miles during one second of time, requires nine years to traverse the abyss. Before

this work of Bessel, Henderson, in the observatory at the Cape of Good Hope, made extended observations on the bright star Alpha Centauri, not visible in the United States. His instruments were not nearly so accurate as those of Bessel; yet he detected a displacement of the star. Maclear in 1839-40 made more accurate measurements, and later observers with far better instruments have finally deduced a parallax of 0.75 second of arc. Parallax means the angle subtended by the radius of the earth's orbit as seen from a star. Now 206,265 divided by 0.75 equals 275,020, the number of times that Alpha Centauri is more distant than the sun. This is 25 trillion miles; and that star is our nearest neighbor, so far as is known. Light requires 4.3572 years to reach us from the nearest neighbor our sun has. But there are so many stars whose distances are so much greater than these two, that the 25 trillion miles is used merely as a yard-stick to measure them. Of late these minute displacements of stars are measured on photographic plates after long exposure to the stars. Great attention is paid to parallax determinations, for without them we must forever remain ignorant of even approximate dimensions of the sidereal structure. Some astronomers think that so great precision is now had that parallaxes of 0.1 second of arc are obtained. And perhaps fifty stars are measured

with this degree of accuracy. A star with one-tenth of a second parallax is 2,062,650 times more remote than the sun. These are "near-by stars," for there are millions of stars so distant that no instrument, however accurate, can ever hope to secure a parallax. It is time now to put in the term "next to nothing" again for all things terrestrial. That is, the thickness of a spider thread would obscure the entire orbit of the earth in its mighty sweep around the sun, as seen from the distant stars. And all agree that a spider line is next to nothing, so the astronomer Tycho rejected the true order of Nature simply because of its mind-crushing magnitude and splendor. He had not the fortitude to admit the infinitesimal dimensions of the earth and man. All kind of estimates have been made as to the probable radius of that part of the universe visible in the greatest telescope. Opinions vary between the limits of 4,000 to 15,000 light years. That is, with a radius of 15,000, the diameter would be so immense that light would require 30,000 years to traverse it. The opinion of the writer is for the 30,000 yet no positive proof is possible. This opinion is based on photometric grounds, The word millions has for long been used in telling the number of the stars. billions now appear to be more appropriate. Each one is a hot sun, and each may be attended in many cases by inhabited worlds.

But

Fred L was known as a "big cub operator," for he was only an overgrown "kid," having just entered his twentieth year. He had been despatching for about a year at Welsh's Spur, some twenty miles from Butte, on the Northern Pacific line.

Welsh's Spur was a very small and unimportant station. Fred acted as both train despatcher and station agent.

Sometimes there was heavy freight to handle, and Lute Kelso was the general roustabout. Besides this duty, Lute did the switching and looked after whatever else came up.

Lute and the "Kid" were solid chums, and ready to fight for one another at the "drop of a hat." In the rear of the little building that served as both office and freight room, Fred and Lute slept

ceaseless chattering of the telegraph instrument, as the various messages were flitting to and fro. Meantime, the storm rose and fell.

During a brief pause, human voices were unmistakably heard from without. There could be no doubt about it this time.

"Somebody's outside, sure," said

Lute.

"Yes, we are not mistaken now--" Suddenly loud voices were heard, and heavy footfalls. Then the office door was violently flung open just as Fred and Lute both jumped from their seats.

"Throw up yer hands, young fellers," sang out a hoarse, gruff voice, "an' be quick about it, tu."

In the doorway stood a tall man roughly clad, wearing a blanket coat, a slouch old hat, and his features concealed with a bandana handkerchief. Through

the burned holes gleamed two black, flashing eyes, savage as devils. He was pointing a revolver at the boys.

Behind the bandit stood two of his pals, both masked and armed. Up went the boys' hands. No second order required. In the bedroom just behind stood a big repeating rifle and a shotgun, both charged. But what good were they yards away against such a trio? To make a false move meant death.

"Tie 'em tight," said the leader roughly, addressing the other two men.

This was quickly done with ropes and straps. With hands and feet securely pinioned, Fred and Lute were left lying on the floor, to unpleasant reflections.

One of the bandits picked up a red lantern and lighted it. Then the office lamp was blown out, leaving the room in Simmerian darkness.

"Doan't you fellers move or peep, or yer'll be sorry fur it," growled harshly the big leader, as the three filed out. They took the precaution to lock the door from the outside.

All this time the instrument was clicking away. Singular that the bandits had not smashed the sounder. Queer oversight that they had not gagged the boys. Later they saw the folly of it.

Everything was plain now. The bandits proposed to stop the North Coast

First,

Limited and hold up the train. they turned the signal light so as to warn the engineer. Then they would, besides, swing the danger lantern.

"I see. the game," said the Kid in a whisper to Lute, "but I'll head 'em off--"

"Now, how," whispered back Lute in the darkness.

"Wait, wait-keep still."

Over by the door, just inside, was a small boot scraper, to clean muddy boots. The edge of the metal scraper