To protect the Lake Superior ecosystem, restore its watershed, and manage for a diverse, stable, self-sustaining fish community that allows for recreational, commercial and tribal fishing opportunities." In the goal statement a "diverse" fish community is one that includes different strains of native and introduced species that have established themselves through natural reproduction and are presently found in Minnesota waters. "Stable" means that although the abundance of various populations may fluctuate, they do so within a limited range. A "self-sustaining" community is one in which the fish species can sustain themselves largely through natural reproduction, but may at times require assistance through management actions, such as stocking.
Q. How many anglers fish Lake Superior?
A. Of the roughly 95,000 people who buy trout stamps annually, an estimated 20% fish Lake Superior for a total of 19,000 shore and boat anglers. To put this in perspective, the estimated number of individual anglers that fish Mille Lacs is much higher and ranges from 150,000-200,000 anglers.
Q. Do Lake Superior anglers get their money's worth?
A. Lake Superior fishery management is an expensive program when compared to other fisheries in the state, consuming approximately 4.5% of the total fisheries budget. Around 1.5 million resident and nonresident anglers fish in Minnesota. The percent of the total number of anglers estimated to fish in Minnesota's portion of Lake Superior is around 1%. Lake Superior anglers are getting a proportionately large share of the total fisheries budget. Although Lake Superior is a unique resource and offers diverse recreational opportunities, user groups must recognize that increased expenditures for Lake Superior fishery programs will be difficult to justify when viewed from a statewide perspective.
What is the MNDNR, Section of Fisheries doing to address the growing concern over increased development along the North Shore of Lake Superior?
A. Increased development can increase storm water runoff, pollution, nutrients and erosion. The Section of Fisheries will continue to evaluate and comment on permits issued by various agencies (MNDNR-Division of Waters (DOW), U.S. Army Corps, etc.) so that fishery habitat is not degraded, and is enhanced where possible by potential projects. We will continue to work with MNDNR-DOW, local units of government, the North Shore Management Board and other agencies to ensure criteria that protect fishery habitat are included in policy guidelines for zoning and development within the Lake Superior watershed. We will also work with forest managers to ensure that best management practices are implemented, and advocate for additional protection of the riparian areas near streams and wetlands.
Q. How might increased logging, new road and driveway construction, and increased ATV traffic in the forest impact water quality?
A. Many areas that were once remote are being impacted by these activities, which can increase nonpoint-source pollution to streams and degrade water quality. Increased development and activities in these areas increase runoff, erosion, nutrients and sedimentation. Many minor disturbances to the landscape can lead to a large cumulative impact and degradation in the water quality of a watershed.
Q. What can be done to reduce contaminants in Lake Superior fish?
A. Fortunately many contaminant levels have decreased over the last 30 years. The contaminants found in the flesh of lake trout and other fish are the result of industrial pollution. We must continue to lower discharges of toxic substances. The Lake Superior Binational Program seeks to establish zero discharge into Lake Superior. Unfortunately, some of the pollutants are produced in other areas and are deposited in Lake Superior through atmospheric deposition. It will take a national effort to eliminate or further reduce contamination. Pollution is regulated at the Federal and state levels. The MNDNR will maintain partnerships and keep up monitoring efforts. In the meantime, it is recommended that people trim fatty tissue from fillets and cook the fish so that fats and oils can drain away. This can reduce the concentration of some contaminants by as much as 50%.
Q. Why doesn't Lake Superior produce a fishery like Lake Michigan?
A. Lake Michigan is a much warmer and more productive system, which is better suited to salmon and rainbow trout that are adapted to warmer temperatures. Lake Superior is much colder and is better able to support native lake trout and lake herring as the primary predator and prey species. Lake trout and lake herring evolved in Lake Superior and are better adapted to its cold temperatures and available prey. Pacific salmon can survive in Lake Superior and have become naturalized. However, compared to Lake Michigan, their growth is slow and survival is poor. The physical environment of Lake Michigan is much more productive than Lake Superior. Lake Michigan has more in-lake shallow water habitat. Average surface temperature can be 10-15 degrees F warmer, and the optimal growing season can be 1-3 months longer, in Lake Michigan. The biological productivity of Lake Michigan is about 3 times that of Lake Superior, creating an environment better suited for growth and survival of Pacific salmon.
Q. How has the Lake Superior fish community changed since 1970?
A. Wild lake trout abundance has increased and may be approaching fully rehabilitated levels. Lake herring stocks have also rebounded in much of the lake, but continue to exhibit sporadic recruitment. The deep-water fish community composed mainly of siscowet lake trout, burbot, deep-water chubs and sculpin remains relatively undisturbed. Pacific salmon have become naturalized and are largely supported by self-reproducing populations, which makes continued stocking ineffective in most areas of the lake. Prey biomass has largely shifted from non-native rainbow smelt to native species, and high predation rates may limit any future recovery of rainbow smelt to historical levels. Managers have little influence on prey abundance as predatory impact is the driving force, and control of predator abundance is limited because most species are now self-sustaining. A potential threat to the recovering fish community remains the adverse affects of unwanted introductions and new introductions of exotic species.
Q. What can be done to bring back rainbow smelt?
A. The decline in abundance of rainbow smelt is one indication that the Lake Superior fish community is reaching a more stable predator-prey balance compared to the period before lake trout restoration. Smelt abundance is unlikely to increase significantly because there are now many more predators, lake trout and other naturalized salmonids, in the lake compared to the 1960s and 70s. Predation pressure, primarily from lake trout, is the overwhelming factor controlling the smelt population in Lake Superior. Reducing the very small recreational and commercial harvest that provides a valued food fish for human consumption would not significantly increase smelt abundance.
Q. Will the MNDNR expand the fishery for lake herring?
A. Perhaps, if there is a harvestable surplus available and harvest can occur without jeopardizing stocks, expansion may occur. If the harvestable surplus decreases or is not available, harvest will be decreased. We will use models and hydroacoustic techniques to estimate harvestable surplus. A harvest level will be set and be in place for 3 years and then be reevaluated. However, lake herring abundance has not yet recovered to historic levels and recruitment indices are sporadic. Although there are a couple of moderately strong year-classes, no extremely strong year-classes have recruited since the early 1990s.
Q. Is the MNDNR considering regulation changes for the recreational lake trout fishery?
A.The MNDNR is proposing a 1-over-25 inch regulation to preserve spawning-sized fish. Another proposal is to extend the lake trout season through the first weekend in October to afford additional angling opportunity. However, if model results indicate that mortality rates get too high, a bag limit reduction may possibly be considered. Also, regulations may vary among management zones to achieve objectives.
Q. Can the lake trout population sustain a commercial fishery in Minnesota?
A.The MNDNR recognizes the cultural heritage and the important role that commercial fishing has played along the North Shore. Commercial fishing provides fresh fish to local restaurants and stores that may be enjoyed by residents and tourists that do not have the opportunity to fish. An experimental assessment fishery that allows some harvest of lake trout is proposed provided that a harvestable surplus of lake trout is available and the fishery can be implemented in a sustainable manner. Implementation may vary by management zone and would not occur until 3 years after stocking has been discontinued in that zone. Although lake trout have made significant progress, restoration is not complete in Minnesota and it is best to proceed cautiously.
Q. What is a siscowet lake trout and what impact do they have on the fishery?
A. The siscowet lake trout is a deep-water form usually caught at depths greater than 300 feet. Siscowet are less desirable because of their high fat content and they are of limited food value due to high contaminant levels. Because siscowet were not as susceptible to lamprey, their numbers remained relatively high during the decline of lean lake trout. Siscowet are the most abundant predator in Lake Superior. There is evidence that siscowet rely on nearshore production for a significant portion of their lives and they therefore may compete with lean lake trout for resources.
Q. Why has the MNDNR proposed to discontinue stocking lake trout in Lake Superior along the central portion of the North Shore?
A. Survival of stocked lake trout has declined, while the abundance of wild lake trout has increased for all areas of the shore. The survival index of stocked lake trout and the abundance of wild lake trout have surpassed criteria established to discontinue stocking in the northern and central portions of Minnesota waters. The decrease in survival of stocked fish, along with the decrease in the smelt forage base that has occurred since the early 1990s, suggest that density-dependent factors govern growth and survival of lake trout and other predators and that their populations may be near carrying capacity. There is evidence that shows stocking fish where wild populations exist may displace the wild fish by competing for limited resources. Reduced lake trout stocking should give wild lake trout a better chance for success and may allow rehabilitation to proceed at a faster rate. Stocking still contributes to the fishery in the western end of the lake near Duluth, but wild fish continue to increase and results of stocking will be monitored.
Q. What changes are proposed for Chinook salmon management, and what might be the potential impact on the fishery?
A. We recommend that the Chinook salmon stocking program be discontinued. The program has proven ineffective at increasing the number of Chinook salmon that anglers catch. Criteria developed in 1998 with significant public input state that the Chinook salmon stocking program would be discontinued if fewer than 75 disease-free pair of Chinook salmon return to the French River for three consecutive years. Returns in 2003-2005 have been just 13, 20 and 9 pairs respectively. Discontinuing the stocking program will have little noticeable impact by anglers participating in the fisheries. Stocking contributes very little to the summer sportfish catch in Minnesota, less than 5 percent, with around 95% of the Chinook salmon catch resulting from natural reproduction. Continued stocking is unnecessary and does not make effective use of limited funds.
Q. Why doesn't the MNDNR stock coho salmon?
A. Coho salmon are now naturalized in Lake Superior, and provide a good fishery in Minnesota. It would not be effective for the MNDNR to invest in a costly hatchery program to produce what the lake already produces well. Past stocking of hatchery-reared coho salmon resulted in very disappointing return rates even when competition from other species was minimal. In the Lake Superior fish community with its present high predator abundance, survival of stocked coho salmon would be even less than in the pre-restoration period.
Q. What is happening with rainbow trout management? How will the LSMP differ from the 2003 Rainbow Trout Management Plan?
A. The new LSMP essentially incorporates the 2003 Rainbow Trout Management Plan (RTMP) as a chapter. There have been a few minor modifications to the RTMP, but for the most part the content of the RTMP is included verbatim in the Rainbow Trout Chapter of the LSMP. The minor modifications that have been made include the proposed changes in sanctuary dates on the Knife River system and criteria for reevaluating the steelhead fishery.
Q. What is the MNDNR doing to promote coaster brook trout rehabilitation?
A. The MNDNR has implemented very restrictive regulations to protect remnant stocks of coaster brook trout. Biological and habitat surveys indicate small populations with very limited habitat. It is important to preserve genetic variability of brook trout populations and a conservative approach that is the least risky to the genetic integrity of those populations is warranted. Allowing remnant stocks to rebuild while giving protection through restrictive regulations may be the best approach. The MNDNR continues to work with other management agencies on Lake Superior and is monitoring a number of projects that may prove useful for coaster brook trout rehabilitation in Minnesota.
Q. What is the status of lake sturgeon in Minnesota's waters of Lake Superior?
A. Rehabilitation of the lake sturgeon population in the St. Louis River estuary began with stocking of fingerlings in 1983 and continued through 2000. Survival of stocked fingerlings appears to be excellent. WIDNR has documented an increase in catch rates of larger lake sturgeon in assessments conducted along the Wisconsin shoreline of Lake Superior. Since about 1998, MNDNR began capturing an increasing number of lake sturgeon along the North Shore. Recently, anglers in the St. Louis River estuary have reported incidental catches of 40-50 inch sturgeon, suggesting the potential return of spawning adults. Large adults have also been observed below the Fond du Lac dam in the spring. Harvest of lake sturgeon in the Minnesota waters of Lake Superior and St. Louis River estuary is currently prohibited. The Pigeon River historically had a small lake sturgeon population that appears no longer present in any significant abundance. The Grand Portage Band of Chippewa is pursuing rehabilitating this population.
Q. How long will the LSMP be active and how will modifications to the plan be accommodated?
A. We anticipate that the LSMP will be active for 10 years. The plan is written to be flexible. There are many criteria in the plan that if reached will illicit a response. The LSMP may also need modification if there are major changes in the fish community, a shift in societal values placed on the Lake Superior fisheries resource, or a need to protect the resource from some unforeseen threat. Changes that may be necessary will occur with input from user groups and the public.
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Murder in a Small Town
By: A KKTV Exclusive Investigation
By: A KKTV Exclusive Investigation
Nearly 20 years after their mother's death, the children of Edna Van Der Veen still mourn for her. They’re now adults, and even today, they have questions about how she died, despite what the police reports indicate.
She died on April 18, 1984 in Alamosa. At the time, the official cause of death was suicide. But ever since, Edna's family suspected her boyfriend murdered her. And they've been fighting to bring George Cottrell to justice, with no luck and no hope, until now.
KKTV reporter Jeff Marcu has been working on this multi-state investigation for months and has some clues that could help solve this cold case.
“It took our lives away from us. We lost our childhood completely. We never got to grow up and have a childhood. We had to become adults immediately." Barbara Waldren is talking about life without their mother. Her brother, Richard Sarro, agrees. "Our mother was our sole parent for most of our lives, so our only parent was taken away from us, and we were split up.”
They were only 13 and 16 years old. Their sister, Elizabeth, was 15 at the time. Three teenagers---coping with the violent death of their mother. A death, at the time, officially ruled a suicide. But was it?
Edna moved her three children to the small southern Colorado town of Alamosa in 1983. She was looking for a better life. Times were tough---raising three kids on her own and money was tight.
The close-knit family moved into a small white house just south of town. It was affordable and the landlord, a man by the name of George Cottrell, seemed like a nice guy. "He kept in touch with us, and would send us a teddy bear---came out to see us, wanted to see how things were going," says Barbara.
George Cottrell owned millions of dollars worth of properties and businesses in the 1980's. Edna and George started dating. We're told Edna saw a future with George, until their relationship apparently became violent. Barbara says on one occasion, he picked Edna up and literally threw her through a window.
The hope of a future ended suddenly on April 18th, 1984. On that spring night, Edna lay dead in George's bedroom---a single gunshot wound to her forehead. As she walked through the house, Barbara could remember it clearly. "I just feel like a part of her is still here. The mirror is still here. Everything is the same. Actually, the bed is in the same position as the one in the room, and she was laying right here."
George was the only other person in the house. He says he found Edna after she had been shot---lifeless on his bedroom floor. Police investigated, and George was not considered a suspect. In fact, no one was---even though police admit there were clear signs of a violent fight that night. The official word---Edna committed suicide.
But Barbara and Richard have always had a different theory about how their mother died. "I know in my heart that George Cottrell murdered my mother," says Barbara.
We asked Sgt. Harry Alejo, current lead investigator for the Alamosa County Sheriff's Department, how he thinks Edna Van Der Veen died. This is an exchange between Jeff Marcu and Sgt. Alejo:
Jeff: “So at the time, this was ruled a suicide. Do you think it was a suicide?”
Alejo: "In knowing now what I know about George---in the statements he's made, I think George had a larger role in what happened."
Jeff: "Was it a suicide?"
Alejo: "I don't think so."
Jeff: "Sergeant, with the evidence you have and what you know now, is this a homicide?”
Alejo: "I lean towards a homicide, yes."
We also brought this case to an independent source---well-known crime scene investigator Lou Smit. This is his take on the case: "I see a lot of red flags in this case that would indicate that there is a possibility of it being a homicide.” Smit worked on hundreds of high-profile cases in Colorado for more than three decades, including the JonBenet Ramsey murder investigation. He has concerns about the suicide ruling." In 35 years that I've been investigating suicides and homicides, I've never seen a case where a woman shot herself in the forehead from anywhere from 3 to 12 inches away as a suicide.”
Smit also says the angle of the bullet in Edna's forehead is also a clue about what may have really happened that night. "Which would indicate that either the victim, if she did commit suicide, would have had to have the gun way out there and high, or perhaps that it would have been a taller person that fired the weapon," he says.
Smit and current Alamosa County investigators agree on another key point: there were many routine crime tests and procedures that were not followed that night in 1984. "One of the striking things that I see in this particular one, is that the clothing of Mr. Cottrell was not taken in as evidence," says Smit. He says a simple test of Cottrell's clothing could have provided investigators with a key piece of evidence as to how Edna died. And that's not all. "I don't see where the shell casings were fingerprinted, just to determine who may have put those bullets into the gun."
We asked the current Alamosa County Sheriff Dave Stong why so many factors were overlooked in the 1984 investigation. Specifically, we asked why Cottrell’s clothes were not tested for blood or gunshot residue. He said if Edna’s death had occurred today, that would certainly be part of their investigation. Sheriff Stong says he didn’t know why those tests weren’t done in this case.
Perhaps the only people who do know why, are not talking. We tried to find out more from the original investigators who worked the case back in 1984. But they either couldn't remember details or could not be reached for comment.
Until a conclusive crime investigation proves otherwise, there is only one person who truly knows how Edna Van Der Veen died. That takes us back to George Cottrell. He was the only person in the house that night. Since then, Cottrell has lost his businesses and properties. We caught up with George in Las Alamos, New Mexico, where he's now working as a custodian.
Jeff Marcu and a cameraman approached him to ask some pointed questions:
Jeff: "George, did you murder Edna Van Der Veen?"
George: "I didn't murder anybody."
Jeff: "Did you get away with murder?
George didn't want to answer any more of our questions. But a short time later, we caught up with him again. And what he had to say may surprise you.
Jeff: "Did Edna Van Der Veen commit suicide?
George: (Pauses) "She was going to."
Jeff: "Did she?"
George: (Pauses) "Uhhh, I can't say anymore than that."
Jeff: "Did you kill her?
George: “No."
After a series of investigations, the district attorney in Alamosa, Peter Comar, says he has never been able to come up with enough evidence to prosecute George Cottrell or anyone else for first or second-degree murder. Those two charges have no statute of limitations. "So what we said in best case scenario---best light---possibly criminally negligent homicide, but that has a three year statute of limitations," says Comar.
Another challenge---since the death has been ruled a suicide, most of the evidence has been destroyed from that night in 1984. That's something investigators say is puzzling especially with the possibility of domestic violence that night. "In just the pictures of the crime scene that particular night, there was a pretty violent fight that night,” says Alamosa County Sheriff’s Department investigator Sgt. Harry Alejo.
Barbara Waldren's efforts to find out what happened to her mother have yielded some results. In 2002, Edna Van Der Veen's death certificate was updated. The cause of death changed from “suicide” to “undetermined.” But for Barbara and her family, that's not enough. "We lost a whole life that we should have had together as a family."
This 20-year investigation is not over. After we began looking into Edna’s death, the Colorado Bureau of Investigation opened its own case to see if they can find out what really happened. There is also currently a grand jury investigation looking into other cases in Alamosa. We're told this death could eventually become a part of that investigation.
A special Crime Stoppers number has been set up for this case. If you have any information about what happened that night in 1984, call (719) 589-4111. You will remain anonymous and if your tip helps lead to a conviction, you could earn a cash reward.
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IRS agents in Cincinnati believe higher-ups in Washington directed tea party targeting
• Article by: STEPHEN OHLEMACHER , Associated Press
• Updated: June 7, 2013 - 3:27 AM
• 26
• Comments
• Results per page:
johndontJun. 6, 1310:10 AM
Why not splurge if someone else (us taxpayers) was paying for it?
greataukJun. 6, 1310:37 AM
Just because it conformed to the rules at the time doesn't make it OK. And didn't he think a luxury suite was just a little over the top. Time for this knucklehead to find a new job, away from the taxpayer's wallets. In fact,, maybe he should reimburse the rest of us!
jimleffertsJun. 6, 1310:40 AM
This happened two years ago and has already been dealt with. A far larger concern is the money Congress is wasting doing nothing.
rjr2205Jun. 6, 1310:49 AM
Having managed a number of professional and para-professional staff over many years, I understand the need for training and conferences! Conferences provide training opportunities in a variety of areas to many staff and that lays the groundwork for later specialized training that can be done on site and via teleconferencing. Such conferencing should by done by seeking some bids on meals, lodging, meeting rooms, coffee, etc. Apparrently and sadly the referenced process was foreign to the IRS!! There is no justification for anyone to stay in "luxury suites", to be served steak & lobster, to pay for any alcohol drinks, etc!! Especially not at taxpayer expense!!!
JRBJun. 6, 1311:19 AM
How anyone could justify this needless waste of taxpayer money by alluding to the "rules" is ridiculous. Which further begs the question: who is responsible for writing the rules that supposedly allowed for it?
indypendantJun. 6, 1311:32 AM
Yawn. So the IRS organized a conference in which some participants stayed in luxury suites. The average per night for the attendees was $135, which is a very reasonable rate. Resorts commonly offer upgrades on suites for group leaders when large groups visit their facility. Private industry does this kind of thing all the time. The government needs to be able to offer occasional perks to its employees in order to attract and retain them. Working for the government is not (or shouldn't be) equivalent to taking an oath of poverty. This issue is 10% substantive and 90% political grandstanding.
dumbgopJun. 6, 1311:37 AM
Jim, How was it dealt with, because we are seeing the same pattern over and over. On another note, are you alright with a huge government entity targeting specific groups because of their political beliefs? If you are now, what about when your party is not in office and it happens? You'll still be fine, right? No hypocrisy within the left, none, never! This entire thing stinks worse than any dead rotting smelly fish you can imagine, and it keeps getting bigger and bigger. Now I'll just sit back and wait for my comments to be posted like they always are................
EleanoreJun. 6, 1311:38 AM
I just heard that they don't have reciepts for this. I suggest docking participants pay or going after their assets. Expenditure denied.
freedubayJun. 6, 1311:45 AM
When you write your own rules its hard to break them. Just ask congress.
overnunderJun. 6, 1312:00 PM
Indypendant - "Private industry does this kind of thing all the time." You're right, they do. But I'm not helping to pay their salary (unless I buy their goods). The IRS, on the other hand, is forcing me to pay their salary, so we, as taxpayers, have the right to complain.
Comment on this story |
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The Drive: Metro traffic
question of the day
Poll: Where will the Twins finish in the AL Central?
Weekly Question
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I have created a free energy plant.
page: 19
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posted on Mar, 17 2008 @ 05:43 PM
reply to post by lordtyp0
I think a couple of hamsters, a pinwheel, and a few reverse polarity diodes are probably involved in his power plant design as well.
This guy is pulling everyone's leg..
posted on Mar, 17 2008 @ 07:20 PM
Originally posted by dascro62
Well as many on here known I offered to look over his schematics and emailed him. Since then he has harassed me with his nonsense that we all expect. He has claimed to be a prophet, saying he will protect me. Just normal things for him.
The latest development is his mother has now emailed me saying she works for an agency and thinks I am trying to exploit her son. I hate to resurrect this thread but it just keeps getting more and more bizarre.
I abandoned this thread quite a few pages ago, being one of the first people to call the OP a liar. I only came back for entertainment purposes, and reading your thread made me laugh out loud! My question is this: how has the OP managed to keep from being banned? Has the fact that this thread has sparked so much controversy really convinced the mods to allow him to continue his ridiculous campaign? I mean, it's all well and good that we should allow people to have their say, but when things start to come out like the things that have been pointed out, it's obvious the OP is either delusional or simply hungry for attention. I'm ashamed of the time I've wasted in previous replies, and this one also, but how can I help it when the topic is so obviously....WHEW!...frustrating? I'm not one to discount people based on my own lack of belief, but seriously... When a guy comes along saying he'll be hailed as a prophet for a "free energy plant" that he's going to make money off of, which he wants help with but refuses to give any information about, (besides admitted disinformation on), how can I resist?
Is there a single person with some background in physics or ANY kind of science who has any reason to believe this guy is telling the truth? JUST ONE?! (And please don't answer if you're a second account of SomeGuy34's like PSICon is...)
How can a thread like this get so many replies yet the threads I start get so few? I mean, I don't care that I get so few, but how could this get so many!? Just cause it's so frustratingly obvious how fake it is?
SomeGuy34, could you please just give us one single legitimate reason to believe this is true? JUST ONE...
posted on Aug, 26 2009 @ 01:15 PM
Check out this free energy book!
Secrets Of Perpetual Power - Hendershot Mystery by Barry Hilton.pdf
posted on Aug, 27 2009 @ 04:18 PM
Originally posted by SomeGuy34
I need someone to review my theorum, and it will not be publicly posted.
It involves a "continuous syphon" which is very simple, and the very least important to my schematics, it is just one way of generating energy.
Notice if you have 2 cups.
A U shaped tube.
Fill both cups equally.
Create a air suction on one of the sides of the U tube.
Put it into the other cup, it will level the cups out naturually through gravity.
The "bevel" of suction inbetween the two cups is infinite - this is just a way of displaying to you this is a scientific project that I have embedded in my head.
I had a dream.
This morning, I woke up, with my fathers schematics, and I have refined them to a extreme.
I need a scientist, scholar, anyone with a sufficient amount of capability of projecting this project into a new world.
This generator, will completely eliminate any need for nuclear power.
It involves a lot of gravity.
I am going to state, I will not be disclosing ANY serious schematics and/or data that may subject my project to be stolen, or locked away.
I need to meet person to person, and discuss this idea.
Thank you for your time,
Best regards -------- Some Guy.
[edit on 5-3-2008 by SomeGuy34]
If this works so easily, do not give it to the government, but the schematics online. IF it works, give it to the people, so we can use it, the government will hide it and keep it from the public. If your idea works you could be holding the power to change the world, but that is if. Give it to the people once you get it worked out. The government will sell this project for alot of money if it works, and it would still get money in there hands.
posted on Sep, 4 2009 @ 06:54 AM
why go through all that trouble and keep it such a big secret?i have a better idea that many have thought off seen and felt too.but no one knows how easily it can be harnessed from just almost any open space around you and put to use generation all the electric power you can need for yourself Privately safely and commercially effectively.at such a low cost that state run Power companies would have to shut down.as a matter of Govt policy i wonder if they will allow such a method to generate unlimited power show it self.all i can tell you that is is STATIC ELECTRICITY ,but i can't tell you how you can safely harness large volumes of it for domestic use.
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Bug Watch: AutoCAD 2006's Menu Overhaul Disaster
15 Aug, 2005 By: Steve Johnson Cadalyst
Our bug man reckons AutoCAD 2006's titanic customization overhaul has hit an iceberg.
A CUIrate's Egg
AutoCAD 2006 introduced the most radical overhaul of the menu system since the introduction of Release 13 for Windows. Only MNR (menu resource) files remain from the old system. MNU and MNS files are now a thing of the past, although you can still import old ones. In their place are CUI (customized user interface) files, which are in the XML (extensible markup language) format. In addition, AutoCAD 2006 introduced new and related concepts, such as Workspaces and Enterprise menus.
Although CUI files are plain text files like MNU, the resemblance ends there. Manual editing of MNU was always documented and encouraged, and in most cases it was the only way to customize things. Only toolbar editing had a graphical user interface. With CUI, Autodesk is actively discouraging people from touching the innards of the files. At the top of each file is a message warning you against the evils of editing it with anything other than AutoCAD's CUI dialog box. The idea behind this dialog box is a noble one -- provide the user with a single, consistent, graphical interface for most aspects of AutoCAD customization, eliminating the need to edit files manually.
Autodesk's primary stated reason for changing to this system is to facilitate the migration of customization in future releases. Each item in the CUI file contains version information, allowing future AutoCAD versions to migrate customized menus to the new release.
So far, so good. What do AutoCAD 2006 users think of this brave new world? In general, they don't like it. The Autodesk and AUGI newsgroups are abuzz with CUI issues. In a poll on the AUGI forum, members were asked to give Autodesk's CUI implementation a rating from 1 to 10. It scored an average of just under 4, equivalent to poor. In contrast, a similar poll rated Autodesk's implementation of dynamic blocks at an average greater than 7, placing it somewhere between good and very good. More telling is the percentage of votes in the top half of available choices. The dynamic block implementation was rated from fair to best ever by 82% of voters. The equivalent number for CUI was 18%. To view the polls, you must be a member of AUGI (Autodesk User Group International). You can join AUGI for free.
What went so wrong with such a great idea? The problems fall into many categories.
Poor Performance
The CUI dialog box is slow. Starting it up the first time is particularly tedious. Subsequent launches are quicker, but still far too slow. It's not clear whether this slowness is caused by the use of .NET technology, the extremely verbose XML file format used in CUI or some other reason.
Failure to Adequately Document the System
The CUI and workspace user documentation is weak, and the CUI file format is completely undocumented. This is a major modification to the way people customize AutoCAD. The Enterprise menu concept means you need to re-examine the entire philosophy of how to structure customization. Under these circumstances, Autodesk should have gone all out with documentation, guidance, examples and the like on the application CD. Autodesk has since provided some videos for download. They give a good introduction to the CUI editor and help you understand its philosophy better. I expect we will see more from Autodesk soon.
Nonintuitive User Interface Design
This point is open to debate. After watching the videos and experimenting for a while, the logic of the design becomes more apparent. However, it appears to confuse many people. Without documentation to guide them, they don't find it obvious how to do certain things. For example, you need to make sure you save a workspace before you start, and you must use workspaces to remember which menu items go where. This sort of thing causes a great deal of the grumbling from users, but by no means all of it.
Inefficient User Interface Design
Many things take much longer to perform using the CUI interface than they do using other methods in earlier releases. Because the interface attempts to incorporate everything, things are logically arranged in tree structures. Therefore, users must burrow down deep to find things. I've seen it written that although experienced users find it frustrating, the interface makes it easier for casual users to customize AutoCAD. I disagree. I think most things are now harder for users of all levels of experience. Let's say you want to do something simple, like modify a toolbar button in your own user partial menu. A decade ago, in Release 13, it was easy enough:
1. Right-click on any toolbar button.
2. Right-click on the user toolbar button you want to edit.
3. Click in the Macro section.
4. Change the macro.
5. Click on Apply.
6. Click on Close in the Customize dialog box.
AutoCAD 2006 requires more steps, the steps are less intuitive, and they take longer to perform:
1. Right-click on any toolbar button.
2. Click on Customize.
3. Wait for the CUI dialog box to come up.
4. Pick All Customization Files and change it to USER.CUI.
5. Click on the + to expand the Toolbars section.
6. Click on the + to expand the User toolbar.
7. Click on User Command 1.
8. Click in the Macro section.
9. Change the macro.
10. Click OK.
Failure to Properly Support Tablets
If you have a puck, you're out of luck. Many people have efficiently used tablets with 16-button pucks for years. Such people will have to ditch either their tablets or their upgrade habits, because AutoCAD 2006 doesn't seem to like their choice of pointing device.
Failure to Incorporate All Customization
Tool palettes and short-form commands were not included in the CUI's attempts to standardize the AutoCAD customization interface. I expect a future release will incorporate them.
Failure to Provide a Workspace Command-line Switch
Use of workspaces is now essential to keep your menus in line. But Autodesk forgot to allow for this situation at startup time by providing a startup switch for ACAD.EXE. This means you can't tell AutoCAD to start using a specific menu arrangement without the use of a kludge.
Failure to Provide Adequate API Support
There is no ActiveX support for either workspaces or the new enterprise menu concept.
Dubious Customization Migration Philosophy
I am not convinced by Autodesk's arguments that migration of customization will be a boon in future releases. I'll return to this subject in an upcoming Bug Watch.
Many people have reported that AutoCAD suddenly takes a dislike to their CUI files, leaving AutoCAD with no menus. This happens repeatedly to some people. One cause of this problem, and a fix for it, is described below. But the level of reliability for such an essential part of AutoCAD use is far below an acceptable level.
Beside the menu corruption problems, many other things just don't work properly in the new system. These bugs are providing me with a rich source of material to write about, which you can look forward to in coming months.
How could this happen? My guess is that CUI suffered from Release 13 syndrome. It was simply released before it was finished. These days, Autodesk is shipping a new release every March so subscription customers don't grumble that they're paying up front for nothing. An unfortunate byproduct of such an inflexible release schedule is that it makes life very difficult within Autodesk if development of one new feature falls behind. Does Autodesk remove that feature from this release, which may be very difficult to do without causing further delays? Or does Autodesk leave it in and hope for the best? I would hate to be the person forced to make that choice.
The upshot is that AutoCAD 2006 customization is currently fraught with so many difficulties that I advise against doing customization at all for use in production. If you use AutoCAD out of the box, I think you'll love AutoCAD 2006. If you are a user or CAD manager in an organization that uses a heavily customized setup, you'll probably hate it. You may be better off avoiding AutoCAD 2006 until Autodesk can put things right. The good news is that Autodesk already started to fix things, but you may wish to put off implementing a CUI system until 2006 SP1 or even 2007. If you do go ahead, make sure you back up your CUI files each time you make changes. Incremental backups are a good idea, so you can reverse several steps if that later turns out to be necessary.
Scream Menu -- CUI Attacks! (2006)
When an MNU or MNS file that contains a screen menu is converted to a CUI file, AutoCAD inserts 22 blank lines at the top of each menu.
Workaround: Delete the spare lines. In the CUI editor, doing this is painfully slow. Now is as good a time as any to work out how to edit the CUI file with Notepad or another editor. You are likely to need that skill sooner or later, so get some practice now. Make sure you make a safe backup copy of the file before you start hacking it! It's very important to make a backup of CUI files before editing them regardless of whether you use the CUI dialog box or another method.
Fix: Autodesk posted an updated DLL to prevent this problem from occurring on conversion.
CUIrruption (2006)
When you use the CUI dialog box, it can become confused and create menu items with duplicate IDs. Once this happens, your menu file is considered corrupt.
Workaround: You may be able to retrieve the file by examining it with Notepad or another editor and removing the offending items. This is tricky because of the total lack of documentation, but the file is reasonably good at self-documentation, so you may be able to get under the hood and hammer things into shape. Make a backup before you start. If you've made backups of your CUI files as you've gone along, you can go back a step or two until you find a working file. If the ACAD.CUI file was corrupted, instead of reinstalling AutoCAD, you can copy over an untouched version of that file in C:\Program Files\AutoCAD 2006\UserDataCache\Support.
Fix: The same updated DLL prevents this particular problem from occurring. It may not fix all CUI corruption problems, though. Keep making those backups!
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Lynn Allen
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Corrosive Substance
In the 1950 classic All About Eve, a black-and-white tale of back stabbing and bitchery set in Manhattan's theater district, jaded critic Addison De Witt (George Sanders) has just witnessed a rehearsal by the title character, a mere understudy at that point. He describes her performance to Bette Davis's character thusly: "Margo, I've lived in the theater as a Trappist monk lives in his faith. I have no other world, no other life. And once in a great while I experience that moment of revelation for which all true believers wait and pray. You were one.... Eve Harrington will be among them." He goes on to describe Eve's performance as "a mass of music and fire." It's the best description I can think of for Corrosion of Conformity.
And just when I had given up on thinking! Yes, I'd resigned myself to humming happily along to Top 40 tunes, letting my mind recline on the La-Z-Boy of my spine. But Corrosion of Conformity's latest album Blind (how apropos) provided the necessary wake-up call. It might have been enough that C.O.C.'s music is a hybrid of the true heavy metal riffs of Black Sabbath/Deep Purple and the chord-over-chord layering of early Queen married in a shotgun wedding to the hot-blooded intensity of Black Flag and Bad Brains. Or, as drummer Reed Mullin likes to say, "Blind is 1972 mixed with 1982 played in 1992."
Yeah, the music might have been enough, but there's so much more to C.O.C. Consider this message on their lyric sheet: "Politics is the control of wealth and power. You are being conditioned to condemn politics as petty and boring, thus granting all the more control to the powers that be. You are either a part of the solution or a part of the problem...." C.O.C. goes on to list the addresses for Amnesty International, Greenpeace, National Abortion Rights League, Refuse and Resist, People for Ethical Treatment of Animals, Native Nations, and Klanwatch Project.
"The fact that we're politically active is just a facet of the whole thing, but it's completely integral to the music," states Swedish-born vocalist Karl Agell, who, with Mullin, guitarists Pepper Keenan and Woody Weatherman, and bassist Phil Swisher, comprises the current line-up of C.O.C. (the band has been around in various incarnations since 1982). "The whole idea of recording Blind was to make a really organic-sounding record, and get away from that dated, giant reverb drum sound and the big production, and just go for that roots, hard-rock thing that we're all so into.
"We all came from the same school of the past, the punk hard-core thing, which was always an outlet for social commentary and attack," Agell explains. "On top of that, write a good song but don't ruin it with inane lyrics. If we write a really rockin' heavy tune, then the idea is to speak some higher truth on top of that."
Mullin, who shares vocals in front of the drums as well as behind them, agrees. "I think one of the extra things that drives us is the passion and the genuine feelings of frustration we have with the situation in America and in the world right now. The issues we're bringing up in some of these songs are things that we feel are very important. It's portrayed much more sincerely and with much more anger and emotion than if I was [switches to Southern drawl] sangin' 'bout Jack Daniels or somethin'. I guess you can be sincere about that, but it's not the same level of fury."
While C.O.C. band members like to put their lyrics to good use, they don't subscribe to the sledgehammer method of getting their point across. "We did that to make the record timeless," says Keenan of their veiled wording. "You could put on Black Sabbath's War Pigs and it means as much today as it did fourteen years ago." (Interestingly, the hairy hand of censorship touched even the politically correct C.O.C. Faced with a choice between asking legendary political artist Bill Sienkiewicz to include the words "Parental Advisory" on his cover painting for Blind or scratching out the F-word on the lyric sheet, the band chose the latter.)
Still, the meaning behind a song like "Vote with a Bullet" isn't exactly shrouded in mystery, and Agell is hesitant to elaborate. "I don't know if we're necessarily endorsing assassination, but we're not exactly opposing it for certain individuals. I don't know if we're being's just wishful thinking."
You almost can't blame them for thinking this way considering that they're based in North Carolina. Agell reports some of the highlights of home life: "The night before the elections here, the Democratic headquarters mysteriously lost electrical power and telephone lines. The voting booths actually malfunctioned all over the place. In other counties, guys in trucks were handing out liquor to people to vote for Jesse Helms."
In a time when it's hip for any band that has mastered human speech to say they're concerned with politics and the environment, Corrosion of Conformity is one of the few that can back up its big talk with bigger action. Sparked by the 1990 senatorial race between head homophobe Helms and the hopeful Harvey Gantt, 23-year-old Mullin helped to form the North Carolina Progressive Network, a nonprofit, grassroots organization dedicated to the promotion of a liberal/progressive agenda by encouraging community involvement. NCPN's calendar of activities regularly includes recycling drives, racism conferences, gay and lesbian political-action meetings, vegetarian picnics...the list goes on.
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The Body: The Complete HIV/AIDS Resource
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Aug 19, 1997
Hi, are there any data which show how often the HIV-transmission really occurs during different kinds of sexual unprotected intercourse with an HIV-infected person? For example, I read the risk of getting infected after being injured by contaminated needle is about 0,3% - 1%. What is this rate for sexual intercourses (vaginal/anal/oral)? Thanks,
Response from Mr. Sowadsky
Hi. Thank you for your question. It is very difficult to quantitate the risk of infection with HIV during a single sexual act (vaginal/anal/oral etc.). This is because there is A LOT of variability from situation to situation. The statistical risk of infection can vary based on how long a person was having sex, how rough the sex was, the presence or absence of other Sexually Transmitted Diseases (STD's), which body fluids they were exposed to, how much of those body fluids a person was exposed to, and so forth. For more information on the variability on transmission risks, see the posts "Can you get HIV through oral sex?," and "AIDS Transmission Rates."
Whatever statistic you find on sexual transmission from a single sexual act, is meaningless in real life situations. All we can say is that relatively speaking, anal intercourse tends to be higher risk than vaginal intercourse, which tends to be higher risk than oral sex, which tends to be higher risk than mutual masturbation, and so forth. Anal intercourse tends to be the greatest sexual risk, since there is a greater likelihood of cuts and abrasions occurring, even more so than vaginal intercourse or oral sex. But depending on the specific circumstances, nobody can statistically quantitate the risk of any single sexual act. Remember, there can be a lot of variability of risk from situation to situation, and from sex act to sex act.
When we are talking about occupational exposures, even here the risk can vary. A deep needlestick injury with a lot of blood exposure is much higher risk than a shallow needlestick injury with only a little amount of blood exposure. However, in persons who were occupationally exposed to the blood of known HIV positive persons, 0.3% of these people became infected through that exposure.
How many proven oral sex infections solely from precum proven?
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Conversation Between _Lost_ and dexter12296566
21 Visitor Messages
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1. Hey! I know you sing. I started singing a hile ago and I want your opinion on how I did. I know I am not the best but a lot of people I know said I should make a YouTube account and post this video so I did! Tell me what you think!
2. Well I don't have a MySpace... Can I leave a guest comment?
3. You did great in the audition... But is Glee like a show that you are in forever, a season, an episode? What is it, really? I have never heard of it! But you were great!
4. But I just want to know his username...
5. Nobody that really concerns you. He doesn't much post anymore.
6. I am just wondering after seeing your post, who's Sean?!
7. The picture of the dancer is a model from a perfume ad. I did a lot of recreations of perfume ad pictures, because the dresses in them are always pretty and voluminous.
lol. My profile pic is just a goofy one taken out of sheer boredom. There are real pictures of me in the photo albums.
8. I know. I am in a performing arts class. I had to take it but now i love it. i love all art(except rap) was the pic in the art(of the real person, not drawing) you? you are pretty in ur profile pic and that pic is nice too
9. I don't really paint anymore. I have lost the urge in the last year and a half. I used to paint a lot. Now I'm more into music and things like theater and dance. There is a lot more you can put into a performance that people will understand, than there is that you can put into a painting.
10. Hi! I just wanted to say thanks. You are soo awesome!
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The 71's Crash Great Day Houston... Now!
Actually, Great Day Houston airs at 9 a.m. on Channel 11. Rocks Off just wanted to give you an hour or two to get ready.
The 71s profile dec3.jpg
The 71s remain a quiet but powerful force in Houston, and continue to tumble higher and higher into choice gigs. Their latest EP, Rock and Roll Reaction, was very much a force to be reckoned with in the realm of pure pop-rock paradise, and this morning they assault Channel 11's airwaves this morning at 9 a.m. as part of Great Day Houston's Christmas celebration.
The 71's have also released a new music video. They made headlines here earlier this year when they filmed a guerilla-style music video in a local Walmart before being ejected from the premises for rocking too damn hard. Admittedly, it doesn't take too much rocking to rock harder than your average Walmart, but Rocks Off admired the 71's' gusto.
Their new video, "All Tied Up," is a glimpse of the band's incredible ability in a live setting. It's truly uncanny how the down-to-earth quartet can inspire slavish devotion and primal excitement with just a few power chords and some rugged good looks.
And so... Rocks Off decided to call guitarist and vocalist Keeton Coffman and ask him about the vid.
Rocks Off: Hey K. Did I wake you up?
Keeton Coffman: I'm sick.
RO: That explains it. You're usually more Muppet-like in your greeting.
KC: I took the day off to get some rest for the Channel 11 gig tomorrow, and the one at Mainstage with Bright Light Social Hour in the evening.
RO: Well, I won't take too much time. Let's talk about this video. Where did you film it?
KC: At the CD release in October. It kind of happened by accident, really. A dozen friends guerrilla-cammed the whole thing. After the show, they all made sure we got the tape... or whatever the digital equivalent is.
I was so excited to basically have a whole concert filmed. We're releasing edited videos of it every couple of weeks as a way to tide over fans until the next record.
RO: The audio is pretty rough. Did that come out of the cameras?
KC: Yep, straight from. I like it, though. It gives it such a raw feel.
RO: You're very comfortable with guerrilla filmmaking.
KC: Actually, that's how we got the Channel 11 gig. They heard about us through the story you ran on us about the Walmart vid, and since then we keep getting invited back. We sent them the new record, and they really enjoyed "Fire Tonight," so that's what we're gonna play this morning.
RO: You nervous?
KC: Not really. I don't want to sound cocky, but we've been there before. We're looking forward to it!
The 71's will be on Channel 11's Great Day Houston this morning at 9 a.m., and play Mainstage with Bright Light Social Hour tonight.
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A religious faith with the belief that all of humanity is spiritually part of one family. The main goal of the Baha'i faith is educate humanity about its unity through diversity and thereby help establish an ever-advancing world civilization. The founder of the Baha'i faith was named Baha'u'llah. He lived in the Middle East during the 19th Century. The community of people who are Baha'i has members in every country and territory of the world.
I spent a brief time as a member of the Baha'i Faith, and I can say that it is definitely not Unitarian-Universalist. Baha'is have a very specific set of religious duties and a pretty strict moral code.
The Baha'i faith does make a real effort to encompass all the major world religions. Ba'hais believe that every major world religion was a stage in human development. So while they are the religion designed for this stage in history, they treat previous religions as incomplete, rather than fundamentally invalid. Their practices are designed to compromise between Muslim and Christian cultures--for example, Baha'is must pray every day, but there are two forms of this prayer--one similar to the Muslim daily prayer, the other to the Christian Liturgy of the Hours. Another example of compromise is that a Baha'i marriage requires the consent of the married parties and of their parents--this seems radical to a Western European urbanite and an Iranian peasant, but for different reasons.
One little-known fact about the Baha'is is that they actively plan for a future in which the Baha'i faith is a major (if not the major) world religion. For example, I was exposed to the faith through a Baha'i conference center in Davison, MI. The people there talked quite seriously about a future in which this modest center would be one of the world's great educational institutions, on a par with Harvard or Cambridge.
There are a lot of appealing elements to the Baha'i faith. It is governed through representative democracy, with elections at local, regional, and global levels. Their temples are very elaborate and full of symbolism, which is why there are only a few scattered around the world: the only one in the United States is in Wilmette, IL and is worth visiting.
Although I decided that I wasn't being called to join the Baha'i Faith, it's the most credible new religion I've seen.
At present, the official name for the religion of the followers of Bahá'u'lláh is simply "the Bahá'í Faith." The phrase "the Baha'i religion" is also sometimes used, or more rarely, "the Faith of Baha'u'llah." A frequently used shorthand is the word "Baha'i" all by itself. The term "Baha'ism" is almost never used by Baha'is themselves, but is sometimes used by others.
In its early phases in North America and Europe, the Baha'i Faith was often referred to as "the Baha'i Movement," but this usage faded out around the 1930s or 40s. "Baha'i World Faith" was another term frequently used, partly because a compilation of Baha'i sacred writings in English translation was widely distributed under that title. This term lasted until the 50s or 60s before being replaced by the simpler phrases in use today.
The single most important Baha'i belief is in the essential unity of all humankind. For this reason, Baha'is strive constantly to eliminate prejudice from their community, whether based on religion, race, economic or social class distinctions, or national origin.
Baha'is believe that God has revealed a single true religion to humanity, but through multiple sources. Baha'u'llah is not the only true Manifestation of God, but is simply the most recent in a long line of Messengers which stretches back long before recorded history, and will continue for as long as human beings continue to exist.
At intervals of approximately one thousand years, a new Messenger has been sent to provide guidance suited to the level of development which humans have reached. Baha'is believe that the creation of a global civilization, combining world peace with universal freedom and prosperity, is the stage we are about to enter. According to this belief, the specific details of Baha'u'llah's Message are designed to make our transition into that stage occur more quickly and less painfully.
Because of this strong emphasis on unity and peace, Baha'is are directly forbidden to do anything that will make religion into a cause of conflict. This prohibition is so emphatic that 'Abdu'l-Bahá, regarded by Baha'is as the Perfect Exemplar of their faith, stated that it would be better to abandon religion entirely than to use it as an excuse for conflict or violence of any kind.
A friend of mine, and his family are believers in the Baha'i Faith.
This lead to an interesting story that occured a few years past:
My friend's older brother was a UC Berkeley student at the time, and was going to have a large group of students over at the family house (a large house).
However, his parents were also hosting a large group of Baha'i monks (or whatever the equivalent is) from somewhere in the East at the same time.
So a large group of Cal students collide with a large group of Baha'i monks... and the result?
They ordered Chinese for all, and apparently had a great time.
This significantly increased my appreciation of members of that faith.
This word is from the Arabic language (also adopted into the Persian) and refers to a follower of Bahá'u'lláh or to the elements of the Baha'i Faith, the religion he founded. In modern usage, replaces obsolete terms such as "Bahaist."
The formally proper transliteration is Bahá'í. Although the accent marks are often left out in any medium that cannot reproduce them, or is less formal (such as electronic mail), the apostrophe between the second a and the i is still included if at all possible. This may seem unnecessary, but it points back to the proper pronunciation.
English speakers usually say the word with two syllables, slightly mispronouncing the vowel sound in the first syllable, and placing a strong emphasis on the second: "Buh-HIGH." Baha'i communities in many parts of the world first learned the word from English speakers, and use a similar pronunciation until they come into contact with people who know how to pronounce it correctly.
Native speakers of Persian or Arabic usually pronounce it with three syllables, using a slightly shorter a sound in the first syllable, (closer to the a in "back" than the a in "bar"), and placing emphasis on the second and third syllables: "Ba-HAH-EE."
The suffix i is approximately equivalent to prefacing a word with the English word "of." The word Bahá is usually translated as "glory" in this context, although it can also be translated as "splendor" in some contexts. Hence, the term Baha'i could be translated as "(follower) of the Glory" when rendered in a literal sense, or "(follower) of the Light," in a more figurative sense.
However, in most Baha'i usage, the word "Bahá" refers to the person of Baha'u'llah, so the most common meaning of the word "Baha'i" is simply "a follower of Baha'u'llah."
Actually the Baha'i Faith doesn't have any clergy, monks or anything of the sort. Baha'i's believe that in this day people can investigate and judge truth for themselves -- so there is no longer a need for clergy (i.e. an educated class).
Along these lines ... Baha'i's also believe in the harmony of science and religion. Abdu'l-Bahá for example says regarding humankind:
"It cannot fly with one wing alone. If it tries to fly with the wing of religion alone it will land in the slough of superstition, and if it tries to fly with the wing of science alone it will end in the dreary bog of materialism." -- Abdu'l-Bahá, quoted in Esslemont, Baha'u'llah and the New Era, p. 210
Other principles include the belief that work is worship if it is performed in the spirit of service.
The Bahá'í Faith is indeed an organized religion. They not only elect their representatives (see ximenez's w/u), but also have a lot of structure, although they don't have priests of any kind. Local Communities in every town (or even every district of a larger City) have meetings at least every 19 days, called 19-days-fiest.
Since nine is the holy number of the Bahá'ís, this is also the number of people needed to form a spiritual assembly, which takes up the organizational duties of the local community, and elects people to take duties (such as secretary or treasurer). They further also meet with other spiritual assemblys from their province and nominate delegates for the election of the national spiritual assembly, which also constists of 9 people.
There also are national Conventions called "Summer-School" or "Winter-School" that are held more or less seasonal, featuring lecturers and communal prayers as well as musical performances and lots of fun stuff. They usually take place in a nice hotel, and there even are children-groups where the little ones are taught about Bahá'u'lláh and Shoghi Effendi.
A normal meeting of followers of Bahá'u'lláh usually begins with prayers, than there is some discussion, until finally everyone goes to raid the buffet. Free Food is usually the best way to attract new followers to any religion.
In spite of their liberal appearance, Bahá'u'lláh set strict laws for correct behaviour a Bahá'í should follow, or he may even be expelled. Some of them are different to what our liberal society is used to:
• The Bahá'í Faith forbids premarital sex
• No alcohol, because alcohol is evil evil evil *
• Gambling is evil too
• Nitpicking about someone behind his back is just plain bad
• Hash and other drugs are bad (but he says nothing about smoking, though)
All together they're a simple man's religion with exact laws and traditions but a fairly liberal point of view.
* "It is inadmissible that man, who hath been endowed with reason, should consume that which stealeth it"
- Baha'u'llah, The Kitab-i-Aqdas, p. 62
Ba*hai" (ba*hi"), n.; pl. Bahais (-hiz).
A member of the sect of the Babis consisting of the adherents of Baha (Mirza Husain Ali, entitled "Baha 'u 'llah," or, "the Splendor of God"), the elder half brother of Mirza Yahya of Nur, who succeeded the Bab as the head of the Babists. Baha in 1863 declared himself the supreme prophet of the sect, and became its recognized head. There are upwards of 20,000 Bahais in the United States.
© Webster 1913.
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Thursday, November 11, 2010
We Live in a Free World, I Whittle Down the Wind
While I'm on the subject of gun control, I thought I might as well offer a few thoughts on the Bill Whittle video that Kevin linked to as an indirect response to me the other day. Incidentally, a word of advice - don't ever call Mr Whittle "some random guy on YouTube" in the presence of the KBFC. He is, I am indignantly assured, a Giant Among Men. Here are just some of his pearls of wisdom -
"just because something is fun and scares away weenies doesn't mean that it's stupid"
Clearly he's determined to appeal to our hearts as well as our minds right from the off. Taking delight in scaring off "weenies" with guns doesn't make someone stupid either, but it probably does say quite a lot of other things about them.
"The philosophical substrata for gun ownership is something that most gun-owners understand in their bones"
As Paul Merton would say - that's good!
"They don't need to be told any of what I'm about to tell you because this kind of wisdom is inherent for many people. That's why we call it 'common sense'."
Curious that so many people imbued with this common sense, with inherent wisdom grafted into their very bones (by the Almighty?) are heavily concentrated in certain geographical areas, whereas those of us not quite so blessed also tend to be found disproportionately in particular places. Surely not a coincidence - perhaps there's some kind of 'common sense gene' that Mr Whittle could identify for us? To hell with spreading philosophical substrata to the less fortunate via YouTube - this guy could be in line for a Nobel Prize.
"have you ever wondered why the people who really enjoy telling others what to do and how to live, those fun-loving intellectual elites, seem to be so in love with totalitarian states where people are unarmed, and where survival is utterly dependent on some of the worst people in the world?"
Is he talking about the likes of David Cameron? If so, while I'm not exactly the UK government's biggest fan, I think that particular form of 'totalitarianism' may be getting a slightly bad rap. If, on the other hand, Whittle is seriously asking his viewers why 'the liberal elite' are so in love with leaders like Hitler, Pol Pot and Stalin, then the phrase "straw man argument on stilts" springs to mind.
"then ask yourselves, what stands in an unarmed population in the way of determined, heartless bastards like the SS or the Cossacks or the Revolutionary Guard or bands of Hutu militia?"
Absolutely - what has stood in the way of such evil-doers when faced with the "unarmed population" I've been living among all my life? And yet, to date, I've never actually had a Cossack invade my bedroom. Pure fluke, I suppose - I really must update those burglar alarm settings.
"You see, the Framers in their wisdom put the Second Amendment into the constitution to give teeth to the revolutionary, unheard of idea that the power rests with we, the people...
Criminals and criminal regimes throughout all of human history have and will conspire to take by force what they cannot produce on their own and these people must be stopped. The genius of the men who wrote the Second Amendment is that they realised that these people could be anybody, including people like those who wrote the Second Amendment."
Unfortunately, there was one piece of foresight that the Framers lacked - they didn't realise that their successors in positions of power would have exclusive access to weaponry of such unimaginable destructive force that it would be literally impossible for "we, the people" to defend themselves against a criminal regime with the will to use those weapons. Such hypothetical regimes must indeed be stopped - but how? Well, modern-day America depends on precisely the same shields that Britain relies on to ensure that our authorities' exclusive possession of handguns isn't abused - democratic safeguards and the rule of law. Is this approach naive? Does history tell us that it's doomed to fail? From his alarmist rhetoric later in the video, Mr Whittle clearly believes so. But when he says of the Second Amendment -
"You cannot remove that lynchpin of trust without collapsing the entire structure."
Too late, my friend, that bird has flown. Flown long ago. The supposed safeguards of the Second Amendment are a hollow shell, replaced by a situation indistinguishable from the one we have in Britain, whereby the people have exclusively "trusted" the most deadly weapons to the authorities, and would have no means of direct physical defence if those weapons were ever turned against them. A stubborn attachment to an 18th Century form of defence when faced with a hypothetical 21st Century threat may be disarmingly quaint, but it's no basis for rational law-making.
Amusingly, when I asked Joe Huffman last year how "the people" would actually go about defending themselves against nuclear weapons with their puny Second Amendment handguns, he told me that I simply didn't understand the mindset of an armed population, and that I could rest assured that the survivors of a nuclear attack would mercilessly hunt down the perpetrators. Well, I'm sure that's a great relief to us all.
Incidentally, I've always been curious about how so many American 'libertarians' manage to square their general philosophy with support for the death penalty. What would their advice be, for instance, to someone who had been wrongly convicted and was facing imminent execution? What would their advice be to that person's family? If the primary purpose of privately owned guns is to snuff out tyrannical actions by the government against the individual, can there be a more heinous abuse of the state's power than to take an innocent individual's life? Therefore, would the correct course of action for the family be to attempt to storm Death Row with guns, or should they accept that the rule of law must prevail, however unjustly? If the latter, why? (And please don't insult our intelligence by trying to wriggle out of the dilemma with the fiction that no innocent people are ever sentenced to death in the US.)
"America suffers an appalling number of handgun deaths each year, perhaps eleven thousand of them...but if we attempt to reduce this horrible number by banning handguns we are taking away the property of someone who has broken no laws"
No, we're not. We're taking away the property of someone who would otherwise be breaking the gun control laws we've introduced. As Mr Whittle would say himself - duh.
In other ways, though, I actually like this part of his argument, because it does what I've urged Kevin Baker to do in the past - it defends his philosophy of personal freedom on its own merits, and fronts up to the fact that he believes in it irrespective of the cost in human life. We know that's the case for Baker and his followers anyway, so why the need to use hocus pocus statistics to try to pretend that cost doesn't really exist? Well, I think we all know the answer to that. They know perfectly well that many of their fellow countrymen don't believe that the freedom to own guns is quite important enough to justify absolutely any and every cost, so they feel the battle of statistics is one they must fight - despite the strong whiff of intellectual dishonesty in falsely implying that they might feel differently if it could be definitively demonstrated that thousands of avoidable deaths are caused each year by gun legality. Whittle to his credit doesn't go down that road...or does he?
"It should be abundantly clear by now that the rate of handgun murders in the United States is not uniform. The murder rate of downtown Philadelphia is horrifying, but the murder rate in nearby Valley Forge, let's say, where there are probably more handguns and hunting rifles than anywhere else on the planet, is virtually non-existent."
Oh dear. Hocus Pocus City. Straight back, without passing 'go', to the magical thinking of Kevin and co that holds that the extraordinary disparity between the respective murder rates of the UK and the US can be easily explained away as entirely to do with "cultural factors" and nothing whatever to do with the rate of gun ownership, but simultanenously insists that any selectively culled internal differences in the US that superficially suit their own case must have nothing at all to do with any other factors - even ones as blindingly obvious as the difference between affluent rural areas and urban areas with social problems. Let's refresh our memory about what the evidence actually shows, shall we?
"Across developed countries, where guns are more available, there are more homicides. These results often hold even when the United States is excluded."
"States with higher levels of household gun ownership had higher rates of firearm homicide and overall homicide. This relationship held for both genders and all age groups, after accounting for rates of aggravated assault, robbery, unemployment, urbanization, alcohol consumption, and resource deprivation (e.g., poverty)."
Finally, I'm struck by Mr Whittle's suggestion that legal gun ownership makes people "equal" and "levels the playing-field" between the strong and the weak -
"It means that even a schoolteacher can defeat a human predator who may have spent his entire life practicing violence"
Hmmm. Adverts for stocks and shares routinely warn that "the value of your investment may go down as well as up", and I feel that a similar disclaimer ought to be put on claims about the effect of guns on power relationships. It really depends on who is holding the gun at any given moment, doesn't it? We've heard many times before, for instance, about how gun legality empowers a victim of domestic violence to defend themselves with a gun (although some will wonder if walking out of the relationship might possibly be a simpler and somewhat less drastic solution). But does the evidence suggest it's likely to actually be that way round?
"Batterers use of guns : Recent gun owners were 8 times more likely to have threatened their partners with a gun than non-gun owners. Four main types of gun threat against partners were (a) threatening to shoot then, (b) threatening to shoot a pet or person the victim cares about, (c) cleaning, holding or loading a gun during an argument, and (d) shooting a gun during an argument."
So, it turns out that those who abuse power are more attracted to the idea of owning a gun than the most vulnerable, thus unbalancing power relationships between the strong and the weak even further. Who'd ever have guessed such a thing? Nate has suggested to me a couple of times in the past that owning a gun and learning to use it is an empowering experience that enhances confidence and a sense of self. But the example of domestic violence ought to be sufficient to remind us that there are millions of people out there who we actually don't really want to be a) any more empowered, b) any more confident in imposing their will on others, and c) armed with a gun. Mr Whittle tells us in another video that Tea Party conservatives accept human nature as it is and don't kid themselves that they can 'perfect' people. That being the case, it's - again - magical thinking on an industrial scale to imagine that in arming the general 'law-abiding' population you are only empowering 'decent' people. What you're actually doing is making it even easier for untold numbers of arrogant or angry people to abuse their power.
Whittle's real message is that if you want to be equal in his world - more pertinently, if you want to avoid being considerably less equal than you otherwise would have been but for the fact of widespread gun ownership - you have literally no choice but to own a gun, carry it around with you at all times, be trained to use it to a high degree of proficiency, and be blessed with the strength of mind to be ready to calmly use it at a moment's notice. That's an odd sort of 'personal freedom', if you ask me.
Well, I think I've pretty much had my Tea Party fix for the day from Mr Whittle - now I'm off for some tea.
Anonymous said...
[i]We're taking away the property of someone who would otherwise be breaking the gun control laws we've introduced.[/i]
Um, in actual fact they're not, these laws are not (and will never be) enforced against the major criminal gangs like MS13 or the Latin Kings that reside in the larger U.S. cities, for obvious reasons. No, they're aimed at those people that the lawmakers imagine they can coerce easily into compliance.
[i]it defends his philosophy of personal freedom on its own merits, and fronts up to the fact that he believes in it irrespective of the cost in human life.[/i]
That would be 'the personal freedom to defend one's own life (as well as others lives')'. Which makes your position one of 'people must have their freedom to defend their own lives interfered with and thwarted, in the name of 'protecting lives' (yeah, if I pretend to be interested in protecting lives I will haz the moral high ground not them!)'.
[i]States with higher levels of household gun ownership had higher rates of firearm homicide and overall homicide. [/i]
One wonders how the researchers arrived at that figure. Did they, for example, check only those homes that had seen a homicide take place, for evidence of (legal*) gun ownership, or did they endeavour to find out how many of the approximate 47-53 million households that have legally owned guns on site, to see how many homicides took place with (legally*) owned guns?
You will appreciate how one method gives us a very skewed picture that is nonetheless politically useful to the gun ban nuts, whereas the other method demonstrates how [i]rare[/i] murders actually are in households with (legally*) owned guns, which puts the lie to the notion that ownership of a gun leads people to murderous outbursts.
(* I stress 'legally' because if these researchers are including murders committed with [i]illegal[/i] guns into their research, as justification for restricting the freedom to protect one's life for people who do not own guns illegally, then that would be seriously unjust, would it not?)
[i]It really depends on who is holding the gun at any given moment, doesn't it?[/i]
Well that indicates that you would be OK with, say, a person confronted by someone intent on their murder, 'holding the gun' at that given moment, which is not the case as you have indicated elsewhere. Rather, your attitude is that as far as you are concerned, there is no way in hell people about to be murdered should be able to prevent their murder by the use of a gun, and to hell with anyone who might find themselves in such a situation.
[i]Whittle's real message is that if you want to be equal in [b]his[/b] world[/i]
[i]His[/i] world? Sorry, Whittle isn't personally responsible for the world having people in it who see others as prey, to be abused, robbed, raped and murdered at will.
James Kelly said...
Anon, I've responded to your questions and other points in a new post.
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In 1964, only half of all Americans over 65 had health insurance coverage. The launching of Medicare fundamentally transformed what it meant to grow older in this country. Medicare made insurance coverage universally available for those over 65 and, as a result, life expectancy in our nation continues to rise.
Right now, 47 million Americans enjoy Medicare and the peace of mind of its guarantee, including over 600,000 here in Colorado. But a radical plan that has already passed the Republican-controlled U.S. House undermines that security and would abolish Medicare as we know it.
House Budget Committee Chairman Paul Ryan's Medicare "reform" proposal would end the Medicare guarantee while increasing costs to seniors. The Ryan plan would transform the current Medicare guaranteed benefits program into a privatized voucher program for those under 55. Seniors would receive a flat "premium support" payment voucher to independently purchase health insurance from private insurers or from the traditional Medicare program.
We need to take steps to ensure the solvency of Medicare. But we must do so in ways that are not burdensome to current beneficiaries or to those about to retire, all of whom have already paid into Medicare and have counted on it for their health care as they age. Unfortunately Ryan's plan actually does both, harming current and future beneficiaries.
Under this plan, year after year, seniors would be forced to pay more and more out of their own pockets to keep their health plan, or risk losing access to their doctors or losing benefits. Thus, the voucher program would shift significant costs to already cash-strapped seniors.
Second, the voucher program's increased costs to seniors would be far from nominal. According to the Congressional Budget Office (CBO), under this plan seniors could be paying $2,200 more by 2030, and $8,000 more by 2050. In 2012, according to the Kaiser Family Foundation, Medicare households are already spending three times as much of their budgets on out-of-pocket health care expenses, as non-Medicare households.
Third, the GOP plan would likely ultimately end traditional Medicare, leaving seniors subject to the bureaucratic whims of private insurers as their only option. As this plan would take hold, private insurers would likely attract healthier enrollees, while the traditional Medicare plan would attract sicker and even older enrollees.
The Ryan plan would not just impact future beneficiaries, but current recipients as well. By repealing the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (ACA) it would repeal certain Medicare benefits, increasing costs for beneficiaries right away. It would re-open the prescription drug donut hole, increasing the drug costs of seniors in the donut hole by up to $44 billion through 2020.
Lastly, despite GOP claims to the contrary, the Center for Budget and Policy Priorities has found the Ryan plan would not produce any more budgetary savings than the Medicare provisions of the ACA. But this plan instead achieves those savings on the backs of the most vulnerable. Not surprising, since this Medicare plan is part of the same budget proposal that gives those making over $1 million per year an average tax cut of $394,000, while preserving tax breaks for Big Oil; and would actually destroy 4.1 million American jobs through 2014.
Americans want Congress to responsibly reduce the deficit, but certainly do not want it to be on the backs of our most vulnerable citizens. Medicare is a fundamental promise this nation made to its seniors and for almost five decades it has changed the lives of millions of Americans. We cannot break that promise for the sake of an ideological mission that would have devastating consequences for decades to come.
U.S. Rep. Diana DeGette is a Democrat who represents Colorado's 1st Congressional District.
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Pretzel Bread
Baking bread, whether as an occupation or as a hobby, is extremely satisfying. Bakers have almost complete control over their bread, requiring little more than some very simple ingredients, time and the willingness to get his or her hands a little messy.
Pretzel bread is not quite a simple as flat bread or dinner rolls, but the loaves come out of the oven with a deep, brown pretzel crust and a slightly sweet, tender center. This particular recipe should be treated as a base to which other ingredients may be added. Cinnamon and extra brown sugar can create a sweet pretzel, or garlic and other spices can create a more savory pretzel. The loaves can be baked into mini-loaves, sandwich loaves or just cut into chunks and served as a snack. If you come up with something good, leave it in the comments.
But now for the bread.
Makes : 2 small loaves.
Prep time : 3-4 hours (including rise time).
Ingredients :
1 packet dry active yeast, or 2 tsp.
2 cups warm (110F) water.
1 tbsp dark brown sugar.
1 tbsp honey.
2 tbsp half-and-half.
3 tbsp unsalted butter.
1.5 tsp salt.
3-3.5 cups bread flour.
3 tbsp baking soda.
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elevenlakes made it!26 days ago
Came out wonderfully. So tasty too! I did have to add a lot more flour than the instructions called for though. Very happy with this recipe. Thanks for posting. =]
When, where do you add the baking soda. Nothing is mentioned.
You add the baking soda in the boiling water before you boil the bread.
This sounds delicious! I've got to try making it soon! I love to bake and I love pretzels. :)
altosinger1 year ago
I have made this recipe twice, and its flavor is fabulous (obviously, since I have made it twice!), but you need to know that it calls for exactly half of the amount of flour that is actually needed.
Sorry, I didn't see that people have actually mentioned this before. ItsJeremy, you really ought to change the recipe. Unless someone has bread baking experience, he or she is going to try this recipe, not know to just add more flour and think it is a dismal failure. thanks for posting though! Kids love it!
gwrober1 year ago
Just made this - turned out pretty good! I think I'll follow some of the comments, and use less water. I'll also try to use the soda water basting instead of the boiling - the boiling foamed up and I spent most of the time fighting that. BUT - but, the bread is DELICIOUS. The crust was just right! The wife wanted to make some smaller pieces too, so we made some "sticks" also...
The dark lines in the middle of one of the loaves is the soda water mixture, it soaked into a fold and didn't bake out completely.
I have been using a similar recipe for a yearish now. I have not upgrade to the lye bath yet as most recipes say that improves the crust to a more brown crispiness. I have been wondering if your loaves are dense. I have tried many things to get more "air" in the bread, but it always seems to stay dense. what are your experiences?
ItsJeremy (author) chemicalfacist3 years ago
Yes, these loaves are extremely dense, but very soft. If you want loaves with more air pockets in them, let them rise for a while (half an hour or more) after you boil them. That will allow the yeast to create air pockets. Be careful that you don't slice the loaves until they are ready to go into the oven or they will just spread all over. You could also try letting them rise longer before boiling, but the problem there is that they will likely lose a lot of the air during the boiling unless you handle them very carefully.
With respect to the lye bath, I would suggest giving it a try if you can do it safely. I didn't mention lye because I wanted to limit it to things I figured another might have. The lye will give you a much better crust, but baking soda still does a good job.
my wife found lye pellets on the internet. supposed to be safer. but i bought a 15# of soda, so I'll work o n the recipe until i get it where I want it the move to the lye
lye flake is safe enough. its really just the order that you use it. adding it too the water instead of water to the lye.
Let them rise for 45-60 min after forming, then instead of submerging in boiling soda water, just brush them with it. (i add some salt to the soda water mix)
This keeps the dough handling gentle and thus less dense. After brushing the breads, pretzels... shove them into the oven immediately. The heat in the oven speeds up the reaction, like submerging it in boiling soda water.
The submerging method works of course, but it's traditionally used when making bagels.(without soda of course)
Brushing with lye would be even better, with this method you only need minute amounts.
Nice instructable, two things i like to add.
Yeast doesn't like fat or salt, so it would be better to add the fatty components later in the mixing process. With the salt, it may not be practical to add it too late, because it could be unevenly distributed in the dough. But i would add it to the second cup of flour.
Happy baking
daveda2 years ago
I tried this today. I think the water measurement is of by double, instead of two cups it should be one cup.
With two cups water and three cups flour you end up with a nice flour paste, no were near a dough. I had to add another 2 1/2 cups of flour to get a dough.
Instead of two small loves I ended up with six about 5 to 6 inches in diameter and an inch and a half tall.
They taste great. I will make this again with either 1 cup water and about 3 cups flour or the 2 cups water and about 6 cups flour.
You should change the ingredient list one way or the other.
scottysmo882 years ago
I once went to a pizzeria where all the pizzas were served on a pretzel dough. I wonder if this recipe could be adapted for such a purpose. After boiling the dough, could you pull it out and spread it onto a pizza pan?
ravagerxx2 years ago
wow wat are the odds of stumbling to this after this
goorooo2 years ago
so haven't made this bread yet... but "your kicks are growing plants and baking bread"? best ever :)
Oh yum! I think these would be good split in half, spread with mustard and a lunchmeat (probably ham), for a nice pretzel-y sandwich.
spongmai2 years ago
Combine the cool water to make a soft dough texture.
AmyLuthien2 years ago
I made this recipe today, and it turned out excellent!
For the record, I live at 5400+ ft elevation and had no problems whatsoever. I did add a little extra flour when kneading, but other than that, I followed the measurements given to the letter! Thanks :D
Raphite22 years ago
This bread proved to be a challenge, seeing as the ingredient list off by a few measurements. Dry should be at a 3:1 ratio with wet, so you will need almost 6 cups of flour to make this a good dough. The previously mentioned strategy of brushing on the soda water works perfectly and makes for a wonderful crust. I would suggest a bit more yeast, perhaps a half teaspoon, to make the other numbers add up well. After all is said and done, this bread is delicious and plentiful, and therefore a staple of my baking weekend. Bravo.
donicamm2 years ago
Is the crust of this bread firm enough to scoop out the innards and use it as a bread bowl?
Yes you can. :) I did it with a vegetarian black bean chili.
Just finished with the recipe! Here is the result! I haven't tried them yet, too hot:):)
Phoghat2 years ago
I live in Zacatecas, Mexico, at an altitude of ~ 9,000 Ft. Yesterday I tried this recipe and it was a dismal failure. I found out later that it really wasn't the fault of the recipe, but my own fault for not doing some basic research on baking and cooking at high altitudes. I found two sites that seem to address the problem pretty well and I learned a few things. I'll try making this again soon.
ghannon2 years ago
Is there any way I can make this without the brown sugar? Can I use honey, or agave nectar, in replacement of the sugar?
do'connor2 years ago
AWESOME!! Thank you!
btsmay2 years ago
I just tried this recipe and it is delish!! My kids also think it is wonderful. Was planning on having it with lasagne tonite, but my son informs me it may not last that long. I am curious about one thing however. I have been baking pretzels for many years and the recipe I use also calls for 3 cups of flour, but only 1 cup of water. How does your dough not turn out soupy using 2 cups of liquid? Or is it a typo? When I made this I ended up adding about 2 1/2 to 3 cups more flour. But as I said, it was VERY tasty! I will definitely add this to my personal cookbook. I am also interested in trying the lye bath method. KUDOS! very good 'ible.
Also, does anyone know how to go about getting "bakers ammonia"?
dollywild2 years ago
In the US there is a company called King Arthurs Flour that sells cheddar cheese powder made from actual cheese. I'm thinking pretzel cheese bread would be wunderbar. What an excellent thing to serve with beer....Thanks!
where did you find the chedder cheese powder? a specialty shop?
King Arthur Flour. They have a website and a print catalog. Based in the USA. HTH!
maybe ill just stop by the plant. Im in NH and live relativly close to it. never actually been though
dolly_p202 years ago
A question from abroad: what is half-and-half? What does it contain? Any other option?
it's half milk half cream
You can sub any type of milk. I use sweet cream or whipping cream for a rich flavor. You can how ever use non dairy creamer or rice milk if regular dairy is an issue.
Thank you.
Is Half and Half some type of milk?
According to Wikipedia, the name Half and Half "refers to the liquid's content of half milk and half cream".
So, yes, a type of milk. In the US, we usually use it in coffee.
Sporkette2 years ago
I saw this today, and have already made it because it looked so good. It's as yummy as the pictures make it out to be. It's super easy too :) I'll be making it again.
trustr2 years ago
hmmmm... in Franconia/germany we call these Kastaniensemmel or Laugenbrötchen
(well I don't know if the ingredients are the same )
I could die for them :-)
mattress2 years ago
You mentioned the amount of flour would have to be altered if you're using All Purpose Flour. What quantity would you need?
GibbonsRock2 years ago
Nice work! Awesome `ible!
I make homemade pretzels and pretzel rolls all the time with lye and I think the difference is dramatic- baking soda pretzels taste a little baking soda-y, but the lye pretzels have a stronger and more authentic flavor. For those wanting to cook with lye, you can source food grade lye pellets on Amazon. Search for "food grade lye."
My favorite ratio for lye is about 1.5 Tablespoons pellets per liter of water. Add the pellets to the water, not water to the pellets. Also, DON'T BOIL this mixture- when you use a lye bath you don't need the heat to catalyze the reaction: a cold to room temperature bath will do the trick!
After bathing your dough, just pour the lye solution down your slowest drain. I usually pour it down the shower drain- lye is Drano, and can help break up the clogs.
Have fun, be careful and Bon appetit!
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Sugar Rush »
Your daily dose of something sweet.
Sugar Rush: Speculoos and Feuilletine Chocolate Bars at Neuhaus
20110203 - 135987 - Neuhaus - Bar Trio.jpg
[Photo: Kathy YL Chan]
Mini chocolate bars from Neuhaus are a staple in my purse. (You just never know when you're going to have chocolate cravings.) They're $3 a bar and small enough that you can finish the whole bar and still have room for dessert. All sorts of flavors are offered, but I rotate between three.
There's the Speculoos bar, where milk chocolate is mixed with crushed speculoos—those crispy, cinnamon cookies from Belgium. Snap off a square and break into the praliné interior, a creamy, easy melting indulgence. Fans of the delicate crunch from the speculoos bar are bound to fall for the Feuilletine bar, also combined with a milk chocolate base. Feuilletine are crunchy little wafers, and Neuhaus uses ones from Brittany, buttery crushed sweet flakes. With all the variety, it's key to keep a classic in your repertoire, and you can do just that with the smooth dark chocolate Praliné bar, a tried and true pairing of almond and hazelnut praliné.
Various locations in NYC (check here)
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I transferred a domain (www.mydomain.com) from one hosting provider (OLD-CO) to a new host (NEW-CO). How can I download email that is still sitting at OLD-CO, to my desktop?
Some email accounts have 10,000 or more emails, so using the Web email client is not an option. I still have an account at OLD-CO, and I have access to the DNS records at OLD-CO.
AFAIK my desktop email client requires that I specify the POP address (pop.mydomain.com). This points to NEW-CO, not OLD-CO. Are there any desktop email clients that can use an IP address instead of a domain name?
I could change the MX record at OLD-CO. How would I configure the desktop client to access it?
I prefer using an email client that stores email as plain text, like Eudora. I have written code to extract email addresses and other information from the desktop copy of the emails.
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Chances are you can access the OLD-CO's mail-servers directly. It won't be 'pop.mydomain.com', but 'pop.most-other-domains-at-old-co.com' will probably point to the same actual servers serving mail. Your login should be the same and is probably username@yourdomain.com. That should still work even if your domain is being hosted elsewhere.
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You, sir, are a genius! I did in fact have a second domain. I was able to do: getmail -s pop.abc.com -u me@xyz.com Fantastic. Thank you profusely. – sprezzatura Feb 3 '11 at 0:02
Glad to hear! Sometimes it isn't obvious that COs do that kind of thing. – sysadmin1138 Feb 3 '11 at 0:04
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For a situation like this, if the hosting companies do not provide a tool for this, I'd suggest something like "getmail" (to retrieve from POP/IMAP). It will drop the mail into mbox format local files, which are plaintext, or maildir format, which is also plaintext but one file per message. I used this to clean out mailboxes on a server, and then I could zip up the mbox files periodically for archiving.
You'll find getmail's source as the first match on google for "getmail" and there's also a Wikipedia page for it early in the results.
There are probably similar apps to post your mail to another mailserver, but it sounds like you don't need that.
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Thank you, great suggestion. Getmail for Windows made downloading a breeze. – sprezzatura Feb 3 '11 at 0:08
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such as Firefox, Opera, Google Chrome, or Safari.
Letter From Māra
Ajahn Puṇṇadhammo
Buddhist Publication Society
Kandy • Sri Lanka
The Wheel Publication No. 461
Copyright ©1997, 2006 Arrow River Community Center.
BPS Online Edition © (2011)
ISBN 955-24-0286-7
Digital Transcription Source: BPS Transcription Project
The contents of this book may reflect the personal opinion of the author and may not necessarily reflect the opinion of the Buddhist Publication Society as a whole.
The Squadrons
Māra to his Minions
First Army—The Host of Sense-Desires
Second Army—Boredom
Third Army—Hunger and Thirst
Fourth Army—Craving
Fifth Army—Sloth and Accidie
Sixth Army—Cowardice
Seventh Army—Uncertainty
Eighth Army—Malice and Obstinacy
Ninth Army—Honour, Renown, and Notoriety
Tenth Army—Self-Praise and Denigration of Others
The author expresses his gratitude to the late C.S. Lewis, author of The Screwtape Letters, from whose work he obtained the idea for this book.
–Ajahn Puṇṇadhammo
The Squadrons
Your first squadron is Sense-Desires,
Your second is called Boredom, then
Hunger and Thirst compose the third,
And Craving is the fourth in rank,
The fifth is Sloth and Accidie,
While Cowardice lines up as sixth,
Uncertainty is seventh, the eighth
Is Malice paired with Obstinacy;
Gain, Honour and Renown, besides,
And ill-won Notoriety,
Self-Praise and Denigrating Others—
These are your squadrons, Namuci;
These are the Black One’s fighting squadrons;
None but the brave will conquer them
To gain bliss by the victory.
Suttanipāta III.2
Translated by Bhikkhu Ñāṇamoli
Life of the Buddha p.20
In a faraway realm there is the most intoxicatingly beautiful pleasure park in all the vast swarm of universes. Lovely maidens and carefree youths stroll through groves of ever-flowering trees. Golden leaves swayed by gentle breezes tinkle with soft and lazy melodies. Gorgeous birds and enormous butterflies flutter through the shady groves. The ground slopes up gently and in the distance a fairy castle is visible atop a craggy peak, a marvellous structure of twisting towers and intricate parapets. Its very geometry dazzles the senses, no need to speak of the jewel-encrusted walls, the golden roofs, or the gargoyles of alabaster and jade.
In the highest tower of this dazzling construction there is a large and tastefully appointed room, an office if you will. Behind a massive desk of rarest wood and cunning joinery reclines an elegant figure in a comfortable leather chair. He is tall and handsome, impeccably dressed and groomed. His style is timeless yet fashionable, his demeanour polished and suave. A goddess of unearthly beauty sits beside him on a low stool, doing his nails. Another one sits across from him with a dictation pad on her lap.
The being behind the desk glances out the huge picture window with a smile of contentment. He watches the happy godlings at play with a paternal satisfaction. After a while he turns to the lovely goddess across from him, the heavenly secretary, and speaks: “I’ll want to dictate a letter in a moment, my dear. In the meantime, would you be a sweetheart and prepare a cup of coffee while I survey the state of my empire.” The manicurist gathers up her implements and exits with a smile and a wink.
As his secretary glides gracefully towards the celestial coffee-maker, the Prince of the Sense-Realms allows himself the pleasure of a lascivious glance before getting down to business. His now perfectly manicured hand rests upon a computer mouse (of unicorn ivory with a ruby button); with a few deft manoeuvres he reprograms the view in the window.
First he checks out the various heavens within his dominion, the worlds of pleasure where gods and goddesses sport in gardens and groves. Wandering about in heavenly chariots, they travel from party to party, from festival to feast. Clothed in gorgeous raiment and bedecked with garlands and jewels, they are intoxicated with their own beauty. Heavenly musicians play constantly and celestial nymphs of bewitching loveliness dance for aeons without a pause. Of course every now and again one of these beings disappears—poof!—like a Christmas tree light burning out. The others seem barely to notice; the more thoughtful may pause momentarily and blink once or twice, but they are soon diverted from any momentary melancholy.
“Ah…my children, how they do like to play! But some don’t play as nicely as they might…”
Another flick of the mouse and the window displays beings in the animal realm—running and chasing, hunting and devouring, mating and giving birth. Caught in traps or dying through cold or heat, they pass briefly in and out of existence.
Again the view changes. The ghost realm appears, shadowy and dark. Beings move about moaning and wailing, misshapen beings coarse and ugly; many have bloated bellies and tiny heads, some are like living skeletons, others creep pathetically around refuse piles.
Then the hell realms come into view: realms of fire and pain; worlds of unspeakable cruelty and horror—beings impaled on red-hot iron stakes, or beings thrown into pits of fire and fished out again with hooks; beings boiled in cauldrons or skewered with knives.
The Prince’s mouth curls into a faint frown of disgust. He receives his cup of steaming coffee gracefully as a swarm of writhing beings falls into a pit full of blazing coals. The secretary says with a divine pout: “That’s simply awful, Māra sweetie. I don’t know why you keep that place going.”
A black eyebrow is raised; “My goodness! As if it were my fault! Hell isn’t exactly my favourite subsidiary either. I’d much rather prefer that all these wretched beings had the good sense to live properly, but they will carry on in that evil way of theirs, so what can I do about it? Heaven or hell, it’s all their own doing you know; I just, let’s say, facilitate matters by helping them to see the inestimable value of a sense realm existence. Hmm, excellent coffee as usual, my dear.”
“You’re wicked. Do change the channel.”
With a frown Māra flicks the mouse.
The goddess laughs; “Oooh…the human world! So amusing, these silly little people.”
Māra frowns a little deeper and studies the flickering images: people hurrying along a subway platform; a family mindlessly watching television; a young girl selling herself in the street; soldiers burning a village.
He sips the coffee thoughtfully. “Very good. Most of this realm, too, is well and truly mine…”
On the window, now, a dusty village street, where some chickens run about and here and there a mangy dog or two. A boy walks by, leading a buffalo by a rope through its nose. Some men lounge in the shade of a mango tree, smoking.
“But there is a small annoying…leakage.”
Now around a bend a line of robed figures walk silently with eyes cast down. A few old women appear and reverently place lumps of sticky rice into the monks’ bowls.
“Most annoying…but fortunately the leak is a small one, and it does keep us busy trying to stop it. Can’t have too many beings escaping now, can we? Where would we be if the Great Saṃsāra exhausted itself? Well, time to work. Come here and sit on my lap while I dictate a circular memo to the department heads.”
Māra to his Minions
FROM: His Supreme Excellency The Māra Namuci
TO: All Squadron Leaders
OPERATIONS AREA: Planet Earth, Solar System, The Human Realm
REGARDING: Present Situation And Status Of Current Projects
DATED: 26th Century Of Current Buddha-Period
Greetings to all my hard-working minions! As you are all well aware, our overall strategy seems to be working as smoothly as usual. The vast multitude of beings who wander in our little playground, the Great Saṃsāra, are by and large oblivious of the true nature of their predicament. We must continue our unceasing efforts to maintain them in our power. It is quite true that one, shall we say, very clever fish escaped our net two and half millennia ago. I fully accept responsibility for that catastrophe. As you have all studied the history in basic training, I need not go over it in great detail; remember I tried my very best. Even my daughters dancing for him didn’t move him. Even my terrible aspect, which sometimes frightens even myself, had no effect. Worse, after he had penetrated the true nature of our little game, I couldn’t persuade him to keep it to himself; although I thought I almost had him convinced. Alas, what’s done is done and there is a small hole in our net through which beings continue to escape. Happily, all indications are the hole grows smaller with time. It is very hard for our little fishies to imagine that their true welfare lies outside the net; all we need to do is to divert them from thoughts of the canning plant!
You, my loyal squadron leaders, are doing a fine job. Let’s take this opportunity to review your departments one by one.
First Army—The Host of Sense-Desires
You well deserve the honour of being my beloved First Host. In most cases, your work alone is enough to keep beings in line. Your Five Divisions—the Division of the Sense of Sight, the Division of the Sense of Hearing, the Division of the Sense of Smell, the Division of the Sense of Taste, and the Division of the Sense of Touch—assault our victims with all the enchantments of sensory pleasure. Beings spend their lives coming to you. Your sacrificial victims come to the altar willingly, even eagerly.
But this is no reason to slacken in your efforts. There is always the danger that they will begin to see—let us be perfectly frank amongst ourselves—the shoddy nature of the goods. We know that sense pleasures are entirely unsatisfactory and illusory. In spite of all our inventiveness, we have never come up with any pleasure that is completely satisfying, lasting or substantial. Fortunately, the vast majority of humans don’t realise this. The foolish little beggars all seem to imagine that only the pleasures they’ve had so far are like this, and that somewhere, somehow they will eventually find the magic trinket that will let them live happily ever after.
I know this sounds preposterous, but most humans don’t think these things through very carefully. They like what feels good and never mind the consequences. The only trick for us is to keep them diverted and entertained. We must keep coming up with new enticements as humans tire with the old ones. Although we have a few tried and true lures, that is, sex and food primarily—even here we need to keep coming up with new variations and twists!
So far, my dear army, you’ve been doing a marvellous job. Take sex for example, this has been our weapon of choice for about a billion years now. For a simple biological function, it does allow for a great deal of creative possibilities. What a wonderful swindle it all is! The weird and wonderful variations they get themselves so frenzied about—all reduce to some tricky wiring and a simple bit of friction! In one sense, it isn’t sex itself that keeps us in business, but all the peripheral things that go with it: all the expectations and preliminaries, all the accessories and emotional baggage. Fortunately, there’s enough of this stuff to keep most of them going for a lifetime; and one lifetime at a time is all we need to concern ourselves with. They’ll keep coming back for more of the same, won’t they?
Lately, I must say, we have been succeeding wonderfully in this area. Technology is such an asset. As soon as they got the daguerreotype working, they were pointing it at naked women, and of course now we have colour photography, cinema and video to boot. Tantalising images are ever more easy to come by. Recently they’ve been distributing all this stuff on the Internet, so they don’t even have to go anywhere to find it. (Perhaps I ought to get a web page—no, it would only be redundant!)
Technology itself is largely a product of sensual desire; beings create devices to make the acquisition of sensual pleasures easier, or to avoid the occurrence of sensory discomfort. This drives their whole economy and keeps them busy all of their brief lives. They want, indeed imagine they need, a car, a stereo, a computer, and then a newer car, a newer stereo, etc. We must keep them in a state of desire for all these devices—the more they work, the less time they will have for reflection.
The teachings of our Great Adversary are the only serious obstacle to this project. He has pointed out to them again and again the dangers inherent in sensual desire. However, we have, over the centuries, succeeded so well in muddling up this truth with various bogus teachings that it is becoming harder and harder for them to find the real Dhamma. There are plenty of so-called “teachers” among them who are willing to speak our line in his name. Not merely soft-pedalling the idea of renunciation, but proudly announcing that the “passions themselves are enlightenment”. Of course, there are plenty of fish that like the taste of that bait!
If they do start to reflect or, worse, to practise renunciation and meditation, then we mustn’t give up. They are then getting dangerously close to finding a way out of our power. Once they discover that their true happiness is not based on things/objects (in other words, our trickery), then they may escape. We must use all the resources at our disposal to distract them. Although they may be sitting quietly, their minds are still easily distracted for a long time. Fantasy is a great thing, especially as the mind can powerfully visualise and hold an object, even an unwholesome object, with a bit of concentration. The thing we must not let them do is to contemplate the real nature of the body. You would think that any being of even moderate intelligence could see the inherently foul and unstable nature of those meat-machines they drag around. After all, they have to be constantly washing and perfuming the stinking things just to bear being in each other’s company! But they don’t see that or they don’t want to see it. We merely have to keep them looking at their bodies in a highly selective way, emphasising those largely visual characteristics identified as “beautiful.” It’s an easy enough trick. And don’t forget to whisper all the current buzz that keeps them from doing body-meditations. You know what I mean, meditation on the unlovely is “life-denying, uptight, repressive”. It’s easy enough to convince them, because it’s what they want to hear. Keep them imagining they can have their cake and eat it too, then we can stop worrying. Let them meditate all they want—as long as they think they don’t have to let anything go, we’re still in control.
Māra folds his arms behind his head and sighs, composing the next letter in his mind. The secretary, sensing a break in the work, slides off his lap and goes over to the window, the cordless mouse in her hand.
“Gee Māra, you’d sure think that the First Army would be enough.” Flicking the mouse, she spies on all the gods and goddesses. She settles for a while on a scene of beautiful beings cavorting in a lotus pool as swans drift about, little barrels of intoxicating divine nectar about their delicate necks. Sometimes, when a godling reaches for a draught, the birds dart away playfully amid general splashing and hilarity. “You sure know how to throw a party!”
Māra narrows his dark eyes. “Thank you, my sweet. But even the mighty First needs some backup.” He watches with a smile as she grows weary of the heavenly skinny dippers and begins flicking through the realms, faster and faster…
“Come on, back to work…”
Second Army—Boredom
To my Second Army, the Host of Boredom, I extend greetings and congratulations. Your role is to act in accord with my First Army; you are, as it were, the artillery softening up the enemy’s defences for an infantry assault by sensory desire. We must keep beings in a constant state of dissatisfaction with their present reality. To be bored is primarily a state of aversion; the current input of the senses is not providing the desired kick of pleasure so that beings are irritated with what they call the dullness of their environment. They become ’bored’ and seek to remedy the situation with new and exciting stimuli, which my first host is eager to provide. They become lost in sensuality and once again we have them where we want them, thus creating the basis of fresh ’becoming’.
What a scam! We keep them always craving after something exciting, something new. As a result they keep running on in the Great Saṃsāra, like one of their wretched pet hamsters on an exercise wheel. If they ever catch on and realise how long they’ve been at it and how there really is nothing new or fresh to be experienced…
Of course, we cannot let that happen. The trick is to keep them from paying attention to the present moment. Once they’re fully present, here-and-now, then they cannot be bored. Lately we’ve managed to foster a social climate that positively discourages calmness and clarity. Their whole modern culture is fast and frenzied. Fashions in everything from music to clothing change rapidly and they’re all eager to keep up with it. The masses prefer excitement to subtlety. The last half century or so has seen many advances in our efforts to fracture the human attention span. Television was a great help, but I think the single greatest advance in the triumph of boredom was the invention of the remote control. There are now many millions whose attention span is so pathetic that they cannot sit through a half-hour story; they cannot even be diverted that long by a single train of enticing images, let alone sit quietly by themselves!
We’ve succeeded so well in this department that being bored is considered one of the great evils of life. This, of course, never arose when they required all their physical energy just to survive. But now we have a generation of enervated dilettantes who cannot bear their own company—although one can scarcely blame them for that!
People create virtual hell realms of boredom for themselves. You can see them everywhere in large modern cities—riding the subways, waiting in lines, sitting in offices. The dull lethargic look on their faces, the glassy stare in their eyes indicates a mind that would rather be somewhere—anywhere—else. What pathetic creatures! If they only realised that the only place they can ever be is here-and-now!
Boredom is based on what our Great Adversary called vibhavataṇhā, “the craving for non-being”, in the vernacular. They find their current state of existence unbearable, chiefly because of their own mental state, and they wish to blot it out. In the purest form, this leads to suicide and a consequent lower rebirth; in a milder form, it leads to the petty self-annihilation by means of drink, drugs, sleep, or mindless entertainment.
As long as we keep them trapped into these two strategies of sensuality and lethargy, they will remain in our power. Should they stray close to the true escape, which lies in the Middle [1] , then we must redouble our efforts. Then you should whisper in their ears, and don’t let them be still. Tell them again and again the good old lies: “This is really boring. Get out and enjoy life!”
“I’m thirsty Māra, can we take a Soma break, now?” the secretary pouts.
“ ’All Beings are sustained by nutriment…’ ”
She pours herself a shining cup of sublime nectar from a crystal decanter. “What did you say, honey?”
“Nothing…just something I read in a book a long time ago.”
“You’re so intellectual,” she coos, climbing back into his lap and turning the page in her memo pad.
Third Army—Hunger and Thirst
My mighty and terrible Third! Greetings! Your methods may be crude compared to the refinements of my beloved First Army, but they are nonetheless effective. The cravings you engender are even more primaeval than those of sex. Sex, after all, they only imagine they cannot live without. Food and drink they really do need to sustain the body.
I will always remember that it was you, the minions of Hunger, that lured the race now called human into my clutches in the first place. Ah! How long ago was that? Two or three billion years? I remember it as if it were yesterday! The great earth was formless and void, then, and the beings at that time were glorious—self-luminous and fed on jhānic bliss. Bah! Not much we could do with them; a tedious state of affairs. So we caused the seas to develop a nutritious foam and then some of them became just a wee bit curious. Patiently and slyly we whispered in their godlike ears for many a millennium: “Mmm…tasty.” One by one they dipped a fingertip and delicately licked. One by one they began absorbing the coarse physical stuff and their own forms coarsened. Gradually, imperceptibly, they took on coarser forms, and required more and grosser food. [2] Ha ha! Now we have the fools lining up for greasy burgers!
Of course, the purely physiological response of an empty belly is not our real weapon; it’s the imaginary hunger—the greed for tastes, the lust for savours. They can become quite obsessed with food and the obsession can take many amusing forms: the gourmet who spends a small fortune on exotic dishes; the health-nut who makes a fetish of diet; the glutton who overloads his system with calories; and the anorexic who starves herself with a pathological vanity—all are in a state of delusion that exaggerates the importance of what is, when all is said and done, merely fuel for the organism. Very important also is the lack of fortitude in bearing with the bodily sensations. Beings are always seeking satisfaction; never let them suspect that that is precisely the one thing that is quite beyond our power to provide.
Nevertheless, the cruder forms of hunger, the real need for food, serves our purposes as well. Driven by the need to sustain their bodies, they perform actions in the world, working on farms and factories, and action is karma and karma drives sense-sphere becoming. You know this very well.
Our Great Adversary understood the dangers of the Third Army—as always in his maddeningly direct way he taught a Middle Path through this swamp. He himself tried extreme fasting, which often serves our ends quite as well as gluttony, and rejected it as a method. His rule for the monks stipulates moderation in eating and a limited form of fasting; abstaining from food for half of each day. Nevertheless, you, the Army of Hunger, are one of my chief weapons against the monks in their efforts to escape. Often we can bedevil their minds and dreams with images of delicious food. Always remember that with celibates food is their chief outlet for sensuality. With the monks of orders outside his dispensation, who do not keep the rules of Vinaya, we have often had great success in this area, creating many a jolly Friar Tuck!
The main thing to remember is to prevent them from eating mindfully. If humans keep their wits about them, and eat with awareness, contemplating the sensations and feelings aroused, then they can learn a lot. This is very dangerous for us. Fortunately, this is a difficult exercise and we all know how little humans like difficult exercises.
In surveying the state of the world today, it seems you are succeeding splendidly. Half the world is starving and the other half is obese. In both cases they are obsessed with food. Keep them that way and they will not turn their thoughts to things beyond our realm.
Māra swivels around in his chair, musing. He looks around at his well-appointed office, his beautiful secretary, his own well-groomed fingernails. How glad he is to be Māra!
Fourth Army—Craving
To my busy legions of the Fourth Army: greetings and congratulations. This army has three divisions: the Division of Sensual Desire, the Division of Being and the Division of Non-Being. Since the Fourth Army’s Division of Sensual Desire duplicates the work of my beloved First Army—the Host of Sense Desires—I’m enclosing a copy of the notes I sent to them.
The secretary asks “Shouldn’t we do something about that redundancy?”
“Why? This organisation is the last one in the universe that will have to consider downsizing! Now, don’t interrupt me again!”
The Second Division, which promotes the craving to be, has a vital role to play. Beings exist because of your work. The technical details of this process have been aptly explained by our Adversary in his Dependent Origination, and grudgingly we must admit the accuracy and clarity of the exposition. We needn’t go into the details here; those of you who are so inclined can consult the relevant literature [3] . Let us merely consider the idea from the practical angle; the beings in our power exist because they want to.
Be clear about this. They don’t as a rule begin to understand what existence means; they are mostly not even fully conscious of this craving. You have done your work well and insidiously. The craving for being is usually manifested in a cruder form, a second derivative as it were—not as the simple will-to-be but the craving to be this or that thing in particular: To be loved, to be rich, to be healthy, to be the president of the United States, and so on.
Your attack should be two-pronged: as long as it is possible to do so, keep feeding the secondary manifestation in particular, the craving to be this or that. We have been doing quite well in this regard in recent times. Our possibilities were limited when society was hierarchical and stable. For the last few centuries, however, the old certainties have become less and less effective. Society is now so open as to be almost totally chaotic. Not that this so-called ’freedom’ does them any real good; most of them will never be rock stars or presidents, or any of those other ridiculous things they seem to crave so much. No matter—for our purposes, it’s good enough that they want it. Keep the dream alive! If things start looking too hopeless, remind them to buy a lottery ticket.
Sometimes, though, some of them do surprise us and do become something, but usually we can just up the ante. If one of them gets to be president, make sure he or she wants to be a great president. Nevertheless, in spite of our best efforts, some of them may occasionally come close to being satisfied; even in quite humble and ordinary circumstances, and this is very dangerous. In such cases, consider Plan B and bring them closer to the root craving for sheer existence.
Our principle weapon, here, has always been the Eternity View. Tell them: “You are, or can be, immortal. Your essence will continue forever.” Don’t let them think about death. This is easy because most of them don’t want to anyway. Any version of this view will do for our purposes. It doesn’t have to make too much sense; very few of them are willing to think these things through to their logical conclusions. There are a few good religions around that will serve up this soothing broth and these should be encouraged, but some of our other projects have resulted in increasing numbers of materialists and sceptics. Many of these will be better targets for the Third Division, the Forces of Craving for Non-being, but a surprising number will still buy into a version of Eternalism.
Most of the simpler-minded persons will be happy to keep artificially prolonging youth with facelifts and hair transplants, but a few will require headier medicine. The myth of the all powerful science, although quite silly really, is very seductive to these types. Many now believe that science will eventually prolong human life indefinitely. Some even get their carcasses frozen in liquid nitrogen. Remember the ancient Egyptians? I am having the boys in Research and Development do a feasibility study on starting up that game again.
Sooner or later, however, in spite of our best efforts, many of them will begin to lose the zest for existence. Life in the human realm is very often nasty, brutish and short, and wishful thinking only goes so far. That’s all right if we handle it properly; that is precisely why the Forces of Craving for Non-being are needed.
On a superficial level, this can manifest as simple aversion; the craving not-to-be in debt, or the craving not-to-be married to that person next to them in bed, or the craving not-to-be whoever they are. Even more trivial forms are still useful; the craving not-to-be in the back of a long queue or not-to-be cold, etc., ad infinitum. All these mind sets produce unsatisfactoriness and this keeps them within our power.
Remember your awful final weapon! When diversion fails to beguile, then despair can enthral them. Having invested all their hopes in some pathetic illusion, when this is at last punctured, it only takes a short push from us to move them across the dangerous middle ground into hopelessness. Remember Hamlet? “To be or not to be” sums up our programme nicely; whatever you do, don’t let them even suspect a third alternative.
Obviously, it’s not to our advantage to have any of our subjects actually cease to be, but we need not worry, as suicides do not escape us. We can however promote the delusion that this is possible. The ideological basis for this is the Annihilation View [4] . Historically, this has been a minority philosophical position, useful only for snaring a few intellectuals, but we’ve had great success in the last three or four hundred years in popularising this doctrine. Some of you were sceptical when I launched “Project Descartes”, but I think the results have proven my foresight. The scientists among them who work with issues related to mind and consciousness; neurologists, cognitive psychologists, and the like are absolutely blinkered by the concept that mind is an emergent property of the brain. They have no proof at all of this—how could they?but accept it absolutely as axiomatic, so much so that they mostly seem unaware that they are assuming anything at all. This attitude is starting to percolate down to the masses.
The Annihilation View underpins many modern trends: materialism, consumerism, secularism, science, anti-clericalism, etc. Many millions believe that their bodies and minds are nothing more than meat machines. This facilitates a breakdown in morality. Given the materialist world-view, there is nothing to stop them from engaging in abortion, euthanasia, suicide (of course), or even genocide.
If they do take the final step and ’destroy’ themselves, well—it’s unfortunate I suppose, but it does make work for the crew downstairs.
Fifth Army—Sloth and Accidie
The secretary consults her notes: “The next army is ’sloth and accidie.’ Māra, what’s ’accidie?’ ”
“You could look it up.”
She sighs, “Why bother?”
Greetings to the dull grey, heavy hordes of sloth and accidie! (Aside: ’accidie’, is an old spelling of ’acedia’, a pathological mental or spiritual torpor.) I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but keep up the good work!
It may seem as if your power is slipping; people have been working longer and longer hours ever since the industrial revolution, but you and I know that spiritual laziness is more prevalent than ever before. The quick fix, or instant salvation, is all they are interested in.
Nature has made our work simple. The fundamental cosmic law of entropy is our greatest ally. In the sphere of mental life, this means that the spark of consciousness is always engaged in a struggle to keep from sinking back into the darkness of unknowing. Let them but relax the effort, a simple and inviting temptation, and the level of mind will inevitably decline.
That Teacher of theirs, the one who sadly escaped my grasp, has often praised effort and diligence. This emphasis has done much to undercut the real popularity of his teachings over the centuries. I seem to recall one of his own monks who broke with the order and declared that the teaching was no good because it only worked if you followed it. We would to well the endorse the reasonableness of this view.
Every one of us engaged in the work of this organisation is aware of the great complexity of the maze we have built for our ’clients’. Layer upon layer of delusion has carefully and methodically been constructed. It is not an easy task for the worldling to cut through this timeless tangle. Not easy by any means, but regretfully still just possible. So redouble your own efforts and take the wind out of theirs! They will not cut through with a dull blade.
Let us review the techniques that have worked well in the past. Remember, the qualities we want to foster are dullness, heaviness, lethargy, idleness and mindlessness. The oldest and still very profitable method is sleep. Lots of it; in big soft, comfy beds. It’s not hard to persuade them to roll over in the morning! Let them lie in bed more than six hours and they’re ours!
Another wonderful tool is the whole pharmacopoeia of dulling and befuddling agents that so may of them like to pop into their mouths, lungs and veins. You almost can’t beat the old perennial standard ethyl alcohol for reducing them to a sub-human level, but these days we have a much wider range of intelligence-reducing agents readily available—both natural and synthetic. Better living through chemistry! Many of them are so eager to drown their wits that they will even inhale various toxic by-products of the industrial revolution. (Now that was a great idea with all sorts of unexpected benefits!)
Speaking of technology, I cannot praise the use of television highly enough. It requires no thought or effort of any kind and completely stultifies the brain with a panorama of sensually enticing images. Some of you were sceptical when I began Project Vidiot, even citing possible undesirable educational and cultural side-effects, but now that we have whole generations weaned on the tube, we can all see that the results have more than vindicated my enthusiasm.
“That’s why you make the big bucks, Māra!”
“Don’t interrupt when I’m bragging. Now where was I?”
Don’t neglect the simpler dodges either. Procrastination is a wonderful vice. They can diddle away several lifetimes, if properly guided. Over-eating is an effective measure; the full belly makes for a dull mind. Bad posture, soft furniture, and the lack of exercise are all to be encouraged.
Perhaps most fundamental of all is the fostering of an attitude of hopelessness. Let them think that the spiritual life is too hard for the ordinary person, the goal too far away, the effort too daunting. A sense of dull grey ennui is a miasma that chokes the spirit of contemporary humanity and keeps them in our sway. When economic times are good, they are befuddled with empty luxuries; when times are bad, they descend into the pit of despair and turn on each other with petty nastiness. Underlying all the cycles is the spirit of hollowness and futility that is our greatest contribution to the modern age.
There is a timid knock on the polished mahogany door. Silently it swings open on the oiled hinges. With his head bowed and his hands shaking a young demon scurries into the room, clutching a sheaf of papers. He holds them out to Māra and stands quaking before the desk.
With a brusque gesture, Māra snatches the papers and ruffles through them. A glint of awful fire appears in his eyes.
“You miserable worm! You call this a status report!” He flings the papers at the junior officer who, paralysed with fear, fails to catch them, letting them scatter around the floor.
“PICK THEM UP AND GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!” Māra’s terrible voice booms like a thunderstorm. The demon whimpers as he frantically gathers the papers and then bolts from the room.
The secretary is shocked. “Māra, you’re horrible.”
He calmly sips his coffee. “When I want to be, my dear, when I want to be.”
Sixth Army—Cowardice
My Sixth Army, you have a special place in the task of keeping beings in a state of bondage. You weaken the beings whom you attack and render them vulnerable to my terrible aspect. I prefer to charm and delight, but will brook no opposition, so those few who fail to be seduced must be terrorised into submission!
Physical cowardice is useful in its place, but it is the spiritual and moral types who are most suitable for our purposes. Beings must be cajoled into clutching at a sense of security. This is the trick we must play. Of course, you and I know that there is no security in my realm. All beings are subject to the awful realities of birth, sickness, old-age and death. Their goods and chattels, their relations, friends and mates are all as ephemeral as chaff in the wind. No matter. The dream of security may be a hopeless one, but it is powerful. Beings everywhere are afraid to risk what they have, and can be reduced to spiritual impotence by that fear.
Encourage them often not to take risks. If they risk, they may grow; and if they grow, they may awaken. Teach them to cling to the flimsy raft of their life until it is washed over the cataract. They may be kept in this state of fear for countless cycles of birth and death. Their folk wisdom has it that a coward dies many times, and a brave man but once. Few indeed realise the deeper truth hidden in that trite proverb.
We can use this cowardice to keep them from facing the reality of existence. Even to think about it is too scary. The idea of examining it in a methodical way, as for instance in a meditation retreat, is just too much to bear. If they do come to the point of sitting down, they will need courage to finally break through the veil, and if they manage to get past the petty anxieties of their life dramas, they will encounter the real primal fears. It takes great courage to plunge into the Void and this we can undermine.
This is, after all, the golden age of cowardice. No one wants to take a chance. This manifests in a host of symptoms. As their numbers increase and the pressure on the earth’s resources mounts, those who have a generous portion grow mean and afraid of those that have nothing. Their culture is one based on delightful lies of our devising, and the ugly realities are hidden away. The sick and the old are hidden from view and the dead are never seen. Insurance companies grow fat on the people’s futile attempts to prevent the unpreventable.
Keep them afraid to leave the pathetic ruts of their little lives. Keep them afraid to think, to love, to give, to dare the unknown. Should they find the courage to question, it’s the beginning of the end!
We can encourage them to make a virtue of their cowardice. Call it prudence. Call it responsibility. “Be sensible. Why ask for trouble? Leave well enough alone.” They will get up every morning and put on their hats and take the subway to their dull grind of a job and carefully plan for their retirement. By that time, they will be so beaten down that they will slide easily and thoughtlessly the rest of the way to the grave.
What we have to watch are the ones who have a little gumption left; they may start thinking of going on a pilgrimage or, worse, to a monastery. Whisper about the dangers. “Why throw away your job in these tough economic times? Be sensible, hang in there. There are only twenty more years to your pension!”
Māra pauses in his work and strolls thoughtfully towards the picture window, his hands clasped behind his back. He watches an image of a huge city. The walls of the buildings form gigantic twisty caverns; at street level they are covered in lurid posters and glaring neon slogans. Noise and smoky fumes fill the air. Gaunt figures scurry aimlessly hither and thither through the maze, like witless ants.
“Māra, is that on earth or in one of your dreary hells?”
“It’s getting harder all the time to tell the difference.”
Seventh Army—Uncertainty
The role of my seventh is to paralyse with doubt. You are to work closely with my Forces of Fear; with your attacks consolidated, we can keep beings in the wretched state of a deer mesmerised by oncoming headlights.
This is a generation of doubters. Whereas at one time your resources were limited and we made more use of the opposite vice, credulity, now we have whole masses of people with no sure beliefs at all. The old certainties in religion, society, politics, and even science have all had their props kicked out from underneath them. They rejoice in what they call their freedom, but then are unable to advance in any direction. If we can maintain them in this state of confusion, they will surely never escape our grip.
Doubt has been compared to wandering in the desert without a map or guide. This comparison is apt, although I am loath to admit it, considering the source. When beings have no faith, there is no basis for morality and they will fall into all manner of delicious and loathsome vices. We can see this in the present day, which in this respect is very much like late antiquity—a period I greatly enjoyed. In the Imperial Roman period, the old religion was openly scoffed at, virtue was considered a weakness, and the only object in life was the selfish pursuit of personal gratification. Indeed, a marvellous party. True, the destruction of beings was frightful, but that was a sacrifice I was willing to make.
Once again, in modern times we have convinced them to believe that a thoughtless scepticism is clever and chic. It bears repeating that the inevitable result of this is a destruction of morality. When beings don’t understand that actions have results; in other words, when they disbelieve in the Law of Karma, then they will have no restraint upon their appetites (which my other departments are so admirably stirring up!). The really useful detail—from our point of view—is that their foolish disbelief has no effect at all upon the operative effectiveness of that law. (But don’t let them know that!) They will proceed happily upon their debaucheries and violence, and after death they will continue in our service, albeit in a somewhat less salutary capacity.
Another result of the widespread scepticism of the age is that, should they begin to question the facts of their existence—as regrettably many of them do—they will not be able to find an effective way out or to stick with it, should they stumble upon it. In all sceptical ages we see a proliferation of sects and cults. The poor wretches seeking to find their way out of the maze will stumble from priest to guru to psychic and back again, without ever exploring any path long enough to gain real insight into their predicament. Many will abandon the whole enterprise as a hopeless fraud and lose themselves in sense pleasures, which at least offer a momentary diversion from the grim facts.
Encourage in them this cynical and dissolute frame of mind. Teach them to scoff at ancient wisdom and to place their reliance on the new and fashionable whimsies of the day. It is especially easy to undermine any teaching that puts a restraint upon their greed or lust. The doubt that keeps them lost they call rationality, but don’t make the same mistake they do. A real rationality is very dangerous for our interests. A truly critical examination of the phenomena of existence is precisely the method by which a bothersome few penetrate our web of deceit. Make sure their ’critical thought’ is guided by desire; don’t let them ask the real questions.
If they’re managed properly, they can manifest the most amusing contradictions. They will scoff at religion, but believe implicitly in the daily horoscope; they will pretend that Karma is superstition, even as they avoid stepping on cracks in the pavement. When they wish to justify an abortion, then a human organism is simply a mass of cells and electric impulses, but when they want a lottery number, they will consult a channeler and communicate with the hungry ghosts. Although they are proud of their modern rationality, most of them are quite ridiculous in their superstitions. The scientifically trained ones are often the worst of the lot; they are dogmatically attached to the materialist delusion even in the face of evidence to the contrary. (Although, I must admit, we have been having some difficulties with the physicists lately, I am beginning to suspect a leak.)
To sum up then: keep them guessing! Confuse them with a multitude of options and let them wander about life aimlessly. Call morality regimentation and restraint repression. Praise a shallow scoffing attitude as penetrating intelligence. Belittle the timeless verities and praise only the fashionable. Let them be too clever by half. By the time they begin to clear the muddle, it will be too late and we’ll have them for another ride on the carousel.
As Māra pauses to review some data on his desktop monitor, there is a soft knock on the office door and another young ravishing goddess enters with a platter full of sweetmeats.
“Snack time!”
As Māra eyes her appreciatively, the secretary’s eyes narrow. She snaps her fingers as the younger goddess leaves, causing her to grow a pair of donkey ears.
Māra raises an elegant eyebrow. “My dear! I’m shocked and appalled.”
“I hate the bitch,” she hisses.
“Mmmm. Have one of these dainties, they’re literally divine!”
Eighth Army—Malice and Obstinacy
My Eighth Army is the negative image of the First. It is your duty to see to it that beings fall into the mental habits of aversion, ill will, anger, hatred and spite.
The theory is elementary in our trade, but let us review it briefly. Whenever a being makes contact with a sense object, that is at each and every conscious moment, then an associated feeling arises. This feeling may be one of pleasure or displeasure, or so subtle as to be for all practical purposes neutral. These feelings are an extremely rudimentary level of mental life and are for the most part completely natural and automatic. The simplest beings could not maintain existence without a liking for good tasting food and a disliking for harmful conditions. These basic feelings are not of our doing; we can however use them to lure beings on to the next step.
In the case of happy feelings, the job is well left to the able ministrations of the First Army. It is your job to develop mental proliferation around the unhappy feelings. If the being in question is not mindfully aware of his own mental processes (and few of them are even marginally aware), then we can turn this simple unpleasant feeling into a whole complex of aversion and resentment. The raw feeling is a momentary thing of little significance, in and of itself, but oh—what fun we can have with it!
It is of course true that, by developing these negative proliferations, beings are adding completely unnecessary suffering to whatever unavoidable physical unpleasantness they may be enduring. This is their problem, not ours. We have a job to do.
Beings engrossed in unhappiness or anger are unable to see things clearly; they cannot see their true situation and they cannot begin to work out their escape. There are many tricks we can use to encourage them in their delusions. One of the most amusing is “righteous” anger. Feed the negative mental proliferation by justifying it: “He hurt me, he robbed me, he threw me down and beat me!” This has the added twist of building up the ego image. We have made some excellent progress in this area lately, their popular psychology now praises the ’empowering’ aspect of such anger. Let it remain our little secret about just who is empowered by this method.
A related syndrome is to encourage the victimised feeling. “Poor me” is a marvellous way to entrench the concept of ’me’. All types of ill will work by causing beings to understand the universe in reference to their own arbitrary ego positions. They cannot begin to see clearly so long as they operate from such an assumption.
We have a wide spectrum of emotions to work with: there is the very mild and temporary flicker of aversion towards the driver ahead of you on the highway, who is taking too long to make a turn; there is the smouldering resentment towards the inconsiderate boss at work; and there is the bitter lifelong ethnic hatred that can enflame whole nations. All of these are grist for our mill, manifestations of the same thing.
They can even be made to feel ill will towards inanimate objects, particularly objects of their own creation. Nothing is more amusing than to see humans work themselves into a frenzy of anger directed at some malfunctioning machinery. The senselessness of it hardly deters them at all!
Obstinacy is the pig-headed refusal to change. This is a tendency many of them have. Once they’ve invested emotional energy in a grudge, they find it hard to let go, somewhat like admitting how foolish they’ve been all along, and that they would never do.
Our position in this department is quite sound. As they multiply on earth, they crowd into each other more and more and get on each others’ nerves. Nevertheless, we must be vigilant against the one credible antidote to ill will: the emotion of universal loving kindness. You shudder at the name, my minions, but name it I must. In the old Pali language it’s called mettā; to the Greeks it was called agape. This is the one force against which we cannot stand, so stop it before it’s cultivated. Discredit it as weakness. This is becoming easier, as compassion is losing its stand amongst them. It has become quite unfashionable to pity the poor, for example. Little do they know that it requires real courage of spirit to practise universal goodwill. Luckily for us, few of them possess the requisite mettle.
Should any of them begin to practise mental development, as for example by meditating, then that’s the time to redouble our efforts, because here is one that might get away. I have touched upon this issue in my notes to some of the other armies, but in your speciality you have many opportunities to attack the meditator. Attack them through the body. It is inevitable that the effort to remain motionless will cause the squirmy little beggars some discomfort. It takes only a little prodding from us to turn this into aggravation or self-pity. The nuances are endless; it can take them a very long time to realise that whereas the bodily aspect of pain is inevitable, this mental self-torment is entirely superfluous. We can also encourage resentments against the teacher, the practice, the food, the weather, and numerous other external factors. They can wallow in these petty miseries for hours and hours. Don’t let any of them get away!
The secretary again fiddles with the remote control and the picture window fades into a view of a darkly handsome singer wailing into a microphone as he does a loose-hipped dance. The near-hysterical roar of the crowd is plainly audible behind the plaintive song.
“Ooooh! I just love Elvis!”
Māra gets the mouse and gives it the merest flick. The famous performer is seen some years later, bloated and pasty faced he fumbles shakily in a bed-side drawer, searching amongst the unsorted rubbish for his barbiturates.
Ninth Army—Honour, Renown, and Notoriety
It is hard to understand, from a rational point of view, why humans crave fame. It seems to destroy so many of the most gifted amongst them. The pathological inflation of the ego-illusion becomes too much for the merely mortal shell, and yet crave it they do. The prudent may say that “the wise man seeks no notoriety”, but their counsel is drowned by the crowd singing, “there’s no thrill that’ll getcha…”, et cetera.
We should be clear as to the psychological basis of this syndrome. The ego-illusion is very dear to them. Nevertheless, since it is in reality a mere phantasm, it is in fact quite hard to maintain and generally requires a tremendous investment of energy. Energy that, needless to say, is not available for anything useful. If this insubstantial ego can be pumped up with external sources of energy, as the adulation of the crowd, then it can be experienced as a net-gain. Of course, it is all still illusory and very dangerous to the individual, but it is very intoxicating.
Our resources in this department have been quite limited until recently. In antiquity, fame generally meant being well known amongst the inhabitants of one’s own city-state, although we could do a bit better with the occasional emperor or what-not. Now, however, the stakes are much higher. With the invention of technology to transmit images from place to place it has become possible for one individual’s features to be globally recognisable.
Together with the technological possibility, there has arisen a powerful cult of celebrity. The masses seek to improve their dreary existence by living vicariously through their idols. This is a marvellous system of mutual self-destruction. The common TV addicts are able to escape having a real life of their own, instead remaining trapped in an ersatz astral plane existence. Futile and pathetic, but well suited to our purposes. And in the not so long term they end by turning on and devouring the former objects of their worship. We win both ways.
Of course, this level of fame is necessarily restricted to the few. But we still have the older antique type of fame that can ensnare many more. This is the desire, which can be inflated to a positive obsession, to be well known and well regarded in one’s own petty sphere. This is a simple way of stoking the fires of ego. As long as they are concerned about their reputations at work, amongst their friends and associates, then they are still trapped in the idea of themselves as real entities. When Joe hears that everyone saying: “Joe is the best diesel mechanic in the plant”, then Joe is reassured of the reality of the concept ’Joe, the diesel mechanic’. It works just as well if everyone says, “Joe is the sloppiest excuse for a mechanic we’ve ever seen.”
Generally, people define themselves according to the way in which others see them. This is the ’persona’, the public mask. Becoming obsessed with putting on a good front they can eventually fool themselves and lose track of who they really are. As long as they are looking outward, they are not looking within, and the outward direction is our territory.
Further, Praise and Blame are yet another potent source of pleasure and pain. Let me reiterate that these are the carrot and stick by which we drive the donkeys down the garden path. It hardly seems to matter that the objects here are such ephemeral ones. The drive for recognition is a powerful source of craving and it stimulates the process of becoming quite as well as more ’substantial’ rewards.
Praise and Blame are called the worldly winds. They are among our most useful tricks. The fact that they are utterly void of substance is amusing to us, but unapparent to them. Keep these winds gusting, they can blow beings round and round saṃsāra for a long, long time!
Tenth Army—Self-Praise and Denigration of Others
Māra leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Sometimes I amaze myself. I mean, where would this organisation be without me? If I wasn’t so modest, I’d be damned near perfect!”
“I’ve always thought so, Māra, and those armies of yours sure are deadly!”
“What!? Those incompetent bums! If I didn’t play the nursemaid over them constantly, they’d be fouling things up all over the universe! It’s so hard to get decent help these days! But never mind.”
To my bold and powerful Tenth, greetings! Your task is crucial, but, fortunately for us, it is also easy. Generally, humans have a most unreasonable attitude of taking themselves so seriously. They seem unable to mentally disengage from the ego perspective. One way to reinforce this primary cognitive illusion is to foster an attitude of self-praise. Let them think of themselves as truly wonderful and righteous; fill them up with pride. This is the task of the First Division of the Tenth Army.
Self-praise fuels all the defilements. It’s a masterwork of delusion; they look into the mirror with rose-coloured glasses. They become unable to see their own faults, and bristle with indignation whenever these are pointed out to them. Self-praise, of course, also fuels attachment and sensuality; after all, doesn’t someone as wonderful as Me deserve a little fun? It also fires up anger, the fierce anger of the self-righteous who knows their views and opinions are correct and everyone else is an idiot. It is so amusing to watch two human egos clash.
The forces of the Tenth Army have a special role to play in those difficult cases where individuals shows signs of spiritual progress: If they begin to free themselves from the coarser snares of my other armies, we can often use their own victories against them by encouraging a spiritual pride and arrogance. Whisper in their ear about what wonderful spiritual beings they are; “Look at me, the great holy man!” This is a trap that has caught many a fish.
Don’t be overly concerned about the accuracy of their grandiose opinions; they are capable of the most ludicrous self-delusion concerning their own merits. Very few of them, after all, ever develop a knack for introspection, and even fewer are truly capable of self-criticism.
However, you should be aware that there will also be a large number of them that have a very negative self-image. If handled properly, this should cause no concern. Negative or positive, a self-image is a self-image and it is the fundamental perceptual hallucination of a self-perspective that keeps them in bondage. Both the positive and the negative versions suit our purposes well. If you cannot convince them that they are wonderful, then encourage them to kick themselves for being such losers. Remember, there are three kinds of conceit: “I am better than you; I am worse than you; and I am equal to you.” Any one of these is still a conceit and still reinforces duality.
In fact, there are signs that in the these times, negativity has become a common attitude. A great many humans don’t like themselves very much. (Not that I can really blame them.) This is a complicated phenomenon, but it is ultimately rooted in the rise of materialism. When a human being denies the fundamental spiritual level of being, then life becomes quite hollow. Don’t let them guess that this is the problem; instead, encourage them to believe that they are, as individuals, inadequate. The post-modern environment encourages this sense of self. Since the industrial revolution, humans have been seeking to create a materialist paradise with their machines, and now their own inventions are rendering them redundant by the million.
The Second Division of the Tenth Army has the job of promoting the denigration of others; this is the complement of self-praise. Many beings seek to inflate themselves by pulling others down. They don’t care that this is an illogical practice; never mind that it always makes matters worse—they still do it. It is far easier to criticise someone else’s defilements than to work on your own. You have many weapons and tactics: scolding, gossip, judgement, and so forth. You are a primary vehicle for the stirring up of ill will and conflict!
It has often been noted that the defects people are most ready to criticise are precisely the ones they themselves are suffer from. It is really amusing to watch, but they almost never see it for themselves when they’re caught up in it. All forms of denigration of others are based on a delusion of self-righteousness.
Gossip is a popular form of this vice. Everyone loves a scandal and never mind whether it’s really true or not, so long as its juicy! How righteous they feel as they cluck over someone else’s peccadilloes! This is a petty vice that you can stir up wherever humans gather—at school, work, clubs, in families, etc. We have found from experience that this is a great corrupter of monasteries and other spiritual communities.
Moreover, don’t forget the nastier forms of criticism. Vicious personal attacks can ruin a person’s life, and even more destructive is prejudice where the hostility is based on non-personal criteria like language or skin colour. As absurd as it may sound to a rational being, humans can get so worked up over these stupidities that whole nations can be plunged into the chaos of war. War, of course, is an activity to be encouraged as it is a great devourer of all spiritual values.
Even more subtle, profound and significant than all this though, is the fundamental fact that so long as one is looking for faults outside, then one is not looking within, and that is the one thing we must never, ever let them do.
“Sign it: Māra, the Lord of Birth and Death, the Devourer of Beings, and the Spinner of the Wheel, etc. Send one copy to each of my Army Chiefs and one to my attorney.”
The secretary leaves now with a giggle and a wink. Māra closes the day’s business by quickly surveying his far-flung empire. He watches the screen and scans the cosmos, observing beings as they pass in and out of existence. The moral ones he watches die and reappear in heaven; the immoral drop to hell. From hell and heaven beings finish their time and reappear on earth…round and round in fruitless circles they go blasted by the winds of desire; winds fanned by Māra’s efforts through the ages.
But there, on the screen—in a small bamboo hut, an old woman lies down to die. She is wearing robes and her head is shaved. With quiet dignity she stretches her frail body out on the thin woven mat, lying on her right side. Māra watches with distaste—he knows and fears what is coming but cannot look away; it is as painful and as compulsive as probing a rotten tooth with your tongue. The nun quietly and peacefully expires and the screen flickers; the automatic software searches quickly through all the realms of existence and comes back with the dreaded error message: “Being not found”.
“Bah! Fortunately we don’t lose many that way.” Māra doesn’t allow himself to speculate too long on the whereabouts of the old nun—the idea is vaguely disturbing. He continues to review the many, many more manageable cases that remain within his jurisdiction. Round and round they go; up and down the big Ferris wheel.
So Māra has been busily at work for millennia—but Māra, too, is caught in his own web. As he relaxes now with the day’s tasks done, he pulls a comb from his vest pocket. The elegant demon-god combs his shiny black hair reflectively, vanity of course being one of his vices. After a few minutes, Māra casually glances at the platinum and tiger-bone comb; suddenly his eyes narrow, his breath stops, and he gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—among the black hairs is a grey one…
1. The “Middle” refers to the Middle Path that the Buddha discovered and taught. It avoids the extremes of craving for sensual pleasures, the craving for non-being, and the consequent views and practices evolving out of these. Instead, it focuses on the development of the Eightfold Path that is based on the understanding of Dependent Origination and the four Noble Truths. [Back]
2. Māra’s discussion here is based on the cosmological myth found in the Aggañña Sutta (Dīgha Nikāya 27). This discourse describes how human beings devolved from god-like entities. The beginning of this descent occurred when the entities tasted a primeval nutritive essence floating on the surface of the sea, causing them to develop coarse physical bodies. [Back]
3. E.g., Nidāna Saṃyutta (SN 12); Nidāna Sutta (DN 15); Mahātaṇhāsaṅkhaya Sutta (MN 38). [Back]
4. The Annihilation View is one of the two principal false views. It is the idea that the living being is merely a product of matter in motion, and that consciousness is annihilated at death. Its opposite viewpoint is the Eternalist View, which holds that the living being has a permanent self-entity (“atman”; or “soul”), which, being immortal, survives the death of the body. [Back]
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What's It To Me?
By: UTHUR from the Town by the Sea
I am a white, straight male. I have two children and one grandchild. I've been married to the same woman for almost twenty-seven years now, and if we both live long enough, we will most likely celebrate our golden anniversary together. No, I am not gay. But...do I have to be gay to be concerned?
My first experience with prejudice happened when I was only about 10 years old. Describing it takes a little background. My favorite male entertainer was Sammy Davis Jr. There was something about the quality of his voice that did things to me. (I find the same effect with Ann Murry.) When he sang WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I, it sent shivers down my spine. So, when I found out that he had a Thanksgiving Day Special in 1960, of course I wanted to watch it.
My mother's family always got together for Thanksgiving Day. (I believe that this is a tradition with most American families.) There were aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, third cousins twice removed, the entire extended family that still lived in our home town. So, as a ten year old boy, who was never interested in spectator sports, I announced that I wanted to watch the Sammy Davis Jr. special, which came on at the same time as the big football game. I was, of course, in a minority of one, and soon realized it. But...one cousin decided to use my request as a reason to make some of the most repugnant racial remarks possible. He questioned my race, my parentage, my sexuality and my citizenship, because I liked one of "them."
No, I did not feel the full effect of racial prejudice. No, I did not suffer even half as much as a ten year old black might suffer even today. But, I certainly came out of that experience knowing what prejudice was all about.
This event occurred back in 1960, before Rossa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus to a white man, before Martin Luther King Jr. became known to every house-hold in The United States, and before the Rev. Jerry Falwell felt it necessary to preach his segregationist message from the pulpit. Now, Jerry Falwell, while not a champion of racial equality, has changed his tune and admits that racial equality is the plan of God. But, he still preaches his anti-homosexual drivel.
As long as prejudice against any one person is tolerated on the basis of an innate physical characteristic of that person, our entire society suffers. (Yes, homosexuality is a physical characteristic in that it is biological.) As long as any one person, especially a pre-teen child, is allowed to suffer because he likes or admires a person who is a member of any minority, our entire society suffers. That is the reason why I am involved, That is why, this is such a big issue for me. And while we aren't there yet concerning racial prejudice, while we aren't there yet in terms of feminism, we are a long way from being there when it comes to our attitude towards the gay.
I am a white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, straight, American male. These things are a part of me. Some of these characteristic are innate, meaning that they are a part of my genetic makeup. The others are acquired, meaning that my circumstances of birth determined that this is what I would be. I had no choice over any of these characteristics, and while I could choose to change some of them, (but not all of them,) I have seen no reason to do so. While they don't define the totality of my character, they do help to define me. And...I am proud of each one of those characteristics. I am proud of the accomplishments of my race; yet I am knowledgeable and intelligent to be shamed by some of it's evils. The same applies to my sex and sexual orientation, my faith and my nationality.
When we reach the point that the red, the black and the yellow can say that about him or her self and not be suspect of being anti-white; When we reach the point that the woman can say that about herself and not be accused of being a bull-dyke; When we reach the point that the gay can say that about him or herself without being accused of trying to convert the world, THEN I will rest!
For now, I am compelled to speak out against all prejudice, no matter the victim.
Since there is more to accomplish for he plight of the gay than there is for all the others, that is where I concentrate my efforts. Part of my reason for this is because I know that my efforts for the gay will be generalized to both racial minorities and women. You don't often see a champion for the gay who is prejudice against other races or sexes, but a person prejudice against gays can be an advocate for racial or sexual rights.
I could earnestly pray that all overly bigoted people be reincarnated as gay, homeless, persons of color, but reincarnation is not a part of my belief structure, so I don't believe that it would be effective.
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#289 M3U PlayerList
I'm using your program to rip a book on CD into separate folders. Your feature to automatically create teh M3U list is create except my SanDisk MP3 player requires that first line of the M3U file to have #EXTM3U. It would be great if your program could add that automatically. That way I wouldn't have to keep manually adding it.
Also, when I insert my CD, I don't get any Artist, Album info so I need to add it in manually. That's not a problem. However, if I removed the CD and insert the next one, my info get's erase. I wonder if there could be an option to "Keep existing info, if no info is found". Currently, I'm using the Year field to put the disk number so all I would need to do is update the year when I put in subsequent disks for the same book.
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Take the 2-minute tour ×
I was surprised to find that I needed to install software in order to watch my Flip Video files (first generation device). My initial thought was "what happens if this company goes out of business? Will I be unable to view my files 20 years from now?"
Should I just leave the files as-is, or should I convert them to something more open?
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3 Answers
up vote 4 down vote accepted
You don't need to install the software to access the videos on a Flip camera. If you look in the /DCIM folder (in the Mac Finder or Windows Explorer), you can see each of the videos stored as .MP4 files. You can copy the files as you wish and play them in any program that plays .MP4 movies.
Be careful if you manually copy the files. The flip software uses the file's date stamp to determine the date of the movie. If you copy the movie to another location, the date stamp is updated to the present time, and there is no permanent record of the time when the video was originally recorded.
So, to answer your question: you don't need to rely on the Flip software, and the .MP4 files are stored in a standard MPEG format that shouldn't be overly prone to obsolescence. Don't worry about the file format unless you have a reason to want them in another format.
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Thanks, Neil. I wouldn't mind MP4 so much; however, the files on my Flip are AVI and require me to install a codec just to watch them. Which Flip do you have? – Ian Lotinsky Sep 26 '10 at 20:52
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No format lasts forever. The file format, the software to play it, and the hardware on which it is stored will eventually be obsolete and unusable. This is a significant problem in libraries and archives. Unlike paper books, most new formats have a very short lifetime.
The best strategy seems to be to put the data into a widely used format. The more standardized the format, the more likely there will be software to play it. The files themselves should be kept in the latest hardware Copy the files to your newest hardware when you get it.
For instance I have files on magnetic tape (from a Commodore PET), 5.25 inch floppy disk (IBM PC), 3.5 inch floppy disk (PC format), Iomega ZIP disks, CDROM and DVD. I can read the last two on my current PC, I have an older PC that can read the 3.5 inch disks, and has a parallel port to connect the ZIP drive. Fortunately, I also have copies of all the files I care about on my current PC hard drive. I keep copying them to newer PCs as they come along, and when needed I convert the file format (like from WordPerfect to Word documents).
share|improve this answer
Thanks, Wayne. What's the recommended format for videos? I have some video I need to dump off tapes too. – Ian Lotinsky Sep 26 '10 at 20:53
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I called Flip directly. They confirmed that the first generation Flip Video encodes video in Xvid and save them as AVI files.
Xvid appears to be an open source MPEG-4 codec, so this probably isn't as much of an issue as I thought it was!
I'll just copy the files over for now as-is through USB mode.
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Wii Wishlist
The Wii seems to get a bad rap. Despite it's lack of HD graphics and unconventional control scheme, I enjoy it. It definitely offers a different experience and I'm all for that. Also the line up of exclusives have the most promise. Now in chronological order too! I think.
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WBAI’s Ugly Uncivil War
-A +A
“He knows what he’s doing, because they look at me, judge me as un-intellectual, big, and menacing, because of my size and skin color - as history dictated these stereotypes for hundreds of years,� says Program Director Bernard White, referring to history’s racist depiction of Black men.
(Program Director Bernard White guards against people he says have resorted to a campaign that uses racist tactics to oust him).
WBAI 99.5 FM, the popular non-commercial, listener-sponsored radio station that provides a forum for arts, news, and information for individuals, groups and communities who otherwise would have no voice, is in another battle. A cancer which was diagnosed as benign six years ago, has suddenly spread, penetrated the core of the station, and some people believe, threatens to destroy it, even as elections for the board approaches.
Twelve delegates are to be elected for a three-year term. Completed ballots are due by November 15th, 2006, according to the station’s website. The station’s current Program Director says there have been malicious forces employing dirty and even racist tactics to promote the election of a slate that would oust him. Given the recent capitulation of Black owned stations in New York City (they have abandoned talk shows and hard news programs), many people are watching WBAI keenly.
First some history--On December 23, 2000, Pacifica Executive Director Bessie Wash, hired locksmiths to change the locks on the doors of WBAI and instructed security guards to deny admission to all, except hosts and guests scheduled to go on the air that day. Earlier that morning, Bernard White, host of WBAI’s “Wake Up Call,� had a rude awakening. A messenger had arrived at his home with a letter of termination and two checks as severance pay. The events of that day became known as the infamous “Christmas Coup.�-
White says there were no reasons given for his dismissal, or for the firing of Sharan Harper, executive producer of WBAI’s “Wake Up Call,� and the others. But it was clear – of course not to the station’s many listeners and supporters- what Pacifica national management was doing. “It was an impulse by the national board to reach a more corporate philosophy and bring back to the board another way of trying, I believe,  to nationalize the individual stations into one central control,� says Kathy Davis, Public Affairs Director. “At that time, there was an influence from the Democratic Party, because I remember the politics of Pacifica was further to the left than the Democratic party, which was at that time trying to go to the center to get closer to what Republicans were making financially.�
After the national board succeeded in transforming three stations in Washington, D.C., Houston, and Los Angeles, into ones with less politically radical formats, less critical of the status quo, and less community-oriented, it set it sights on the prize—the then $350 million valued WBAI FM 99.5.
“Many of them wanted to sell the radio station, so they [could] make some money,� says White, who survived, and is now the Program Director, referring to the Board members. “It’s not really a bad idea – WBAI could sell for $350 million and you can take $100 million and create a smaller radio station and take the $200 million and buy smaller radio stations.�
Seeing how the Washington, D.C., Los Angeles, and Houston stations had been castrated awakened White to the impending danger at the time. WBAI’s listeners rallied to the station’s defense—they vehemently protested in defense of their right of free speech on WBAI’s airwave and pressured Pacifica to keep its hands off. White won his job back.
However, six years later, the repercussions of the “Christmas Coup� lingers in the air, as staff have formed alliances; vicious charges and counter charges of racism, homophobia, anti-Semitism, and misogynism, have been thrown.
“I think what happened, was when the forces that came together – the forces that wanted to corporatize the network came together with the forces that wanted to have Democratic Party control...came together with a more personal level of ego control toward the local level. So, the two forces came together, like a perfect storm of control that overthrew the network,� recalls Davis. “Once the station recovered, the forces that once united ended, and what we have now is that we’re left with a bunch of factions that seemed immersed in a perpetual battle with each other over control.�
She is describing today’s WBAI.
“It’s a small group of people who were historically on the outside of WBAI and on the outside of Pacifica but since the governance structure of WBAI and Pacifica changed five years ago, these people, because they were better organized and better financed, were able to get on the local station board and in fact the majority of the local station board,� Program Director, White, adds. “And having this majority, they began to pass all kinds of rules and motions that made working at WBAI more and more difficult.�
White Mentioned List-Prog, an organization created two years ago, by members of the local board who want to oust management by playing a critical role in the upcoming Board elections. One of the most outspoken critics of management at WBAI is Steve Brown. Here are excerpts from one of his messages that were e-mailed to listeners and staff of WBAI earlier this year:
“This morning, Monday, 3-13-06, at approximately 10 a.m. and thereafter (according to one eye-witness, who has talked - and two others who are terrified to talk, but may soon change their minds); Bernard received a piece of information [a very interesting piece that I will not yet reveal] that propelled him out of his chair and into the station hallway, frothing at the mouth, shrieking at the top of his lungs, bellowing crude racist insults clearly directed at Indra Hardat (interim station manager) in her office down the hall.
“Then - and not for the first time in the past few days – he menaced Indra, towering over her in what must have been a deliberately intimidating confrontation, literally screaming into her face, while pumping his fist threateningly back and forth.
“Shortly thereafter, I was told that Bernard’s behavior [and for the same reason] was aped by Errol Maitland (Producer and Engineer at WBAI), also running through the hallway, pumping his fist in the air in anger, appearing to threaten all in his path. One witness describes coming to the station these days as like living in the South Bronx, where rival gangs are shooting at each other and all you can do is keep your head down to keep from getting beaten up, knifed, or shot.�
Brown is currently a board member of WBAI and has been working, free of charge, for non-profit organizations and fund raising for over 25 years. He has raised money for FAIR, CISPES, Mother Jones, and WBAI, to name a few. “He knows what he’s doing, because they look at me, judge me as un-intellectual, big, and menacing, because of my size and skin color - as history dictated these stereotypes for hundreds of years,� says White, referring to history’s racist depiction of Black men. “Even if they disregard those statements, which I do, but still, some think that way,� he adds, of the station’s listeners.
In 2004, Brown wrote a report of what he described as a “race riot� that occurred at the Local Station Board meetings of June 23 and July 7, that year, and other alleged incidents at WBAI that he witnessed. The report, according to Brown, included these findings:
[] On June 23, 2004 Mimi Rosenberg, producer and strategist for the Justice & Unity political slate, hurled a water bottle at a WBAI volunteer in the audience named Chris Farrell, for protesting Rosenberg’s shouting of racial insults at LSB members. (Rosenberg’s water bottle missed Farrell and hit another member of the audience instead.) Â
[] Station Manager Don Rojas did nothing to curtail paid staff members, “who were disrupting the meeting by hurling racially inflammatory language at the board members, and (in two specific instances) attempting to physically attack them.
[] Board member Paul De Rienzo (elected as an independent) reported that Board member Michael Warren (elected on the Justice & Unity slate) physically assaulted him at the meeting and tried to wrench his video camera away, to prevent him from recording the disruptions that were being staged by other members of Warren’s faction.
[] In September 2004, the gay pride flag was torn down from the station – twice or three times, according to Brown.
[] Clayton Riley, WBAI producer, was dismissed on charges of attacking a woman – “not for his obscene language, not for his frequent and virulent anti-white racist remarks.�
[] Producer, Fred Nguyen called me (Steve Brown) a “ Fucking Zionist Pig,� among other things.
In addition to his report, Brown staged a long-term campaign, bombarding WBAI listeners with e-mail messages, according to White.
“I can’t speak for Steve Brown but I have found him to be provocative in his statements and I have found him to have a tendency to exaggerate – but I can’t really speak for him,� says Public Affairs Director, Davis. “But was there a conflict? Yes. Was there an incident? Yes. But that doesn’t describe it. What was described was an emotional characterization of someone who doesn’t work here and there’s no way of knowing what people feel.�
In October 2006, the Justice & Unity slate staged a campaign to combat racism and uphold affirmative action at WBAI and throughout the Pacifica network. The members consist of women and representatives of diverse communities. The group posted the following on its Web site:
[] A WBAI local board member, Steve Brown has engaged in a vicious campaign of widely distributed e-mails attacking Black progressive WBAI staff and managers in the most racist, vitriolic terms. He has singled out for abuse and false charges, and repeatedly demanded the firing of, Program Director Bernard White – who has broadened progressive programming serving all communities over the past four years. Brown’s statements have been so egregious that the local board voted to dissociate from them. But Brown has allies on the local board who supports his agenda, which includes eliminating what he calls anti-white programming (i.e., strong Black community voices demanding/practicing self-determination.)
[] Another WBAI local board member who also sits on the Pacifica National Board, Patty Heffley (a slate-mate of Steve Brown when they ran for election), subjected an African-American colleague from WBAI, Lisa David, to racist ridicule, claiming she was only interested in serving on the national board to obtain “free food, free flights, and free hotels.�
[] Yet another local board member, Paul De Rienzo, was suspended by the board after a succession of racist, sexist, anti-Semitic, and personal attacks on other board members, including calling respected community activist Father Lawrence Lucas a “lame ass� and a “loser.�
When The Black Star News reached him by telephone, Brown had this to say: “What you have at the station is factitious. One of the board members who was a part of List- Prog,Â
Berthold Reimers, a Haitian Black, and African American, was called Nigglet, a house nigger, because he didn’t agree with the Justice and Unity slate. And those people who call others house niggers, nigglets and Zionists are hurting the station. Bernard is 100 percent right politically, I agree with him. But he wants to keep his job. When he says that I’m being a racist he doesn’t defend it. He’s very prominent in the progressive community but most people don’t realize that good politics and bad character goes hand in hand.� Reimers, CFO at HIP, could not be reached for comment by press time.
“It wasn’t about Black or White,� adds Gary Null, an ex-host at WBAI, who was terminated in 2004. “It was about anyone who challenged them was called a racist.�
“These people have never once made a racial statement. Remember, these are people who supported Bernard. You mean they just became racists? Gee, that’s an interesting genetic twist, isn’t it? But today, I woke up and decided that I (referring to Steve Brown and his allies) woke up one day and became a racist. It’s a process that starts early on in life. These people have been a part of the civil rights movement and the feminist movement. Bernard and these people are playing the race card and that is not a proper and ethical thing to do.� Null is a best selling author, lecturer, educator, environmentalist, health food advocate, and a winner of numerous awards in radio.
“White people like to define racism for us,� retorts White. “Steve Brown and Null were business partners and they had a dispute. Steve Brown did public relations for Gary Null, during a period when he was making lots of money for WBAI and they correlated that into an empire where they both made millions of dollars off their relationship with WBAI. And when Gary was removed from the air, they began to be seen together publicly and Steve Brown made public statements of which, he was going to make sure Gary Null gets back on the air. So they began to run and buy candidates to take over the local station board.�
“None of that is accurate!,� Null replies, when contacted for this report. “I would like for Bernard to produce hard documents to the contrary,� he adds, and describes his relationship with Brown. “We were members of a group that owned a restaurant together. And when the restaurant was sold, the group disbanded, but we weren’t enemies. Steve Brown has given enormous amounts of money to WBAI. He has been a tireless campaigner for WBAI. I stood up for Steve Brown, not because of any special friendship, but because of [the] principle that I couldn’t listen to people being attacked without them being able to defend themselves – and for that I was taken off the air.�
In 1988, Gary Null’s “Natural Living� series was rated the number one show on WABC radio, and during his tenure at WBAI, he raised nearly 30 to 40 percent of its revenue.
“They were separating the world between them and everyone who disagreed with them,� Null continues. “The fact is, that they were much like George Bush, ‘You’re either for us or you’re against us.’ And during the coup, Steve Brown and others demanded that I come on board and bring my audience. And I said I couldn’t do that, because I found that both sides were wrong, both sides were using their power on the air and off the air in management to continue flaming the fuel of this anger. There was deceit and the worst Machiavellian machination going on. But what I did do, is that even though, Bernard and company was bombasting me, I’m the only person who brought Bernard, Ken Ford and another member of the board together with the dissenters on 92nd street at my studio, over there, for a day of reconciliation.� Null claims White brought agitators at the meeting, where they hurled racial epithets at the dissenters and Ken Ford.
In this raging uncivil war, even the reason for Null’s eventual termination is bitterly disputed. “There was a period where he was stepping outside of his health role that he was playing and he started doing something a bit more political and he called it, ‘Hidden Agendas,’� White explains. “Where he would do investigations of various things outside the health realm and he brought on, in the aftermath of Waco, Texas, some of these people who were members of various militia groups. Because they had an anti-government stance, he brought them on, but these were people who proclaimed that nothing happened in Europe. That there was no so-called Holocaust in Europe. That only a handfull of Jews were killed. That it was a big Jewish conspiracy, so when Amy found out about that, she decided we needed to talk.�
Amy Goodman is host of the station’s extremely popular “Democracy Now� show. White, Goodman, and the late Samori Marksman, then station manager, had a talk with Null and he agreed to focus his attention back on health and discontinue his “Hidden Agendas� show, White says.
“Amy stopped pitching for him, but the amount of money that he raised went down vociferously with each drive. And then, he started doing programs about UFOs – and he started back up with ‘Hidden Agendas.’ It’s all on tape,� White continues. “It didn’t stop there too. He started talking negatively about the radio station and telling people that they should not subscribe to WBAI – that we were racist, homophobic, insensitive to women, anti-Semitic. And his listeners listened to him and they stopped pledging to the point, where one day, he’s doing a fund drive, he was on two hours, and he only raised $250 for that entire two hours. So I thought that we weren’t using that noon hour to the best of our advantage.�
“Let him prove it! That is not true!� Null exclaims, to The Black Star News. “None of what you heard is true. Fact, it was the station that was promoting the premium done by a Holocaust denier, not me, I wouldn’t ever allow anyone on my air time. I’m far too much meticulous of a researcher to allow that.�
A premium is an item that is purchased from the station, for instance, CDs, DVDs, books, and other items, which is the lifeline to the station.
“Secondly, I didn’t want Amy Goodman pitching with me,� Null continues. “I asked Valerie Van Iser to have her stop. She only pitched with me a couple of drives. She was manic, and I said to Valerie, ‘I didn’t like pitching with her, my audience doesn’t like her, and she’s over the top and in your face.’ And look at the money I raised after Amy Goodman. It went up and not down.�
Null also disputes White’s characterization of the meeting between him, White and Goodman. “And the reason for that meeting, was that I was doing a show that had nothing to do with Waco. It had to do with Unsafe Skies, and the man who came on to talk about a book, who had written a book, why our airline industry needed reform and greater supervision. So when I went into the office, Amy did all the talking and no one else said a word. And she said that ‘you did a show with this man on Unsafe Skies.’ 'That’s correct!' ‘And you know that he was a right-winger.’ But I said, that it was immaterial. We did a show not on his politics, but we did a show on his facts – the study on the safety of the airline industry and his facts brought out by FAA documents. But that was not the point, she said, ‘We don’t allow any right-wingers on this show and anything that is political is my turf – not yours.’�
Goodman could not be reached for comment for this report by press time. White, however, didn’t hesitate, when informed of Null’s comments. “You’re dealing with a pathological liar,� he says, of Null. “Samori ran the station and did most of the talking – and when she was asked to speak during the meeting, she spoke,� he adds, of Goodman. “And when I spoke, I said, I was surprised that he felt that way. He’s a consummate liar and it’s a shame. He tells these lies and he doesn’t recognize them. When Amy was pitching, they made a bunch of money. Yes, she is high-pressured on the pitch. Yes, she has a high pitching style but the money came in like crazy. But he can’t prove what he’s saying, because we got the figures - unless they were wiped off the computers.�
White adds that even people who’ve worked with Null have been shafted. “He treats his workers bad. He takes their work and turns them into books and he doesn’t give them credit,� he says, referring to research. “I found out about that, because they used to volunteer for the station and told me, ‘This guy never gave us any thing. On the other hand, Dr. Majid Ali gave us things and even paid for shipping and handling fees on his premiums.’ It just got to the point where he talked so negatively about the station that he outlived his usefulness at WBAI and we put on someone who could do much better.�
After his 2004 termination, Null filed a lawsuit, which is pending, against WBAI. Elections for the board are in a few weeks and that’s the topic that’s on the mind of everyone who cares for –in their own manner of course— WBAI.
“They figure that if they can control the leadership of this station, or the station manager, or the program director position then they’ll be able to do the kind of house cleaning thing they would like,� White says.
Soon, the outcome will become clearer.
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aray question (Full Version)
stryder39 -> aray question (1/9/2006 5:24:51 PM)
i`m new to all this so please take this into account if this is a dumb question.i am trying to back up a couple of my pc games , one is on cd and one is on dvd , i downloaded aray scanner and it tells me what type of protection is on the discs but i haven`t got a clue what to do next!
when backing dvd films i just use "anydvd" and have it running in the background but with games its different.can anyone suggest what software to use after iv`e used aray scanner? does the aray scanner just tell you what protection is on the disc but it doesn`t remove it like any dvd?
any advice would be much appreciated
MP3Mogul -> RE: aray question (1/9/2006 5:48:28 PM)
Alcohol 120% and CloneCD
stryder39 -> RE: aray question (1/9/2006 5:55:46 PM)
i have clone cd and can probably get alcohol120% but how do i use the two in conjunction?
sorry but i haven`t got much idea.
MP3Mogul -> RE: aray question (1/9/2006 6:29:58 PM)
No, you use them separate. Those are the 2 I use..... Some games are best backed up with CloneCD, some with Alcohol.
stryder39 -> RE: aray question (1/9/2006 6:57:41 PM)
i see what you mean.
i just downloaded a trial copy of alcohol120% and tried to copy a pc dvd game but it still hasn`t worked. the aray scanner says the disc is protected by securom dvd but the copied disc still doesn`t work.
Antonio -> RE: aray question (1/10/2006 1:56:02 AM)
Latest Securom version are very difficult to be backed up.
stryder39 -> RE: aray question (1/10/2006 7:02:19 AM)
is there any software out there that will deal with all protections?
Clint -> RE: aray question (2/6/2006 3:01:43 PM)
Problem is also hardware releted. There is only one drive that can properly backup SecuROM *new* v5+, and it may not even work on newest revisions...
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Filed Under:
Forex pairs in this Article » EUR/USD (Barcelona) - The US fiscal impasse should be negative for the USD, notes Greg Gibbs, FX Strategist at RBS.
Key Quotes
"The most likely outcome, and the best that can be expected, is that this impasse is rolled forward until early next year. This is unlikely to boost confidence in the US and is likely to delay the Fed taper for the foreseeable future."
"With activity indicators improved in the UK, Europe, Japan and China, and stabilised in EM. The prospect of a still growing but subdued US economy and ongoing Fed QE is likely to be negative for the USD."
"As such, with recent data strength and higher rate expectations in Australia and NZ, their currencies are likely to grind higher."
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March 10, 2014 | 1342 users online
Review of Bobbi Brown Bronzing Powder by Boots87
I like this bronzer because it's more natural and real looking compared to other bronzers, like Clinique or MAC- they add too much damn glitter! My face is whiter than the rest of my body (not good to tan your face) so I wear darker foundation and then need to add a bronzer to my face & neck to blend it all in, and this does the trick without looking like I'm putting stuff all over with a ton of fake glitter, plus if I wear stuff with a bunch of glitter my boyfriend notices and begins to pick at my face etc because he sees glitter everywhere so it's annoying :/
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Bacteria that consumes arsenic boosts search for “alien” life
By Chris Talbot
10 December 2010
A type of bacteria has been discovered in Mono Lake, California that transforms current understanding of how life can function [1]. All life on earth was thought to use six basic elements―carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, sulphur and phosphorus―together with trace quantities of other elements, mainly metals, that assist particular chemical processes in the cell.
A microscopic image of GFAJ-1 grown on arsenic (courtesy NASA).
The newly discovered bacteria, GFAJ-1, which belongs to a group of common bacteria called Gammaproteobacteria, has been shown to use arsenic instead of phosphorus in cell processes. Arsenic, though similar chemically to phosphorus, is usually extremely poisonous to all life.
The idea that a bacteria could be found that uses arsenic instead of phosphorus was put forward four years ago by Felisa Wolfe-Simon, then a post-doctoral researcher at Arizona State University. She persuaded the internationally known scientist Paul Davies to back her hypothesis and obtained a temporary post with the US Geological Survey in California. With backing from NASA, she worked with Ronald Oremland, an international expert in arsenic microbiology, sifting through the sediment of Mono Lake.
Davies told the BBC, “At the moment we have no idea if life is just a freak, bizarre accident which is confined to Earth or whether it is a natural part of a fundamentally biofriendly universe in which life pops up wherever there are Earth-like conditions.” According to Davies there is no evidence for the latter view, but he added, “If that is the case, then life should've started many times on Earth. So perhaps there's a 'shadow biosphere' all around us and we've overlooked it because it doesn't look terribly remarkable.”
This would mean finding life-forms that have evolved separately from our own DNA-based lineage. The bacteria that use arsenic do not come into that category as they are an adaptation of our usual form of biology. Nevertheless, the fact that such unusual chemistry can function in living matter does support the view that life could exist on other planets with radically different biochemistry to ours.
Davies is a coauthor of a research paper published in Science, along with a team that includes Wolfe-Simon, Oremland and Professor Ariel D. Anbar, an astrobiologist who is at Arizona State with Paul Davies.
“Life as we know it requires particular chemical elements and excludes others,” said Anbar. “But are those the only options? How different could life be?” He continued: “One of the guiding principles in the search for life on other planets, and of our astrobiology program, is that we should 'follow the elements.' Felisa's study teaches us that we ought to think harder about which elements to follow.”
The Science paper gives detailed experimental results showing that “Growth [of GFAAJ-1] was accompanied by arsenic uptake and assimilation into biochemical molecules, including nucleic acids, proteins and metabolites.”
In recent years the search for extraterrestrial life has received a boost from several directions. In biology there have been discoveries of a wide variety of “extremophiles,” microbes that can exist in apparently inhospitable places such deep in the ocean close to volcanic vents, and also in ice, boiling water, acid, and even the water core of nuclear reactors. They can thrive with no sunlight and instead of plants for food can, for example, use oxidation of hydrogen or hydrogen sulphide as an energy source. Then there is the possibility that life could exist or at least once existed on Mars―where water, believed to be essential for cellular life, is now known to exist―or on a moon of Jupiter, Europa, or perhaps on Saturn's moon Titan.
Many studies have revealed the existence of extrasolar planets, with the total of confirmed cases now over 500. Most are giants, similar to Jupiter, but an increasing number with a mass only several times that of the earth have now been found.
Even more persuasive evidence that life exists elsewhere is the recent discovery made with the Keck Observatory in Hawaii that the number of red dwarf stars is much higher than previously thought [3]. Estimates of the number of stars in the universe have tripled, and the large number of red dwarfs, in particular, supports the possibility of life-bearing planets. These stars, small and dim compared to our Sun, are difficult to detect with a telescope. They survive for billions of years, giving enough time for life to evolve on planets circling them. A recently discovered earth-type exoplanet called Gliese 581 orbits a red dwarf star.
Discoveries such as these have now tilted the balance in favour of a conviction that “alien” life exists. It is true that microbes may appear dull compared to intelligent life, but evolution could then be expected to take over.
Research in this direction received a blow when public funding for SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) was ended. Seth Shostak, senior astronomer at the now privatised SETI Institute in California, said of the recent discoveries, “All of these have gone in the direction of encouraging life out there and they didn't have to.” He said that given the mounting evidence, to believe now that Earth is the only place harbouring life is essentially like believing in miracles, “And astronomers tend not to believe in miracles.”
It is certainly a move away from the “Rare Earth” hypothesis that was put forward a decade ago in a book by Peter Ward, a geologist and paleontologist, and Donald E. Brownlee, an astronomer and astrobiologist [4]. They attempted to refute any possibility of life outside the earth, citing the peculiarities of the earth's atmosphere and geology as support for life that would not be replicated elsewhere and opposing the position of SETI enthusiasts such as Carl Sagan and Frank Drake.
Research in astrobiology has since received a further battering by government spending cuts. Cuts made by the Bush government to NASA's funding led to a 50 percent cut in astrobiology over the two years from 2005 to 2007. An anonymous researcher at the time told ScienceCareers that astrobiology is “dead in the water” telling her students not to “go into anything related to NASA because its too difficult and unstable.” Needless to say the Bush cuts were not restored by the Obama administration.
In an article in the Wall Street Journal Paul Davies pays tribute to Felisa Wolfe-Simon for continuing her research with such determination and enthusiasm despite the adverse conditions. He points out that the title given to the arsenic-loving microbe GFAJ, actually stands for “Give Felisa a Job.” He adds that with the recent publicity surrounding her discovery, he has little doubt that someone will give her a job.
An attack has been mounted on the Mono Lake discovery in the somewhat unlikely pages of the online publication Slate. Science correspondent Carl Zimmer has pieced together an article entitled, “This paper should not have been published,” with critical comments from a number of other scientists in the field of microbiology. They assert that there are flaws in the methodology used by the NASA team. Oremland and Wolfe-Simon would not enter a debate or respond to criticisms when prompted by Zimmer.
Oremland declared, “If we are wrong, then other scientists should be motivated to reproduce our findings. If we are right (and I am strongly convinced that we are) our competitors will agree and help to advance our understanding of this phenomenon. I am eager for them to do so.” Wolfe-Simon wrote, “Any discourse will have to be peer-reviewed in the same manner as our paper was, and go through a vetting process so that all discussion is properly moderated.”
Why is Slate so concerned over the integrity of this research in astrobiology? It seems that Zimmer's real target is NASA. He asks why “NASA made such a big deal over a paper with so many flaws” and quotes a scientist claiming that NASA is “desperate for a positive story.” He points to the case in 1996 when NASA announced it had found fossils in a meteorite from Mars. Because only a small number of tests can be made on the few fossils found, the results were never conclusive and controversy surrounded the case.
Zimmer admits that this time there is plenty of evidence and that NASA has said it will be made available for other scientists to study. Slate is surely aware that, as in 1996, attacks on NASA's competence will be used to justify further cuts.
[2] http://www.sciencemag.org/content/early/2010/12/01/science.1197258
[3] http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/12/101201134158.htm
[4] Rare Earth: Why Complex Life Is Uncommon in the Universe, by Peter Ward and Donald Brownlee, Springer, 2000.
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[ANSTHRLD] Shires and Thank Yous
Deborah Sweet dssweet at okstate.edu
Tue Nov 15 07:01:40 PST 2005
>Further to what Jayme said, you might even remind the people of your
local group that you have a
names to see what awards
>people already have for them. It's amazing how many people don't know
where the OP is online - I
>can only assume this is true based on all the times people have aske me,
"Does John Doe have this
>award?", "What awards does Jane Doe have?". :)
Alternatively, the local herald (or a designated deputy) could create a
*local* roll of precedence. Make it available on line and make sure it
gets published in the local newsletter before the big local event(s). In
fact I actually keep two versions of local lists -- one is the current
active members and one encompasses all members that have ever lived in our
group and have either moved away/become inactive/died/or are still there.
deputy herald of precedence of Mooneschadowe for, what, ten years? twelve?
More information about the Heralds mailing list
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05/30/2013 - 16:24
Reading Russia's Posture
Vladimir Dvorkin
Maj. Gen. Vladimir Dvorkin (Strategic Rocket Forces, ret.) is main researcher at the Center for International Security at the Russian Academy of Sciences' Institute of World Economy and...
To understand Russia's defense policy, the general who drafted the country's nuclear doctrine suggests, “Watch what Moscow does, not what it says.”
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Exclusively in the new print issue of CounterPunch
Prisoners, Torture and Hypocrisy
Prisoners, Torture and Hypocrisy
When I was a journalist working in China back in the early 1990s, I was furious when two administrations in the U.S.–both the first Bush Administration and the Clinton Administration–condoned executions of American death row prisoners from foreign countries who had been arrested and tried without their home countries’ embassies being notified. The current Bush Administration has taken the same cavalier approach to international law also, which clearly requires that an embassy be notified when one of its nationals is arrested in a country, and further, that that embassy be permitted to have access to the detained individual and to provide a lawyer.
I was furious because America’s willful and repeated violation of this basic international agreement was a direct threat to my personal health and safety. I was going out into the Chinese countryside as a journalist–often without the benefit or a journalist’s visa, which can take weeks to obtain and which often is denied–and was at risk of being arrested by Chinese security forces. In fact, I was brought in and interrogated by the Public Security Bureau during one such journalistic venture to a relatively remote area of Anhui Province, and I can report that the experience was harrowing.
How could I hope to have the protection and help of my embassy in China if my own country was thumbing its nose at international law?
Now we see the same thing happening during the war on Iraq, where the implications are even more serious as–predictably–.American soldiers begin to be captured by Iraqi forces.
The Bush administration is loudly decrying their use by Iraq as propaganda on Arab television, where they have been shown being questioned about what they were doing in Iraq. It’s good domestic PR. After all, their treatment, while so far thankfully not brutal, is in violation of the Geneva Convention on the treatment of POWs. But nobody outside the U.S. is going to take the American protests seriously.
The sad truth is that the U.S. is in no position to make a complaint, for America too has been in gross violation of that convention. Iraqi soldiers taken prisoner during this war have been marched before American television cameras, they have been blindfolded and terrorized by U.S. soldiers taking them into custody, and their faces have been displayed on American television–all clear violations of international law.
But the U.S. is doing even worse with regard to other POWs it has captured in Afghanistan. Along with most international legal scholars, I would argue that anyone fighting U.S. forces in that country were soldiers in a war, and that once captured, they should have been held in accordance with the Geneva Convention. They have not been so treated, however.
Certain of those captured have been either turned over to other countries’ security forces–for example those of Egypt or Pakistan–where they reportedly have been subjected to torture, or they have been held at a U.S. base in Afghanistan, and also subjected to conditions that can only be described as torture, or in some cases–well over 600–they have been transported, bound and hooded, to a concentration camp at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, where they are caged in individual pens and held in a legal limbo–not prisoners and not prisoners of war.
Arguably the non-Afghan members of Al Qaeda in Afghanistan might be termed "unlawful combatants" by the U.S., and denied POW status, though this is making a rather fine distinction. Al Qaeda fighters, while they might have originally been in Afghanistan as terrorist trainees, seem to have been acting as a legitimate ally of the government of Afghanistan at the time of their capture, fighting alongside government forces. But even granting that distinction, the U.S. also has taken captured Afghan Taliban fighters, who clearly were the official army of the government of Afghanistan, off to Guantanamo, denying them too, any POW status.
The whole world sees this treatment of captured Afghan fighters as the most outrageous violation of international law and the Geneva Convention, yet the U.S., even knowing it was about to become involved in a war in the Middle East, went ahead with this outlaw behavior.
All it has done in the process is open the door to similar abuse of captured Americans. After all, if the U.S. is seen as fighting an illegal war of aggression, might not Iraq decide that any soldiers it catches are not POWs at all, but rather "unlawful combatants"?
One has to wonder at the hubris of Bush Administration policy-makers, who seem to think that they can trample over any international rules and agreements they want, without suffering any consequences.
The same might be said of the charge that Fedayeen irregulars are violating international law by dressing up in civilian clothes and attacking American and British troops in Iraq by deceit. While this guerrilla war tactic is clearly a violation of the international rules of war, which are designed to minimize civilian casualties, we know that U.S. special forces, such as the Delta Force troops, have also been dressing as local civilians in the Afghanistan conflict (they were shown doing this in the American media), and it strains belief to think that they are not doing the same thing now in Iraq.
The Bush Administration is counting on the jingoistic American media to ignore its own blatant violations of international law in the Afghanistan and Iraq wars, while it loudly condemns Iraq’s violations as evidence of the evil of the enemy. So far their hopes have been largely rewarded domestically. But the rest of the world is seeing this two-faced policy on POWs for what it is.
So we have the pathetic picture of President Bush, with a straight face, condemning first Iraq for violating the Geneva Convention on POW treatment and then Russia for "violating U.N. sanctions" against Iraq! This from a Commander-in-Chief who has condoned and continues to condone the most egregious violations of prisoner of war rules, and who has violated the most basic part of the U.N. charter by initiating an unprovoked war of aggression against a member state without the sanction of the Security Council.
An old adage about war has long been: the winner makes the rules. But an older adage should be on the mind of both this chickenhawk administration and the minds of the soldiers who are being asked to put their lives on the line for its ill-conceived aggressive policies: as you sow, so shall your reap.
Today’s Features
Gary Leupp
What Democracy Looks Like: the Streets of Cairo
Bill and Kathleen Christison
An Interview with Hanan Ashrawi
Bruce Jackson
Why Protest? Why Write?
Uri Avnery
Bitter Rice: Thoughts and Warnings on the War
Jason Leopold
Blood Indicator: Casualties and the Stock Market
Jeffrey St. Clair
Life During Wartime
Gilad Atzmon
Strategic Blunders by American Generals
Ralph Nader
A Pre-emptive War on a Defenseless Country
Website of the War
Iraq Body Count
Keep CounterPunch Alive:
Make a Tax-Deductible Donation Today Online!
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What is a dolphin?
• Dolphins belong to the group of animals that scientists call cetaceans. This means all the different types of whales and dolphins that there are in the world. This big group is split into two groups, baleen whales and toothed whales. Baleen whales sieve food through special filters called baleen plates. They don’t have any teeth at all. Dolphins are part of the toothed whale group. The two groups have special scientific names:
• Mysticetes - baleen whales, e.g.. Blue Whale, Humpback Whale, Minke Whale.
• Odontocetes - toothed whales, e.g.. Sperm Whale, Orca, Bottlenose Dolphin.
This picture shows the different parts of a dolphin
This picture shows the different parts of a baleen whale
? ? How, Why, Where and What? ?
Where can I go to see dolphins around Britain?
• There are Bottlenose Dolphins living in the Moray Firth, Scotland, and in Cardigan Bay. Wales. Often dolphins and porpoises can be seen around the Western Isles of Scotland such as Coll and Mull. Cornwall also seems popular and Funghie is a friendly wild dolphin in S. Ireland. But keep your eyes open! They can be found almost anywhere!
How long do dolphins live?
• It depends on the sort of dolphin. Orcas can live over 50 years, female Orcas may live to be nearly 90. But in the same way that only a few people live to be 100, only a few Orcas will live to that age. Bottlenose Dolphins may live to be well over 30. In captivity, dolphins usually live much shorter lives.
What do dolphins eat?
• Most dolphins eat fish. Some eat squid, molluscs or small crustaceans. Certain Orcas sometimes eat seals or even other dolphins.
How do dolphins keep warm?
• Did you know that water carries heat away from your body more than 25 times faster than air? So to keep warm all dolphins have a thick layer of fat called blubber which can protect them even in icy seas. Dolphins living in colder water will usually have thicker blubber than those which live in warmer water.
What sort of animal are dolphins?
• Dolphins are mammals. They have lungs and breathe air. They give birth to live young which are fed with their mothers’ rich milk. The mammal family also includes dogs, cats, elephants, sheep, apes, monkeys, humans and many others.
How can you tell a male and female dolphin apart?
• Tricky! Sometimes size helps as male dolphins are usually larger than females of the same type. Otherwise you need to be very close because all the parts which show which sex an animal is are hidden inside the dolphin’s body. A male dolphin has one slit visible underneath about two thirds of the way along the body towards the tail. A female has a small slit each side of the main one. They hide the mammary glands where her baby will suckle.
How many different types of dolphin are there?
• There are about 79 different kinds of whales, dolphins and porpoises. Some scientists say there are 45 kinds of dolphin. This includes the 26 types of ocean dolphin as well as river dolphins, porpoises, Pilot Whales, Orca, Beluga, Narwhal and others.
What is the difference between dolphins and porpoises?
• The Dolphin and Porpoise families are part of the same big group of animals. They are very similar in many ways so it can be quite confusing. The differences are that most porpoises are quite small, the smallest is the Vaquita, only about 1.5m long. Porpoises don’t have a beak (some dolphins don’t have one either), and only one type of porpoise has a dorsal fin ( a few dolphins don’t have dorsal fins either - we said it was confusing!). But there is one difference that all porpoise share. It is the shape of their teeth. The teeth of a porpoise are flattened and shaped like spades. Dolphin teeth are usually cone shaped.
Where do dolphins live?
• Dolphins are found all over the world. Some types live in only a small area. Other types can live in many different places. Bottlenose Dolphins seem to be found almost everywhere!
How fast can dolphins swim?
• Dolphins swim by moving their tail up and down. A fish’s tail goes from side to side. Different types of dolphin swim at different speeds. Bottlenose Dolphins can travel at speeds of up to 27 km an hour, but just as we can’t run at full speed for long they would soon need to slow down. A more usual speed would be 5-10 kph.
How long can they hold their breath?
• This varies with the type of dolphin. Bottlenose Dolphins can hold their breath for about 7 minutes, Belugas for about 12 minutes and Orcas for 20 minutes.
How deep can they dive?
• Guess what’? It depends on the type of dolphin! Belugas and Bottlenose Dolphins have been known to dive to over 600m, Striped Dolphins to 200m. Most dives are shallower than this because their prey may not be down so deep.
What is echo location?
• Echolocation is finding things by using echoes. Dolphins can make special clicking sounds. Scientists think the sounds can be aimed by the melon at the front of the head. The clicks bounce back off any object in their path. Dolphins can tell the size, shape and direction fish are travelling in. This is very important in dark, murky seas when dolphins cannot see their prey. It means they can catch fish in total darkness.
What are the dangers dolphins face?
• It is a dangerous time to be a dolphin! Every year thousands and thousands of dolphins are trapped in huge driftnets. They get caught up in the very strong, almost invisible nets. Then they drown. Dolphins are also killed when they are hauled in in nets set around schools of tuna.
• In some parts of the world dolphins are deliberately killed by fishermen because they eat the fish they want to catch. Luckily, in other places fishermen see dolphins as friends. There are even reports of dolphins and fishermen working together to catch fish!
• In the Faroe Islands each year hundreds of Pilot Whales (a type of dolphin) are driven into very shallow water and killed horribly. Some of them are chopped up to be eaten and the rest are left to rot. Even pregnant females are killed. There is a big campaign to try to stop this dreadful slaughter happening. Some people are refusing to buy anything, especially fish, from the Faroe Islands until the killing is stopped.
• Many scientists believe that pollution in the sea is harming dolphins. The sea is polluted in many different ways. Untreated sewage and poisonous chemicals as well as oil spills and dumped rubbish are all dangers to dolphins. When a dolphin eats a fish that is polluted the poisons may stay in the dolphin’ s body. Sometimes the poisons may pass from a mother’ s body to her calf The calf may then die.
• Some dolphins are captured to be used in dolphin shows or scientific studies. They are stolen from their families. Often dolphins die when they are captured or soon after. The ones that live spend the rest of their lives as prisoners, often in very small pools. Many people enjoy dolphin shows but how many stop to think about how the dolphin is suffering?
Why are dolphins sometimes stranded on beaches?
• Every year dolphins die when they get stuck on beaches. No one knows exactly why it happens. There may be many reasons. The dolphins might be old or ill. Some dolphins found on beaches died at sea and have been washed up by a high tide. The big puzzle is why dolphins which seem healthy become stranded. One idea is that they sometimes make mistakes trying to find their way using the Earth’s magnetic lines of force.
What should I do if I find a stranded dolphin on the beach?
• If you ever find a stranded dolphin tell the Coastguard or Police straight away. If it is alive you will want to help but DON’T try to move it yourself. Dolphins are heavy! Never never try to drag a dolphin by the tail or flippers. You could do a lot of damage. Apart from getting help quickly you can do your bit by making sure the dolphin is kept cool and wet. Cover it in wet cloths soaked in sea water. Make sure the blowhole is not covered. Or pour water carefully over it making sure no water goes near the blowhole. Don’t let people bother the dolphin. Keep quiet and calm.
• And remember, dolphins are very powerful. Don’t go too near to the tail. If the dolphin thrashes its tail you could be hurt.
Robin Petch and Kns Simpson, Dolphinicity Surveys/International Dolphin Watch, Parklands, N. Ferriby, E. Yorkshire. HU14 3ET. Tel (01482) 844468
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