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Show A TALK WITH JOURNALISTS. 231 afterwards proved, quite as uneasy lest Dawson's curiosity should be aroused. As the Fates would have it, the reader lifted his eyes from his book just as the last stroke of the writer was put to the paper. There was something quite suspicious about the manner of the essayist, and his mind seemed dreadfully weighed down until he found a means of getting his letter to the post office, which, as that was fifteen miles distant, proved no easy accomplishment. Let it be briefly recorded, however, that by the time the letter had been gotten off, Mr. Dawson had received a summons to return to Denver. The day after his arrival, he had scarcely gone to work at his desk, which was near Major Ward's, when he heard an ominous growl from the direction of his elbow neighbor. There was a continuous mumbling and grumbling for some five minutes, at the end of which time the Major turned to Dawson, throwing a bundle of manuscript to him, with the remark: "Here, Dawson, see what you can do with this. It's a letter from some inspired idiot, but I can make nothing out of it." Now Major Ward is one of the most accomplished masters of the pen in the entire wild West, and his feelings had been greatly wrought upon by the close scrutiny he had been compelled to make of the horrid scrawl before him. Imagine the surprise on the part of the city editor when he discovered that the manuscript was the same of which he had caught a glimpse in Middle Park. It told a very thrilling story of an adventure in the park, of which Mr. Dawson was described as the hero. We shall group facts. It appears that on the day previous to the writing in the tent, Dawson and Arkins had engaged in a shooting |
