ity,
and in_ THE STANDARD BEARERS, _tells of their daring exploits. This
story is taken from that book_.

ISRAEL DRAKE

BY

KATHERINE MAYO

Israel Drake was a bandit for simple love of the thing. To hunt for
another reason would be a waste of time. The blood in his veins was pure
English, unmixed since long ago. His environment was that of his
neighbors. His habitat was the noble hills. But Israel Drake was a
bandit, just as his neighbors were farmers--just as a hawk is a hawk
while its neighbors are barnyard fowls.

Israel Drake was swarthy-visaged, high of cheek bone, with large, dark,
deep-set eyes, and a thin-lipped mouth covered by a long and drooping
black mustache. Barefooted, he stood six feet two inches tall. Lean as a
panther, and as supple, he could clear a five-foot rail fence without
the aid of his hand. He ran like a deer. As a woodsman the very deer
could have taught him little. With rifle and revolver he was an expert
shot, and the weapons he used were the truest and best.

All the hill-people of Cumberland County dreaded him. All the scattered
valley-folk spoke softly at his name. And the jest and joy of Israel's
care-free life was to make them skip and shiver and dance to the tune of
their trepidations.

As a matter of fact, he was leader of a gang, outlaws every one. But his
own strong aura eclipsed the rest, and he glared alone, in the thought
of his world, endued with terrors of diverse origin.

His genius kept him fully aware of the value of this preeminence, and it
lay in his wisdom and pleasure to fan the flame of his own repute. In
this it amused him to seek the picturesque--the unexpected. With an
imagination fed by primeval humor and checked by no outward
circumstances of law, he achieved a ready facility. Once, for example,
while trundling through his town of Shippensburg on the rear platform of
a freight train, he chanced to spy a Borough Constable crossing a bridge
near the track.

"Happy thought! Let's touch the good soul up. He's getting stodgy."

Israel drew a revolver and fired, neatly nicking the Constable's hat.
Then with a mountaineer's hoot, he gayly proclaimed his identity.

Again, and many times, he would send into this or that town or
settlement a message addressed to the Constable or Chief of Police:--

"I am coming down this afternoon. Get away out of town. Don't let me
find you there."

Obediently they went away. And Israel, strolling the streets that