The Fruit-Seller's Wife Who Kept a Loaded Winchester by the Cradle

A nervy young woman who never tried to circumvent a tramp until he attempted to break into her house, but who handles a rifle with the skill and rapidity of a professional, is Mrs. Uly Taylor, of 923 Lewis street. The man who so persistently sought to enter her home last Wednesday night now knows to his sorrow. Mrs. Taylor fired one shot — not from a window, but just by way of warning to compel him to a sense of the great risk he was running.

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor occupy the one-story modest house at 923, which stands isolated, its nearest neighbor being some thirty-five yards away. The husband, Isaac Taylor, runs a shooting gallery along the corner of South Third and Washington streets in connection with a fruit stand, both of which keep him downtown as late as 11 o'clock at night. The young wife, with her first-born, just two months old, keeps the little home and has to remain alone until the homecoming of her husband. She is quiet, modest and unassuming, and her retiring disposition might lead to the belief that she is timid. At least some persistent loafer thought so and attempted to take advantage of his conclusions. It is safe to say, however, that he no longer thinks so and is not likely to again tempt fate with the possible result of finding a ball go screwing through his vitals, as it surely will if he comes again.

The door of the house is a weak affair and every night Mrs. Taylor, besides locking it, braces it with a wooden chair caught under the knob. Last Tuesday evening, while about to retire, she heard someone noiselessly try the door. She called out, inquiring, "Who is there?" No reply was made, and in a few moments she saw that whoever it was was trying to push in the frail outer door. She reached for her trusty rifle and called out, warning the man of his danger and threatening to fire through the door. The fellow heeded the warning and quickly ran away. The wife reported the matter to her husband on his return, and both concluded that the marauder would not again dare return. He was persistent, however, and did return.

On Wednesday evening, shortly after 9 o'clock, after Mrs. Taylor had retired for the night, she heard the same stealthy steps creeping up to the door. Most women would have screamed and fainted. Mrs. Taylor did neither. She gave the baby an extra tuck, got out of bed, picked up her Winchester rifle, and waited developments. The same maneuver was gone through; the knob of the door was turned and tried, and then the heavy pressure again brought against the door and a strong effort made to burst it in. The chair used as a brace, however, saved both the door and the man's life, for had the door and the chair given away, the man would have been killed in his tracks, as Mrs. Taylor stood ready with the gun to her shoulder, cocked and ready to fire if necessary. She called out in a loud, firm voice, warning the fellow away and again threatening to fire through the door if he did not make tracks. The fellow, as a matter of precaution, jumped away from the door, but crouched close to the house, evidently planning another attack.

Mrs. Taylor all this time was in the dark — there was no light in the room into which the front door opened. There was a window a few feet away from the door which was partly raised. Mrs. Taylor went to this, the darkness of the room completely concealing her and the bright moonlight without giving her the advantage. She saw the crouching figure of the man, who, after waiting what seemed to Mrs. Taylor an hour, roused himself again and this time came toward the window.

Mrs. Taylor felt that the time for decisive action had come. She was cool and collected enough to think. She did not want to kill the man, so she determined to fire close enough to him to let him know she meant business from her standpoint as much as he did from his. So she thrust the barrel of the rifle through the window and, pointing it a little to the right of the man, fired. That was enough. The fellow gave a loud grunt, turned and fled with a rapidity that showed he was thoroughly frightened. Mrs. Taylor heard his retreating footsteps with a grim satisfaction, and had a humorous desire to accelerate his going with another shot, but felt satisfied to let well enough alone.

"I am not at all afraid, but think my wife can take care of herself," said the husband of this brave woman to a reporter of the Post-Intelligencer last evening. "I had a shooting gallery last summer and my wife commenced practicing, and in a short time became so proficient that she could knock out a spot the size of a half dollar at 100 yards every shot. She takes naturally to firearms and handles them with the skill of a professional. Of course I mean rifles, as she does not care for a revolver."

"I wouldn't think of leaving her alone in such a shack half the night were it not that I have full confidence in her bravery, coolness and determination, and any man who breaks into that house takes his life in his hands."

Mr. Taylor said he knew of no enemies that either he or his wife had in that neighborhood or anywhere else, and he could think of no one who could be guilty of persecuting his wife. About a year ago a neighbor had seen someone prowling around the house on a moonlight night, but that was all. Mr. Taylor says that he knows his wife will shoot to hit at the next man who tries the same game, and he has advised her so to do and ask no questions.