IN addition to the Patriot there were two other newspapers published at Meade. One of these, the Mascot, advocated Republican politics. The other was a mongrel sheet, promulgating uncertain political views. This publication left the press under the high-sounding name of the World.

The editor and proprietor of the World was a Mr. Frank Fewer. His enemies said the “fewer” the better of such unprincipled knaves. Politically, he favored the candidate who bought him last. The influence of his paper was a commodity for barter and sale.

On the day after Hugh’s visit at Major Hampton’s, the World made its weekly appearance, and contained in its columns the following article.

“HOME AGAIN.”

“His Excellency, Maj. Buell Hampton, an old played-out politician, who edits a little five-by-nine sheet around the corner, known as the Patriot, has returned to the city. The editor of the World is not advised as to whether the old boodler has been away organizing a society of Farmers’ Alliance in some remote township, or a lodge of Barley Hullers. It is only a question of a short time until this illiterate decoy duck will slink from southwestern Kansas to pastures that are new.”

During the forenoon the major called at the bank and asked Hugh to accompany him to the World office.

“Certainly,” said Hugh, “I will go with pleasure.” Captain Osborn opened the door of his private office, and invited Major Hampton and Hugh into his room.

“Major,” said the captain, “why are you going down to the World office?”

“To kill the dog who penned and published this calumny,” replied the major, as he handed the captain a marked copy of the World.

The old captain laughed heartily and tried to infuse the major with a jovial spirit, but he would not be infused. His face was very white, and the lines about his mouth had a hard, set expression, like a tiger ready to spring. “I would n’t pay any attention to it at all,” said the captain, soothingly.

“Fewer’s blood, sir,” hissed the major, “alone can blot out this contemptible insult. He has defamed my character, and, by the Eternal, he shall pay the price.”

“Hold on, Major,” said Captain Osborn, “I am your friend in this matter, and I cannot permit you to make a mistake. Suppose now that we force the World to run off another edition containing an ‘amende honorable,’ or something of that sort—what then?”

“I do not believe,” said the major, reflectively, “that he will do it; but if he will, and bring out the issue to-day—a full issue, mind—I will then let him off with a horsewhipping.”

“Well, now, that’s better,” said the captain, shaking hands with him, as if the affair were settled. “You stay right here, Major, until I come back.”

When Captain Osborn arrived at the World office, he found Frank Fewer, Esq., seated in a rickety old chair, engaged in wrapping bundles of papers preparatory to sending them away.

“Good morning, Captain,” said Fewer, while an idiotic grin covered his face.

“Good morning,” returned the captain, “have n’t sent away this week’s papers yet, have you?”

“No,” replied Fewer, “only a few around town; but why?”

The iron will of the old captain arose to the emergency. “Fewer,” said he, “but for my friendly interference in your behalf, you would now be a dead man.”

“What!” shrieked the editor.

“A dead man, I say!” reaffirmed the captain, in a quiet, determined voice. “Here,” said he, opening a paper, “this libelous article—why did you print such a contemptible thing?”

Fewer was at heart a groveling coward. He whined and begged, and protested that Lem Webb, a misanthropic lawyer, had written the article, and that he, Webb, had agreed to pay him five dollars for its publication.

“It will cost you your life, sir,” said the captain, with a stern military ring in his voice. “There is but one way to avert the calamity in which your corpse must necessarily figure as the principal attraction.”

“How, Captain? For God’s sake tell me,” begged the now trembling editor.

The captain explained the conditions. “Suppress all of the present issue possible, run off another issue of the paper, containing an amende honorable, and take a horsewhipping. Otherwise, death.”

The terms were agreed upon instantly, and the captain hurried back to inform the major of the “unconditional surrender,” and to prepare a copy of an amende honorable, while the frightened editor commenced making preparations for a special edition.

That afternoon the World again made its appearance, and contained the following retraction:

“AMENDE HONORABLE.”

“At the solicitation of Lem. Webb, Esq., and on account of a promise of five dollars, I maliciously and wilfully permitted a libelous and untruthful item to appear in the columns of the World this morning, derogatory to the character of Mai. Buell Hampton.

“This open letter is a public acknowledgment on the part of the editor of the World that he knew the item in question to be a malicious lie, at the time it was published, and he hereby publicly apologizes to Major Hampton. The editor further desires to state that he personally knows Major Hampton to be a cultured gentleman of unquestionable moral character,—a man whose high sense of honor and integrity is above reproach. Respectfully,

“Frank Fewer,

“Editor of the World.”

That evening Bill Kinneman and Dan Spencer waited upon Editor Fewer at his home.

“Hello! gentlemen,” said Fewer as he came down the walk in front of his house to meet his callers.

“Hello! yourself,” replied Dan Spencer. “We only called jist fur a minit. We’s in a pow’rful big hurry. We’ve got Major Hampton’s proxy to hosswhup ye.”

“Oh, come, gentlemen,” whined Fewer, “after the retraction I published, the major can’t really mean to subject me to so great a humiliation.”

“I reckon that’s about the size of it,” said Spencer, trembling with a wrath that made his fang-like tooth wobble from one side to the other as if it were trying to dodge a calamity. “We’re not a-bustin’ with perliteness,” said Spencer, “in projectin’ ‘round over the range this ‘ere way, I suppose, but I’m assoomin’ dooty is dooty an’ jestice knows no fav’rites.”

Frank Fewer turned, and fled with all the speed that he could command. Bill Kinneman sprang into his saddle and, touching spurs to his horse, galloped madly after him. The cowboy loosened his lariat as he rode, and swung the coil dexterously over his head several times. Then, with a quick, powerful twitch, the rope shot out like an arrow after the sprinting editor. The loop fell over his head and shoulders, then tightened, binding his arms to his sides. A few minutes later Frank Fewer was a horsewhipped editor.

Smarting with pain and humiliation, Fewer called on Attorney Webb, determined to bring suit for the outrage perpetrated upon him. The lawyer was just reading the amende honorable article, in which he discovered that Fewer had sacrificed him most shamefully, in attempting to save himself. A little later the editor picked himself up from the sidewalk, a badly thrashed and a thoroughly kicked man. Thereafter the World was known as a journal that attended strictly to its own business.