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A moment later he was astonished to note that the captain had not written a single letter. "I'd forgotten," murmured Henshaw. "When I started to write that order this morning just as I was putting pen to paper in came Sloan with the message from the doctors saying that Beatrice was in a critical situation. It may be, captain, that this message is bad luck for me, eh?"

At the office next morning Sloan found the essay in his pocket and looked around the city-room for D.K.T. The staff poet-clown was no daylight saver; professing to burn the midnight oil in the interest of his employer, he seldom drifted in before half-past nine. "See me. S.S." wrote Sloan, and dropped Willie's manuscript on D.K.T.'s desk.

The general and some of his staff were almost the first to greet them. Presently Mr. Sloan joined the party, and the first thing he did was to begin telling of Forrest's prediction as to the attitude of the general government in the event of trouble.

In 1864 he was elected a Representative from New Jersey to the Thirty-Ninth Congress, and was re-elected in 1866. ITHAMAR C. SLOAN was born in Madison County, New York. He adopted the profession of law, and removed to Wisconsin in 1854. In 1858 and 1860 he was elected District Attorney of Rock County.

Being finished with being listening when some one is telling something one is liking is something. Being listening is something. Having been listening is something. Having not been listening when some one has not come to be talking is something. Having been listening when some one has not come to be talking is something. Some one, Sloan, listened and was hearing something.

I told him you put the barge on rollers and towed it up to Ledyard with a traction engine. The letter from Sloan was to the effect that twelve cars were at that moment on the yard siding, loading with cribbing, and that all of it, something more than eighteen hundred thousand feet, would probably be in Chicago within a week. A note was scribbled on the margin in Sloan's handwriting.

A company of twelve scouts under the command of Captain Touissant Dubois closely scanned every place of danger and pointed out the army's way. Late on the third of November, the frontiersmen saw for the first time the great prairies of the west, stretching north to Chicago and west to the Mississippi. They camped that night in Round Grove, near the present town of Sloan.

An' there, tail an' head up like he was a 'leven-hundred-pound Kentucky hunter 'stead of heavy-weight draught, comes that old Chieftain, a whinnyin' like a three-year-old. An' on his back, mind you, old Tim Doyle, grinnin' away 'sif he was Tod Sloan finishin' first at the Brooklyn Handicap. Tickled? I never see a horse show anything so plain in all my life.

"Do you want to bet on that proposition?" Sloan made no reply. He had allowed his wrath to boil for a few minutes merely as a luxury. Now he was thinking seriously of the scheme. "It sounds like moonshine," he said at last, "but I don't know as it is. How are you going to get your barges?" "I've got one already. It leaves Milwaukee tonight." Sloan looked him over.

Already he was more than half-convinced that he should write to Sloan and reject his kindly offer of support. "We've been here but a week, but it doesn't look promising to us." "Well, then you're a pair of fools!" came the disrespectful and irascible retort. "They told me down in Goldpan that some miners had come to open the Cross up again. You're not miners.