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Cowboy Detective
BY CHARLES SIRINGO
Originally published in 1912
The writer was born in Matagorda County, Texas, in the extreme southern part of the State, in 1855, and was reared on the upper deck of all kinds and conditions of cow-ponies scattered throughout the Lone Star State, Kansas, Indian Territory and New Mexico. I spent fifteen years continuously in the saddle, seldom ever sleeping in a house or a tent. In these early days of the cattle business when the southern half of Texas was overrun with wild, long-horned cattle, the cowboys used the ground for a bed and the sky for covering. I first started out as a full-fledged cowboy in 1867 when only eleven years of age. Of course, I naturally became an expert at riding "bad" horses and roping wild cattle. Besides, this strenuous, open-air life gave me health and a longing to see the world and to learn the ins and outs of human nature.
Charles Siringo, Pinkerton Detective
The chance came when the spring of 1886 found me in Chicago with a pretty young wife and a sweet little girl baby on my hands. We were boarding and rooming with a private family on Harrison Avenue on the night of the Haymarket riot, when an anarchist's bomb killed and maimed over sixty of the city's police officers.
We went to bed expecting a riot before morning, so we were not surprised when we heard the explosion of the bomb, and, soon after, the shooting which followed. A young lawyer, Reynolds by name, ran to our room to tell me to get ready and go with him to the riot, but my frightened girl-wife held on to me and wouldn't let me go, though I sent a representative in the shape of my silver-plated, pearl-handled "Colt's 45" pistol, which had been my companion on the cattle range and which still keeps me company as I write. Reynolds had borrowed my pistol and as he ran around a corner at the Haymarket with the "gun" in his hands, policemen opened fire on him, thinking that he was an anarchist. He dodged into a door, went up a flight of stairs and out an alley gate and flew for home like a scared wolf. With face as white as snow he handed me the pistol while I still lay in bed, saying that he had enough of the riot business, as several bullets had whizzed close to his head.
After the riot the city was all excitement, and I commenced to wish that I were a detective so as to help ferret out the thrower of the bomb and his backers. I knew very little about the detective business, though I had spent part of 1881 and 1882 doing secret work for Texas cattlemen against cattle thieves in western Texas and New Mexico. This had given me a taste for the work, and I liked it. Besides, I had been told by a blind phrenologist [one who studies the cranium as an indicator of character and abilities] that I was "cut out" for a detective. At that time I didn't believe in phrenology, but this man being as blind as a bat and telling so many truths about people I knew, convinced me that there was something besides wind and graft in phrenology. Had this man not been blind, I would have attributed his knowledge to his ability to read faces.
It was in the year 1884. I lived in Caldwell, Kansas, a cattle town on the border of Kansas and the Indian Territory. Circulars were scattered broadcast over the town announcing the coming of this noted phrenologist. After supper, on the evening of his arrival, many leading citizens turned out to hear him lecture at the Leland Hotel. He stood in the center of a large parlor, holding to the back of an empty chair. He was a fine looking old man, regardless of the fact that both eyes were out.
After making a few preliminary remarks on phrenology, he called for someone to come forward and have his head examined. The audience began calling for our popular city marshal, Henry Brown, who had only been marshal a short time, but who had won glory and a new gold star by killing several men, including an Indian chief, "Spotted Horse," who had taken on more "fire-water" than he could carry. Brown hesitated quite awhile about having his head "felt." He knew better than any one else in the audience as to what was in his head and he didn't want to risk having his faults told. He finally went out and sat down in the chair. But it was soon made plain by the color of his face that he regretted going. He stuck it out though, and heard some very uncomplimentary remarks said against himself. I knew that the phrenologist was telling the truth, because I had known Henry Brown when he was a member of the notorious Billy the Kid's outlaw gang in the Panhandle of Texas, and the Territory of New Mexico. I first became acquainted with him through introduction by Billy the Kid in the fall of 1878. I had just returned to the Panhandle from Chicago, where I had been with a shipment of fat steers, and had found Billy the Kid and his gang camped at the L X ranch where I was employed as one of the cowboy foremen. I presented Billy the Kid with a fine meerschaum cigar holder, which I had bought in Chicago, and he in turn presented me with a book containing his autograph. He also introduced me to several of his men, one of them being Henry Brown. During that winter Brown and a half-breed Indian quit the Kid's outlaw gang and went to the Indian Territory, and I lost track of him until I met him wearing an officer's star in Caldwell, Kansas. He begged me to not give him away as he intended to reform and lead an honorable life. But I regretted afterwards that I didn't tell the citizens of Caldwell of his past record. For, while acting as city marshal of Caldwell, and while wearing his star, he rode into Medicine Lodge, a nearby town, with his chief deputy, Ben Wheeler, and two cowboys, and in broad daylight held up the Medicine Lodge Bank and killed the bank president, Wiley Pain, and his cashier. After a lively chase by the citizens of Medicine Lodge the four robbers were caught and jailed. That night when the mob opened the jail door to hang them, Brown and Wheeler made a break for liberty, knocking men down as they ran. Brown was killed with a charge of buckshot and Wheeler and the two cowboys were hung to a nearby tree.
After the blind phrenologist had finished Brown's head, he called for another subject. This time the crowd began calling for Mr. Theodore Baufman, the Oklahoma scout. "Bauf" needed very little coaxing. He strutted out, carrying his two hundred and fifty pounds of flesh with the air of a king. The phrenologist ran his hand over "Bauf's" head just once, and then said: "Ladies and gentlemen, here is a man who, if the Indians were on the warpath and he should run across one lone Indian on the plains, he would tell his friends that he had seen a thousand warriors." This caused such yelling and laughter that Baufman was angry for weeks; but I, for one, knew that the phrenologist had told the truth, as I had worked with "Bauf" on the range as early as 1878 and therefore knew that his worst failings were a fear of hard work and the stretching of the truth.
Next the audience began calling for "Mamie," my sixteen-year-old wife. She took the seat and the blind man ran his hand over her head once. He then said: "Here is a good-natured little somebody who cannot tell a lie or do a wrong." The balance he told was what we all knew to be true.
Next the crowd called for me. I went forward and sat down in the chair. The blind man laid his hand on the top of my head and then said: "Ladies and gentlemen, here is a mule's head." When the laughter had subsided he explained that I had a large stubborn bump, hence was as stubborn as a mule. He then said I had a fine head for a newspaper editor, a fine stock raiser, or detective; that in any of these callings I would make a success.
So, during the excitement following the anarchist riot in Chicago, this old man's words began to bear fruit and I concluded to try my hand as a detective. But the question arose as to the best way to start in the business, my main object being to see the world and learn human nature. I wisely concluded to start right by entering the greatest detective school on earth—the Pinkerton National Detective Agency.
My steps were light and my hopes buoyant when on the 29th day of June, 1886, I stepped into S. A. Kean & Co.'s Bank and asked the cashier, Mr. Yure, for a letter of introduction to Mr. Wm. L. Pinkerton . I was slightly acquainted with this cashier, as I had done business with his bank. He replied that he would speak to Mr. Kean. He soon returned and wrote me the letter. It read as follows:
"Chicago, Ill., June 29th, 1886. Pinkerton Detective Agency.
Gentlemen:—The bearer, Mr. Chas. A. Siringo, we know to be a person of good character, and having been a cowboy and brought up on the plains, his services and ability are commendable to you.
S. A. Kean & Co., Bankers."
Armed with this letter of introduction I bolted into the Pinkerton Agency. I found the air in the main office impregnated with mystery and suspicion. A dozen pairs of eyes were focused on me as though I were an anarchist with a bomb up my sleeve. I asked to see Mr. "Billy" Pinkerton. I had often heard him called "Billy," and my lack of business knowledge prevented me from using his proper name. The attendant informed me that he couldn't be seen, but that any word or letter which I might have could be conveyed to him. I then wrote a note addressed to Mr. "Billy" Pinkerton, stating my business, and enclosed it with the banker's letter of introduction.
The young man disappeared with these letters. In about twenty minutes he returned with the S. A. Kean letter, on the bottom of which was written in Mr. Pinkerton's own handwriting:
"Capt. Farley:—The party referred to in this letter is undoubtedly a good man.—Wm. L. Pinkerton."
I was told to go down stairs and present the Kean & Co. letter to Capt. Farley. I did so. He read it, then handed it back to me, and I still retain it as a relic of bygone days.
After being put through a test by Capt. Mike Farley, I was allowed to see the "big chief," Wm. L. Pinkerton. He asked for references and I gave him the names of David T. Beals, president of the Union National Bank of Kansas City, Mo.; Jas. H. East, a popular Texas sheriff, and Pat Garrett, the slayer of "Billy the Kid."
In 1880 I had assisted Garrett in running down that noted outlaw and his murderous gang; hence I felt safe in giving this noted "bad" man-killer as reference. Mr. Pinkerton said he would write to these men at once, and if their replies were favorable, he would give me a position in a new office which they were opening in Denver, Colo. He said they would need a cowboy detective there, as they figured on getting a lot of cattle work. I had told Mr. Pinkerton that the east was too tame for me, hence I wanted a position in the west.
Breaking Into Jail
After the interview I went home to wait a week or two for replies from my references, and while waiting, I broke into jail for the first time in my life. It was Saturday evening after dark. The mix-up took place at Barnum's circus near the ticket wagon, when the great crowd was scrambling to buy tickets to the circus. A large man, who would have made two of me, tried to be fresh and I called him down. He made a pass to put me to sleep the first punch but before he could get in his work the weight of my old Colt's 45 pistol had landed on his head. This was followed up with one more lick which buried the sharp pistol-sight into his skull. This brought the blood in a stream. By this time his partner had picked up a piece of board and had it raised to strike me from the rear. I saw him just in time. He found a cocked pistol in his face, and dropping the board, begged for mercy. Both of these men had wives with them and they were crying and screaming. No doubt they thought their "hubbies" had innocently stirred up a hornet's nest. A policeman came running up, but he was so excited that he forgot to take my pistol, so I put it back into my pocket. This good-looking young policeman informed me that I was under arrest. I told him that I wouldn't be arrested unless he also arrested the other two men. He then told them to consider themselves under arrest.
The wounded man, whose face and neck and white shirt front were red with blood, begged not to be put in a patrol wagon. Therefore, as it was only a few blocks to the Harrison street police station, the officer consented to let us walk. The other two prisoners and their nicely dressed wives took the lead, while the officer and I brought up the rear. We had only gone a block when the wounded man balked. He wouldn't budge until I surrendered my arsenal to the policeman. He had suddenly remembered that I still had the pistol.
On reaching the Harrison street station we stepped up to a desk behind which sat a very old, fat man. My pistol was laid on his desk and the policeman told him I had used it on the red man. The old fellow eyed me, then the pistol, then the man covered with blood and his nice broadcloth suit ruined. He asked me if I had used this pistol on the man. I replied "Yes." Then he said, "I'll fix you, young man. I'll make the charge assault with intent to murder."
He then began writing it down in his book. The tiger blood in me began to boil. I finally turned myself loose and called the old bald-headed "judge" some hard names. The policeman tried to stop me but failed. Then he leaned over the desk and whispered something to the "judge" who changed the charge to "assault with a deadly weapon." This satisfied me and I sat down.
Then the "judge" told the officer to call the patrol wagon and have me taken to jail. While awaiting the patrol wagon, I secured the consent of the kind-hearted policeman to deliver a message for me. I told him to go to Umbdenstock's Lithographing and Printing office and tell them I was in jail. I was well known there and hoped that some one would be in the office, as it was Saturday night. Shortly after, I had a nice free buggy ride in the "hurry up" wagon and was put behind steel bars.
For an hour I paced up and down before the heavy bars like a caged lion. It seemed as though I was doomed to remain in jail until Monday morning without my wife knowing of it. That worried me the worst.
About 9 o'clock Mr. Mike Shea, a wood engraver, came to the jail and heard my tale of woe. He explained that he was the only person left in the Umbdenstock office when the policeman arrived with my message. Shea told me to rest easy and he would have me out soon. He then left to see the judge who ruled over that district. Soon after, Mr. Shea and a lithographer friend of mine drove up in a buggy. They said they would have to drive sixteen miles to the judge's residence out on the edge of the city. The lithographer, whose name I have forgot, was a leading Elk and a particular friend of the judge of the Harrison street police station, so for this reason Mr. Shea was taking him along to "work" the judge, whose name I cannot recall. At 2 o'clock Sunday morning my good friends returned with the bond signed by the judge and I was liberated. It was 4 A. M. when I reached home.
Monday morning I was in the court room which was crowded with people. I had no lawyer or witnesses, but was trusting to luck, though the attorney who had used my pistol at the Haymarket riot was present, ready to offer assistance.
When my case was called the two men and their wives were put on the stand and they all swore lies against me. I was then called up and told my story. When I had finished the judge asked me if I had any witnesses. I replied "No." Here a nicely dressed old Scotchman rose up in the crowd and said: "Your Honor, I am a witness for that young man." This was a great surprise to me and showed that luck was on my side. The old gentleman was put on the stand and corroborated my statement. He said he was taking a shipment of draft horses back to his home in Scotland; that he was trying to get up to the circus wagon to buy a ticket to the show, when the fracas began, and thinking that I might need help, he had come up to the court room this morning. I thanked the old fellow later at his hotel, but I regret that his name has slipped my memory.
As soon as the Scotchman left the stand the judge dismissed the case. With a smile he said to me: "Here, young man, take your pistol and go home." Thanking him, I started out with the pistol and cartridges in my hand. I looked at the prosecuting witnesses with a happy smile. They looked daggers at me in return. I afterwards learned that these people owned a restaurant on South Clark street, and that the sore-headed one had a reputation as a slugger and prize fighter.
If Mr. Pinkerton ever learned of my breaking into jail while waiting to be put onto the secret force of his agency, he kept it to himself. The secret might have prevented my securing the position, and again, it might have helped me, as I have since found out that the agency officials admire a fighter when it is known that he is in the right, though, of course, they want their men to use their brains to control their trigger finger.
My first work was on the great anarchist Haymarket riot case, and I remained on it to the end of the trial, when the ringleaders were convicted.
Parsons, Engel, Fischer and Spies were hung. Ling blew his head off in jail with a bomb, and Schwab, Fielding and Neebe were sent to the penitentiary for a long term of years. I heard most of the evidence, but I couldn't see the justice of sending Neebe to the pen. All that he did was to set the type in the "revenge" circular which was circulated, calling a mass meeting on Haymarket Square to revenge the killing of strikers in a late riot in the McCormick factory. The evidence was in Neebe's favor, except that he was running with a bad crowd, and did his loafing where the beer schooners were the largest. They were all tried in a bunch for the killing of Degan, one of the policemen killed outright by the bomb which was thrown from an alley by an anarchist, supposed to be Shnoebelt. A witness or two swore that they recognized Shnoebelt when his companion lit the match to light the fuse; that then Shnoebelt threw the bomb into the squad of policemen, whose commander, Bonfield, had just ordered the mob to disperse. Albert Parsons was standing in a wagon making a speech at the time. The next day Shnoebelt was arrested for the throwing of the bomb, though a couple of days later it was claimed that he was liberated for want of evidence to hold him. Still later, they claimed to have positive evidence of his guilt, but too late, as he had skipped for Germany. My own opinion is that Shnoebelt was murdered in jail by angry policemen, and his body put out of the way. At least, I received hints to that effect from men who were on the inside.
A million dollars had been subscribed by the Citizens' League to stamp out anarchy in Chicago, and no doubt much of it was used to corrupt justice. Still, the hanging of these anarchists had a good effect and was worth a million dollars to society. Now, if the law-abiding people of the whole United States would contribute one hundred times one million dollars to stamp out anarchy and dynamiting, the coming generation would be saved much suffering and bloodshed, for we are surely playing with fire when we receive with open arms anarchists from foreign countries and pat them on the back for blowing up Russian and English Royalty. These chickens will come home to roost in our back yard some day.
I had talked with Policeman Degan, a fine officer, before his death, as his beat was near where we lived, and knowing the man, I couldn't much blame his brother officers for losing their heads and wanting to wreak vengeance on all who upheld anarchy.
After the anarchist case was finished, I did all kinds of small jobs, such as "shadowing" bank clerks and officials, down to looking up a lost jewel or child. During this time I had to study the rules and regulations of the Pinkerton Agency, which were in book form. The next important case that I was put on was against the Irish National League, for the English government. About half a dozen of us "sleuths" were put on the case under the direct supervision of assistant superintendent John O'Flyn. This being such an important operation, Supt. Jamieson, a kind-hearted old man, called us all into his office and explained the importance of doing our best and not getting together when working around the Irish League headquarters. I was on this case over a month, and learned many new lessons. Operative Jakey Teufel and I went to Cincinnati, Ohio, with two Irish would-be destroyers of the English crown.
During the next couple of months I had many operations in the city of Chicago. They were of every class, some lasting for weeks, and others only for a few minutes or hours. A good share of the time was spent in the slums, or what should be called "Hell's Half Acre." Here I learned some valuable lessons in human nature and saw many eye-openers. I had one operation which was a picnic. It was easy, "all same" getting money from your wife's relatives. I was put to work "shadowing" a long-legged, redheaded banker. He had to be in the bank most of the day, but at night he showed me a touch of high life. He would go into tough places and drink wine with the inmates. I had to do likewise so as to find out how much money his Royal Nibs was blowing in. This was my first experience in having a "good time" at some one else's expense. We were glad when fall came and Mr. W. L. Pinkerton called me into his private office to tell me to get ready and move to Denver, Colo., there to join the force of their new office which was opened for business a few months previous. Our friends in Chicago were bidden farewell, and Mamie and little Viola were put into a Pullman sleeper and we turned our faces back toward the setting sun.
My work was of all kinds during this first winter in Denver. I had quite a lot of investigating to do, as well as helping to run down city crooks and law breakers in general. I helped break up a gang of crooked street car conductors who had duplicate punches to ring in on the company and thereby make from ten to twenty dollars a day each for himself.
Voter Fraud and the Archuleta County Uprising
Horses were the motive power then. Early in the spring of 1887 I was sent out on my first cowboy operation. In the southwestern part of Colorado on the border of New Mexico, was situated the County of Archuleta, the county seat being Pagosa Springs, and the nearest railroad being Amargo, New Mexico. What the Denver newspapers called anarchy, and a great uprising, had broken loose in this county which contained only about seventy-five voters. The residents of Archuleta county were mostly "Americans," but the Archuleta brothers of Amargo, New Mexico, ruled politically by flooding the county on election day with their New Mexican sheep herders who voted. Finally the citizens rebelled and drove all the county officials with the exception of the sheriff and county clerk, who joined the insurgents, out of the country. They even burnt up some of their property and threatened death if they ever returned. In order to retain their office by law, the five deported county commissioners, "Press" and "Don" Archuleta, Bendito Martinez, Mr. Scase and J. M. Archuleta, had to hold a county commissioners' meeting within sixty days; hence my being sent on ahead as a Texas outlaw, so as to be one of the revolutionists should a battle take place. In Durango, Colorado, I bought a horse and saddle and rode sixty miles to Pagosa Springs. Enroute I stopped at the G. cattle ranch and made myself solid with Gordon G., who was one of the ringleaders of the uprising and known as a "bad" man from Texas. While at the G. ranch I confided in Gordon by telling him of how I had killed three Mexicans in Texas and had to skip. He also told me of trouble he had in Texas. On reaching Pagosa Springs, I headed straight for the residence of E. M. Taylor, the County clerk, who was the brains and the leader of the revolutionists. I had made up my mind to establish myself at the Taylor residence if nerve and gall could accomplish the feat. Riding up to the porch I tied my horse and knocked on the front door. Mrs. Taylor appeared and informed me that her husband had gone to his sheep ranch, and would not be back till dark. I asked if I couldn't wait there until his return. She asked why I wished to see him. Told her that I wanted to live with them awhile. Here the little lady climbed upon her dignity and informed me that they did not keep boarders; that there were two hotels in town. She then slammed the door in my face. Recalling that old saying: "Faint heart ne'er won fair lady," I determined to try it. So unsaddling my pony and placing the saddle on the porch, I took the horse to the stable and gave him a good feed of grain and hay. Then returning to the porch, I lay down on the saddle. It was a damp, cold day, and through the window I could see Mrs. Taylor and her only child, a ten-year-old daughter, sitting by the blazing fire in the hearth. Through the window they could also see me. About dusk Mr. Taylor rode up on his horse and wanted to know what was up. I told him my tale of woe—that I had got into trouble in Texas and was hiding out—hence did not want to stop at a hotel. Also that I was a friend of Gordon G.'s. He replied that if I was a friend of Gordon's I could stop with them, providing he could get his wife's consent. He was absent in the house long enough to get the consent of ten men.
Mrs. Taylor was a splendid cook, and the warm supper hit the soft spot in my heart. And the nice clean bed in a cozy front room put me at peace with all the world. Shortly after I had established myself in the home of Mr. Taylor, the county commissioners, with the county judge, J. Archuleta, and the county attorney, Jas. L. Russell, returned from New Mexico under an escort of sixty mounted and well armed Mexicans. We revolutionists, about seventy-five strong, met them at the bridge spanning the San Juan river, and prevented them from entering the town. Communications were carried on through flags of truce. Our side were mostly wild and woolly cowboys and ranchmen, and we had plenty of liquor to keep up our fighting spirit. The county officials were camped in an old house on the opposite side of the swift flowing San Juan river, while their armed escort were housed in the vacated government barracks, a quarter of a mile distant from the river. A plot was laid to assassinate the seven officials at 3 A. M. Two men were to cross the river above town and slip along under the bank to a haystack which adjoined the house in which the officials slept. The haystack was to be set on fire. This would burn the house. Men secreted behind rocks on our side of the river were to shoot down the gentlemen as they ran out of the burning building. About 11 P.M. I waded the river half a mile above town and made a swift run to notify the armed guards doing duty at the old government barracks. Jose Martinez, brother to Bendito Martinez, promised that he would give me ample time to get back to the saloon where our mob was congregated, before notifying the officials. But this he failed to do; the result being that our guards on the bridge saw the officials running with their valises over to the camp of their fighting men. Then the drunken mob began counting noses to see who of their party were absent to have warned the enemy. Of course, I was missed. Hence when I returned there was something "doing," and they were determined to hang me. But my friends, Taylor, Dyke and Gordon, believed my protests of innocence and my life was spared. They decided to set a trap for me the next night. They concluded that if I were the guilty party I must have communicated the secret to Mrs. Scase, and she sent the news to her husband by one of her small boys. It puzzled them to know how I could have waded the swift river, which was waist deep, without wetting my clothes. They had felt to see if they were wet. They did not know that I disrobed while crossing the river.
County Commissioner Scase had a Mexican wife, and when the mob burnt up their residence and livery stable and escorted Mr. Scase over the line into New Mexico, they allowed Mrs. Scase and her children to occupy an old shack on the bank of the San Juan river. So at this shack the trap was set to catch me. They felt sure that if I were a detective I would communicate with Mrs. Scase. Therefore, they had two men detailed to watch this shack. They secreted themselves in a large wood pile near the front door. These men took turns about guarding. We had a dance that night. All attended but the men on duty guarding the bridge and the Scase shack. About 11 P.M. I walked in a round-about-way to the Scase residence to deposit some short hand notes in the back of an old oil painting which hung on the wall, and which had escaped the fire. I passed within a few yards of the wood pile where the armed guard was doing duty. Securing the door key under a board—where Mrs. Scase had promised to leave it—I entered the front room and deposited the notes. Then I sat on the edge of the bed talking to Mrs. Scase a moment. The children were sound asleep. In taking my departure I slipped a board out of place along the wall, facing the river, and made a jump of about twelve feet onto the rocky edge of the river. Mrs. Scase replaced the board. As soon as I entered the door the young man in the wood pile ran to the dance hall to tell the half drunken mob that the suspect was caught in the trap. All grabbed their rifles or shotguns and raided the Scase shack. I was told that Mrs. Scase stood pat and insisted that I had not been there.
When I entered the dance hall the ladies and children turned their gaze onto me. There were no men in the place but the two fiddlers. A runner was sent to inform the mob that I was in the hall. In a few moments the hall was a surging mass of armed men. Gordon G. touched me on the shoulder, saying: "Anderson, I want to speak to you." He led the way into a side room where there was a carpenter's work bench, and pointing to this bench, he asked me to sit down as he wished to ask me some questions. Around my waist were old Colt's 45 and a pearl-handled bowie knife. My first impulse was to draw the pistol and fight my way out, but on second thought I concluded that would be showing bad detective ability. I sat down on the bench facing Gordon, who stood six feet in his stockings, and was otherwise every inch a man. Placing both hands on my knees and looking me square in the face, he said: "Now, Anderson, I want you to tell me the truth. If you do I can save you, otherwise you are going to be killed. Now, remember, don't lie to me. I want the truth. Are you a detective?" I answered, "no." He then continued: "Well, what were you doing in Mrs. Scase's house tonight?" I replied that I did not know Mrs. Scase, nor had I ever been in her house. Said he: "Well, one of our men swears he saw you go in there." At this I jumped off the bench and with my hand on old Colt's 45, demanded that he show me the dirty whelp that would tell such a lie on me. And that if he said it to my face, one of us would have to die. I said this in a loud angry tone so that the mob in the hall could hear me. Gordon said: "I believe, Anderson, you are telling the truth. But keep cool, and I'll put you face to face with the man." We then walked into the hall and Gordon called the young man. As he stepped up I asked if he had lied about me. The result was the poor fellow weakened and said he could have been mistaken, but the man who entered Mrs. Scase's looked like me, but it being dark, he might have been mistaken. That settled it for the night, but next day the mob became drunk and unruly and were determined to hang me as a spy. It would require too much space to give the details. The result was that through hard lying I saved my neck and was promoted. Sheriff Dyke made me one of his special deputies at $4.00 a day, as long as I could remain. This money came in handy and it was all "velvet," that is, belonged to me individually.
Two days later, after being appointed deputy sheriff, I saved the lives of the county commissioners, the county judge and Attorney Russell, who, by the way, has since served as district judge of that district, and at the present writing, so I am told, is still an honored citizen of that county. A plot had been planned for both sides to stack all the fire arms and leave two men from each side to guard them. Then a meeting of the commissioners could sit in the court house. The scheme was to have some rifles cached and make a raid on the fire arms and their guards. Then the slaughter was to begin. All the county officials with the exception of Bendito Martinez had agreed to the plan. All were trying to get Martinez's consent. He finally caught my eye and I shook my head—as much as to say don't do it. That settled it. He stood pat and the plot fell through. I have heard it said that a Mexican can't take a hint, but Martinez caught a hint in a very light shake of my head. Poor fellow, he soon afterwards shot a man dead in the Durango court room, which broke him up financially, though I hear he is getting on his feet again.
After holding the county officials and their armed escort at bay for about four days, peace was declared by the leaders of the revolutionists being promised an even division of the political pie in future. Then the commissioners held their meeting and all departed for New Mexico. The blood of the insurgents had cooled off as the liquors in Bowland's saloon diminished, hence peace was declared under a flag of truce—a woman's white apron.
For the next six weeks I had nothing to do but play outlaw and eat Mrs. Taylor's good cooking. Whenever suspicious strangers appeared in town Sheriff Dyke would have me keep hid out until he could learn their business, for fear they might be Texas officers on my trail. Often I would be the sole occupant of the Taylor residence and at such times I would read Mr. Taylor's private political letters. His old love letters would be laid to one side. I had secured a key that fitted his desk.
There were piles of political letters for votes bought during past election. The ruling price of votes was two dollars in cash or one sheep. Most of the interesting political letters were from Billy Adams, brother of the twice governor of Colorado, Alva Adams. From these letters I learned many new lessons in up-to-date western politics. I appeared before the grand jury in the adjoining county of La Plata, at Durango, the judge of the court being Chas. D. Hayt, and the prosecuting attorney, G. T. Summer, with the result that sixteen of the leaders in the uprising were indicted. I then disposed of my horse and saddle and "sneaked" to an eastbound train for Denver. I had been on the operation about two months and during that time I dared not write reports or letters to my wife, nor receive mail from Denver, as the post office at Pagosa Springs was in the hands of the insurgents. I had used the name of Chas. Anderson on this operation.
Arriving in Denver, I was hurried away to the Republic of Mexico to run down an Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway brakeman who had stolen $10,000 from the Wells-Fargo Express Company at La Junta, Colorado, during the excitement of a train wreck. A ride of 700 miles on the A, T, & SF Ry. brought me to El Paso, Texas, and another 1,200 miles on the Mexican Central Railway brought me to the City of Mexico. On arriving there the first thing I did was to write a nice letter to my friend Taylor in Pagosa Springs, telling him that I had got a telegram from my brother in Texas warning me to skip, as the grand jury had found a true bill against me for murder, and that I intended to remain in the City of Mexico a month or so until my brother could get money to me; then I was going to lose myself in the wilds of South America. My address in the City of Mexico under a new assumed name was given to Mr. Taylor, and in the course of three weeks I received a nice long letter from him. He told me that the grand jury in Colorado had indicted him, Sheriff Dyke and fourteen of the other leaders, for running the county officials out of Archuleta county and burning their property. He said that they were all then under heavy bond, and on account of the mysterious way in which I left, they had laid their downfall on to my giving them away before the grand jury; that they were mad enough to murder me if I could have been found; that I only had one friend in Pagosa Springs who stuck up for me to the last and refused to believe me guilty, and that was his wife. He said that this showed how a woman could be a true friend when once her mind is made up. He assured me that no matter to what part of the earth I might drift, I could count on having true friends in Pagosa Springs, and that any time I should need money, to write him.
I have never seen any of the Archuleta county warriors since leaving there, hence I do not know whether I am regarded as an outlaw yet or not. I see by the papers that Taylor still lives in Pagosa Springs, which has grown to be an important railroad town, and that he is judge of the court there.
In dismissing the Archuleta County uprising, I wish to say that these men had good cause for revolting, as politics in that county were rotten. Most of them were honorable citizens, though a little rough and wild. Of course, I felt "sore" at them for wanting to hang me up by the neck.
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Home »Land Use»Green House»There's No Mistaking It. Change to 35th Ave NE Has Arrived.
This post was written by the 35th Ave Committee and originally occurred on the Future 35th Ave NE website.
There's no mistaking it, change is occurring along 35th Ave NE. Two "tear downs," including the Green House, are currently ongoing along 35th Ave NE to make way for new town homes. The Theodora is going to be remodeled soon. And the Bryant Heights development on the former Children's Home Society of Washington property will begin construction soon. Technically, all of these projects are occurring in the Ravenna-Bryant neighborhood, since they occur south of NE 75th Street which is the border of Wedgwood and Ravenna-Bryant.
Part 1: Why Plan for 35th Ave NE? Change is Inevitable.
Part 2: Why Plan for 35th Ave NE? Missed Opportunities.
In January, we published the Future 35th Ave NE — Final Plan and subsequently published the Supplemental Design Guidelines Handbook for 35th Ave NE thanks to the excellent work of our consultant team (Makers Architecture & Urban Design and SVR Design). The hope for these documents is that they provide early direction to current land owners, future developers, designers, and architects so that future projects help meet the needs for the overall community while still allowing developers to meet their own financial objectives.
The hope is that on future development projects, early direction and hopefully early coordination with the representative community councils will lead to improved projects, will provide the developer and neighborhood with greater predictability, and will result in an improved business district that better serves the surrounding community.


His tattoo artist has offered an explanation.
If you were scrolling through your Instagram feed yesterday, catching up on a weekend's worth of images, scrolling past the sea of Mother's Day throwback shots, you likely reached a semi-blurry up-close selfie of one Justin Bieber, earbud dangling out of his right ear, left hand pressed on top of his face. For Bieber, this semi-inscrutable, moody shot is of course not out of the ordinary, and you might have just scrolled past it, mindlessly, onto a bridesmaids shot posted by one of your college friends, or a picture of a lake posted by your ex's brother whom you can't bring yourself to unfollow. But, if you inspected the Bieber shot closer, if you upped the brightness on your phone to the maximum and maybe broke out a magnifying glass, you'd notice a little black speck to the side of Bieber's eye. And no, that speck is not a piece of licorice, or the remnants of an "I love you, Justin!!!!" message scrawled in Magic Marker by a fan across his head. It's a tattoo! Yes, a real tattoo, on his face.
Make sure to be kind to the Beliebers in your life today, as they struggle with whether or not to Photoshop the tattoo onto all of their Bieber iPhone wallpaper selections ("This is how he wants his face to look . . . maybe we should honor that, retroactively?!"), some no doubt debating whether or not to go get small tattoos next to their left eyes in solidarity.
Discovered when he was 14, 16-year-old Bieber has accomplished remarkable feats all within the past two years: a platinum debut album (My World), two Grammy nominations, four American Music Awards (he beat out Eminem and Lady Gaga for artist of the year), and a feature film, Never Say Never, out February 11. Did we mention a world tour?
Bieber wears a shirt by Gucci. Grooming products by Bumble and Bumble and Make Up For Ever. See complete credits.
"Check out my six-pack!" Bieber said (and we're not talking about Coca-Cola!). The September 2009 Vanity Fair collectors' issue, featuring Michael Jackson with a similarly exposed chest, happened to be found on set and prompted Justin's desire to emulate his moonwalking idol. "I want to be like Michael!" he exclaimed. Lisa Robinson's interview with a teenage Michael Jackson in this same issue excited the Biebs; the legendary music writer was soon to interview our present-day teenage sensation, leaving Michael and Justin with much more in common than just an open shirt.
Bieber wears a shirt by Band of Outsiders. See complete credits.
Bieber wears a turtleneck and jeans by Thom Browne New York; shoes by Keds. See complete credits.
Truly a modern-day Renaissance man, Justin attracts as many fans on the croquet court as he does on the stage. We hope a change of career is not in the near future, though one in croquet appears promising.
Bieber wears a shirt by Band of Outsiders; pants by Unis; shoes by Keds. See complete credits.
Beyond the camera's lens, the girls privileged enough to touch Justin were on the verge of fainting with delight. At one point bragging, "I got to touch Justin's heart!" one girl fulfilled the dreams of millions.
Bieber wears a turtleneck by Emporio Armani. See complete credits.
"What do I love about Justin? Everything!" said Justin's lucky lunch date. Her favorite part of the meal? Ice-cold lemonade, with an afternoon serenade on the side.
Bieber wears a cardigan by Band of Outsiders; T-shirt by the Gap; pants by Unis; shoes by Keds. See complete credits.
Dreads over threads, Justin's clothes were waterlogged while, at his insistence, his hair remained dry. Moments later, Justin and his team jetted to board a private plane to San Diego, so he'd have enough time to meet more fans before his arena show that night.
Bieber wears a shirt by Band of Outsiders; pants by Prada; shoes by Keds; sunglasses by Ray-Ban. See complete credits.


And there's some stiff competition. Over at Shakesville, Jeff Fecke has fisked two really ridiculous articles, both filled with misogyny so insane it has to be read to be believed. The first is from the Aspen Times Weekly, and is by a guy who claims that the white male is being ignored in this year's elections. The second is in The LA Times, and is even more egregious because the writer claims to be a liberal.
The 27-year-old Minnesota man pleaded guilty to fifth-degree assault charges for losing his temper on the way to class.
According to the criminal complaint, Boudin was waiting at a bus stop in August when he harassed a 59-year-old woman. Witnesses say he yelled "Why don't you show me some respect?" at the woman.
The complaint says when she took out her cell to call police, he punched her in the face. When a 63-year-old man tried to stop him, Boudin hit him with a blue folder. Then he ran, dropping the folder.
Nice work, Justin. You have managed to reach new heights in douchitude with these actions. I can't wait to see how you follow this one up.


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This was the first place to hear 'The Eagle has landed'
A penis transplant, giraffe necks and GMOs: What you may have missed in sci...
Why dying stars may be a good place to look for alien life
Why Congress's newest space advocate says the U.S. faces a 'Sputnik moment'
What SpaceX's landing means for commercial space travel
Elon Musk's SpaceX nails landing at sea
It turns out this planet has three suns in its sky
The latest picture of Rosetta's comet is truly breathtaking
The hunt for extraterrestrials turns to the 'dim bulbs of the universe'
Gaze into the heart of the Milky Way in the Hubble's latest image
Scientists have a wild idea for hiding us from evil aliens
Amateur astronomers captured footage of a space rock crashing into Jupiter
Volcanic activity may have shifted the moon's axis
Pluto may have had lakes and flowing rivers once
Astronomers saw an exploding star's shockwave for the first time ever
This comet will make a record-breaking pass by Earth (and still be super fa...
Five new studies on Pluto show just how weird the little planet is
The Hubble Space Telescope just spotted a gang of 'monster' stars
How this star's 'weather' could help us find alien life
Buzz Aldrin on March Madness, brackets and basketball on Mars (or something...
Results of NASA's twin study won't actually be released for a year or two
Commander Scott Kelly of NASA. (Joel Kowsky/NASA)
Rachel Feltman
Freelancer, Editor at Popular Science Magazine
March 4, 2016 at 8:16 p.m. UTC
Scott Kelly may be back on Earth (and back to his normal height) but his work as a guinea pig is just getting started. Kelly's record-breaking, year-long mission to the International Space Station is giving scientists across the country a treasure trove of valuable data to study, and NASA representatives say it could take two years for most of the related research to make it to the public.
In fact, Scott Kelly and his twin brother, Mark — who is being used as a sort of "control" for 10 experiments carried out over the course of the 342-day mission — will continue to report for NASA checkups and blood draws for another nine months. There are even samples taken aboard the ISS that won't return until May, when a SpaceX resupply vehicle equipped with a freezer comes back to Earth.
"Just because the flight's over doesn't mean the mission's over," NASA scientist John Charles said Friday during a news briefing. "The data analysis is only now beginning in earnest."
Have questions about NASA's #YearInSpace mission? Now's your chance to ask the scientists behind it.
Much of the data will be batch analyzed — examined by the same technician, at the same time and place, with the same equipment — in an effort to avoid variables that may be mistaken for changes that occurred in space.
NASA likes to give researchers "a solid year" to work with the data they're given, Charles explained, and then those findings will be submitted to scientific journals for peer review — a process in which uninvolved experts check the studies to see whether they seem sound.
Initial results that provide insights may be published a year from now, Charles said, but it's likely that most findings will come out a year after that.
So for now, we only have anecdotal feedback on Kelly's record-breaking jaunt into space: During the Friday news briefing, Scott and Mark Kelly both mentioned Scott's eye trouble — a common problem for astronauts. When asked how the year-long mission had compared with his previous six-month mission, Scott Kelly said that soreness was an issue.
"Initially, this time, coming out of the capsule I felt better than I did last time," Kelly said. "But at some point those two lines have crossed, and my level of muscle soreness and fatigue is a lot higher than last time."
Scott Kelly grew two inches in space — but NASA is more interested in changes we can't see
Kelly explained that some astronauts find the transition into life in space more tiring, and feel sick for awhile. He doesn't have that problem, but he does find the transition back to normal gravity to be difficult. But he added that he thought he could have gotten himself out of the Soyuz without help, had it landed upright — which is important, because astronauts landing on Mars after six months of space travel will need to stand on their own two feet. But the gravity there isn't quite as strong.
Kelly also mentioned a burning sensation in his skin that he hadn't experienced before.
"Because it hadn't touched anything in so long it's very very sensitive, it's actually a burning feeling," he said. It's been nearly a year since his feet regularly touched the ground or he sat down in a chair with the full weight of gravity pushing him into it, so he's slowly adjusting to having regular contact with surfaces again.
In addition to cellular, genetic and physiological studies, some of the researchers will focus on Kelly's psychological well-being. Kelly said repeatedly that he had felt good during the mission. But he still missed Earth.
"I think the only big surprise was how long a year is," Kelly said. "It seemed like I had lived there forever."
Kelly is hopeful that we'll make it to Mars — but he seemed confident during Friday's briefing that his time flying with NASA is over.
He said he would miss the sense of accomplishment and fulfillment he got from working in such a risky environment — one with such high stakes.
"If I never fly in space again, I'll find that in other areas of my life. . . but never in this way," he said.
And he expressed an interest in piloting a private spacecraft. "They might need a guy like me someday," he said, adding that he might even consider buying a ticket if recreational space travel opens up to the public.
Throughout the briefing, Kelly remained humble about his records — for the longest single spaceflight ever undertaken by an American and for the most total days in space ever held by the same.
"These records are made to be broken," he said, pointing out that some astronauts already have flights scheduled that will shatter his total day record.
And when asked how he felt about his sudden fame, he seemed surprised, saying he wasn't aware he had had such an impact on the public.
"Where've you been?" a reporter joked.
"I've been watching the presidential primaries," Kelly deadpanned.
Why American astronauts drink Russian urine
NASA needs 14 new astronauts. A record-breaking 18,300 folks applied.
How much longer will the space station last?
Someone once smuggled a sandwich into space, which is a horrible idea
How filthy is the International Space Station? An astrobiologist weighs in.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


With just Monday Night Football left to play in the NFL's Week 7, it's time to check in on some more PFF Elite stats, and this week we're going to be highlighting the league's inside linebackers and their best performers in every facet of the game for an inside linebacker.
PFF's "Run Stop Percentage" gives us a clear measure of a player's effectiveness against the run on a per snap basis, that looks far beyond just the number of tackles made.
In his first full season at the 3-4 inside linebacker position, the former safety-turned-linebacker is proving to be an integral part of Wade Phillips' defense in 2017. Through seven games of the season, Barron has played a total of 165 snaps against the run and has produced 27 tackles and 19 stops. Barron moved to linebacker full-time in 2016, and he has produced 52 total run stops since, the fourth-most among off-ball linebackers in that span.
Since he entered the league in 2012, Wagner has developed into one of the best all-around linebackers in the game, and his excellence in all facets is the reason he currently ranks first among linebackers with an 'elite' grade of 94.9. This season, against the run alone, he's played 133 defensive snaps and has tallied 15 stops, bringing his career run-stop total up to 194, the second-most among linebackers since 2012.
Martinez was selected with the 131st overall pick of the 2016 NFL draft, and has been a revelation against the run ever since. Since his first game as a pro, he's played more run defense snaps (392) and produced more run stops (41) than any other linebacker in his draft class. This year alone, Martinez has played 182 run defense snaps and notched 20 total stops, the second-most among inside linebackers.
PFF's "Tackling Efficiency" number shows the number of attempted tackles per missed tackle. The higher the number, the better the performance.
Heading into the 2017 NFL draft, one of the biggest concerns about the former Temple edge rusher was his lack of consistency while tackling. In his senior season alone, Reddick missed 15 tackles on 76 attempts and ranked 52nd of 57 draft-eligible 3-4 outside linebackers with a tackle efficiency of 4.8. However, Reddick deserves credit for cleaning up his act in his first year as a pro. Through seven games, Reddick has logged a total of 177 combined snaps against the run and the pass, attempted 17 tackles and is yet to miss as he adjusts to life as an inside linebacker rather than an edge rusher at the next level.
While he is being used in a far more reduced role than he has in years past, (he played 98.1 percent of his team's snaps in 2016, but has played just 29.8 percent of his team's snaps so far this year) Posluszny has been one of the most efficient tacklers in the league. Through seven weeks, he's played 135 snaps against the pass and the run, attempted 10 tackles, and like Reddick, is yet to miss. Posluszny last missed a tackle in Week 14 of the 2016 NFL season.
Another feather in the cap of the sixth-year linebacker, Wagner has played 370 snaps against the run and the pass this year, attempted 48 tackles and has missed just one, while defending the run. Wagner hasn't missed a tackle while in coverage since Week 9 of the 2016 season.
PFF's pass-rush productivity measures pressure tallied on a per-snap basis with a weighting toward sacks produced. It gives us an indication of a player's production in the pass-rush that goes beyond just sack-total and pressure rate.
So far this year, the fifth-year inside linebacker hasn't graded particularly well, in large-part due to inconsistency while tackling (he's missed eight tackles – third-most among linebackers). However, Ogletree has been incredibly productive in pass-rushing scenarios. Through seven games, the Rams have sent Ogletree to rush the passer on 39 of his 250 passing snaps, and he's produced two sacks, three hits and nine hurries – no inside linebacker has produced more pressure, or at a better rate.
When Greg Manusky took over as the Redskins defensive coordinator, he promised a more aggressive-style defense, and he's certainly kept his word thus far. Through five games, he's using Mason Foster's athleticism to great effect on blitzes, sending him to rush the passer on 20.0 percent of his passing plays. It's worked so far, producing one quarterback hit and seven hurries. Foster has the chance to add to his pressure total tonight on Monday Night Football.
When the Titans drafted Brown in the fifth-round on the 2017 NFL draft, they added one of the nation's top coverage linebackers. During his final year at UCLA, Brown recorded three interceptions and three pass breakups, while allowing a passer rating of 50.4 on throws into his coverage – the fourth-lowest rate in the draft class. While the Titans haven't quite seen that level of production at the pro level, he has been productive rushing the passer. Through seven games, Brown has notched 17 pass-rush snaps and tallied five total pressures (one hit and four hurries), with four of those pressures coming on third down.
PFF's signature "Yards Per Cover Snap" figure takes into account the total number of yards a player has allowed on throws into his primary coverage, factoring in the total number of snaps that player has played in coverage. It gives us a clear indication of a player's effectiveness and consistency against the pass more so than total numbers of touchdowns or interceptions could.
It's no surprise to see Johnson top this list, as he's spent the best part of three seasons cementing his place as arguably the best coverage linebacker in the game. Over the last three seasons, Johnson has played a total of 1,298 snaps in coverage and been targeted 116 times. He's allowed just 67.2 percent of those passes to be caught (best among linebackers with at least 75 targets over that span), he's tallied 10 pass breakups, three interceptions, allowed a passer rating of 73.2 (second best) and 0.49 yards per coverage snap (also the best mark among linebackers over that time). This season alone, he's played 244 snaps in coverage, allowed just six receptions from 16 targets, and has allowed a miniscule 0.23 yards per coverage snap.
Through seven games, McKinney has already shown improvement from his performance in coverage last year, where he allowed 44 receptions from 53 targets, five touchdowns and an average of 1.18 yards per coverage snap that ranked 45th of 57 linebackers with at least 156 snaps. This year, he's been much better, and has allowed just 56 yards from 12 targets on his 116 coverage snaps.
After the suspension of starting linebacker Brian Cushing, rookie inside linebacker Zach Cunningham was thrust into a starting role much quicker than many expected. However, he's made a good start in coverage through seven games, and has allowed just 87 yards on his 139 coverage snaps.


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Shoppers Drug Mart launches online nutrition service in Ontario
The secret ingredients: Tips for purchasing a restaurant franchise
The instant era: How to navigate customer feedback in the age of online reviews
Restaurant technology: Navigating the evolving preferences of consumers to influence trends
Sunset Grill turns up the heat with new Tabasco chipotle mashup
Franchise basics: Restaurant real estate
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Home > Franchise ABCs > Q&A with Frank Zaid: Forging strong franchise relationships
Q&A with Frank Zaid: Forging strong franchise relationships
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Q: How can franchisors and franchisees work together to forge good franchise relationships and avoid litigation?
A: This is a simple question that demands a fairly detailed answer. One key principle to keep in mind is it is up to both parties—i.e. the franchisor and the franchisee—to work together to establish and maintain a good, friendly working relationship. That said, the franchisor must take the lead, by setting up system-wide programs to help further such relationships.
Another key principle is good communication, which is fundamental to maintaining good franchise relationships.
Enabling positive communications
Successful franchise systems are built on trust and solid relationships. There will always be variations in terms of individual franchisees' performance and expectations. Experience has shown a lack of trust between a franchisor and its franchisees will arise in times of stress or upset.
Before getting to that point, then, it is important to explore how these parties will communicate and solidify their relationships. Communications can take many forms, but they need to be initiated at the outset and then on an ongoing basis by a proactive franchisor, whether through newsletters, e-mail blasts, a password-controlled intranet, peer review boards, franchise advisory councils (FACs), 'town hall' meetings, conferences, franchise conventions, independent ombudsman programs, a CEO's private hotline, controlled social media, field representative visits, performance reviews, training sessions and/or an online operations manual.
Progressive franchisors should also know how important it is to listen to their franchisees. They should encourage them to make suggestions and then, in turn, respond to those suggestions quickly and respectfully.
Franchisees, meanwhile, will appreciate learning about improvements that are being made to their franchise system as a direct result of their suggestions. Many franchisors have even established reward programs to recognize those franchisees whose suggestions are adopted as part of the franchise system. Others establish incentive programs, such as paid vacations, for franchisees who reach and exceed any performance targets that have been established by both parties.
You May Also Like The secret ingredients: Tips for purchasing a restaurant franchise
Similarly, franchisors should also react professionally and in a timely manner to their franchisees' complaints. Indeed, franchisees should be actively encouraged to voice their concerns and, if possible, to suggest practical and reasonable remedies to the problems they have identified.
Timely and informative communications coming from the franchisor can help to allay fears and build trust. Keeping franchisees informed early and frequently about important changes and milestones—including management appointments, succession plans, new competitors, franchise openings, market research into consumer preferences, industry regulations, updates to system standards, individual franchisees' successes, technology enhancements, graphic standards for marketing and advertising, crisis management programs and social media initiatives—can prevent suspicion and rumours among them.
Communication Franchise Relationship Franchisor Frank Zaid


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text:
Solo De Concours, Op. 10
By Henri Rabaud
B-Flat Clarinet
Southern Music Company
(1) 1 Review Write a Review
https://www.sheetmusicplus.com/title/solo-de-concours-op-10-sheet-music/190236?ac=1&aff_id=69435
Clarinet, Woodwinds - Grade 5
Clarinet. Composed by Henri Rabaud (1873-1949). Woodwind Solos & Ensembles - B-Flat Clarinet. Southern Music. Set of performance parts. Composed 1901. 13 pages. Southern Music Company #SS282. Published by Southern Music Company (HL.3773903).
ISBN 9781581064520. 9x12 inches.
It is not difficult to understand why Henri Rabaud's 'Solo de Concours' (Contest Solo) for the clarinet has been popular ever since its composition in 1901. It is so entirely in the idion of the instrument, and as grateful as any piece of music ever written for the clarinet. It was composed for the graduation and solo competition for the Paris Conservatory and was used again for the competition in the years 1908, 1915, 1925, and 1937.
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B-Flat Clarinet Sheet Music
Montevallo, AL
January 07, 2009 Excellent!
A great piece and a great edition! I enjoy playing it!
25 of 54 people found this review helpful.


A few brave staffers gave up solid food for a three-day nutritional juice fast. Learn about the experience, and how to try your own juicing adventure.
If you want to fill your body with some all-natural juice goodness but don't have your own juicer at home, grab some tasty locally made juices.
Available for delivery and made locally.
It was the second night of my first-ever juice fast, and my stomach was grumbling so loudly I thought maybe there was a garbage truck outside my window. I was used to feeling hungry at this point, but all the noises coming from my gut proved that my stomach wasn't happy. It wanted solid food. It wanted something to digest. It was angry.
When we decided to write about a juice cleanse, we knew it was only proper to try one ourselves. And because I'm the office guinea pig, the story was assigned to me. Editor Katie Pollock Estes and Assistant Editor Ettie Berneking joined me for support, and Dr. Steven Loehr of Loehr Chiropractic came up with a juice cleanse that had us drinking four juice meals each day for three days.
First came shopping for our produce. Those who already know about juicing know that making even one glass of juice requires a ton of ingredients. We each had two green juices a day to gulp down, and each single green juice recipe is made with two green apples, one head of Swiss chard, one head of romaine lettuce, one head of red leaf lettuce and two cups of spinach. Imagine all of that, but for three people, in a grocery cart. That doesn't include the ingredients for the other three juices we each had to drink. It was nuts! Also, Loehr stressed the importance of buying organic produce, so we bought as much organic as possible, and I cleaned out the grocery store shelves on several occasions. We ended up going to the store every day and spent a total of approximately $260.
Next came making the juices. Loehr recommends making juices fresh every time you drink them, especially the green juices (because they oxidize quickly). We didn't have time for this, so we decided to just make all of the day's juices at once every morning. On day one we used an older juicer that belongs to one of our staffers. Long story short, it was a bit past its prime. It took us from 8:30 a.m. to nearly 11 a.m. to make everything. To save us from our sorrows, Loehr let us borrow his juicer, a Breville model that costs about $450. This thing was like a shiny new Cadillac compared to the old juicer, and we cut our prep time drastically. Even with a quality juicer, it still took a lot of time to prepare the vegetables, juice everything and clean it all up. If you're going to juice, be sure to plan for the time commitment.
The hardest challenge was following through with the all-juice diet. Each juice was surprisingly tasty. (In fact, I still catch myself craving the morning Jitter Juice!) The hardest thing for me was breaking the habit of eating and then finding ways to get past the hunger.
We were allowed as much apple-carrot snack juice as we wanted, but at times, this wasn't enough. I missed chewing. I missed cooking dinner. Ettie caved and ate dark chocolate each day, and Katie had some grilled Brussels sprouts on night two. But I made it the entire time, passing up an office party with tons of snacks, a free treat from an ice cream truck and even a deep-dish pepperoni pizza that was brought to my house. I went without solid food for three entire days.
It wasn't easy. My brain was foggy, and it was killer falling asleep while I felt hungry. I was also particularly irritable. I found myself secretly angry at every staff member who said, "Oh, can I try a sip?" I'd say "sure" and pass it over with a smile, but I was inwardly cursing them for taking a few of my precious calories just to feed their curiosity.
But in the end, it was worth it. I lost 4.6 pounds (probably a lot of water weight, but it's still nice to see the number on the scale go down). And although I had moments when my brain was hazy, it cleared up by the time I was done. Most of all, the experience gave me a great jump start on eating healthier, and I loaded my body with tons of good-for-me stuff in the process.
7 a.m.: "Jitter Juice." Drink this juice first thing in the morning, within the first hour of being awake. It will give you a jump-start.
11 a.m.: "The Leprechaun." Drink this juice late morning or for lunch.
Note: Drink as much of each juice as you need to in order to stay full. Supplement with carrot and apple juice in between. You need to be having some kind of juice at least every 2 hours. Also, have one glass of straight orange juice every day (preferably in the morning).