A Midnight Ride, a Volley of Shots, and No One to Blame

A man—an entire stranger to Mr. Stage? Wednesday evening, at a decorous hour, after the shades of night had fallen down so thick as to limit the vision of anything short of a lynx, Mr. Stage, who nurses trees and shrubs and so forth up to maturity on a farm only a short distance from the city, on the Moran prairie road, was wending his way homeward on horseback, wrapped in religious reverie—and presumably a clear conscience. When approaching the eastern edge of town his reflections were scattered and a feeling of insecurity aroused by the sudden and by no means reassuring noise created by a succession of shots from several revolvers. Mr. Stage was not frightened—very much—but there seemed such an indescribable uncertainty as to the manner in which the unknown hangers could or would point their weapons, and there is such an unpleasant feeling generated by the thought of laying out all night a lonely, chilly, awe-inspiring corpse, and something so repugnant and disagreeable about the idea of having a band of physicians hovering over one plugging up holes, that Mr. Stage concluded that it was far more in conformity with safety to pull out of the malarial district. He had the wonderful presence of mind to pitch his voice out into the dark and ask an introduction to the parties, and inquire as to the cause of the racket, but as the shooters did not seem desirous of enlarging their circle of acquaintances, and as a shot or two more was thrown in for change, the wayfarer concluded to alter his mind and not go home for an hour or two, anyhow; and as there could be no object in lingering in the middle of the road he turned the nose of his horse toward the protecting lights of the city and did not lose any unnecessary time in getting out of the way. The officers were informed of the dangerous condition of affairs, and while it was kind of jeopardizing the funds of a life insurance company to face the danger supposed to be lurking on the suburbs, the officers nevertheless hastened out but were unable to discover the actors in the drama. Mr. Stage succeeded in reaching home in safety during the night, and we suppose is thankful to Providence that he escaped without being turned into a lead mine. Shooting around in the city is against the law, and if people can find no other method of enjoying themselves they should be made to pay for the indulgence. This escapade we suppose was merely a joke of some of the boys, but had they been caught the funny part of it would have been entirely lost to them.