Daily National Democrat

Mysterious.—Just as the round, red sun was setting behind the distant Buttes, gilding their aerial summits with the farewell glories of the day, and ere the twilight harmonists—those evening revellers, the frogs—had begun their devotional hymns to the silver-smiling Vesper, two strangers, of decidedly rustic mien and carriage, might have been seen, nay, they were seen, to meet in front of Mike Burns's place of holding forth on D street. They were strangers to the bystanders, but evidently not to each other, for they seemed to have a feeling of mutual ill will and antagonism which could not have existed between two strangers casually meeting, as they did. Not a word that we could hear was uttered, but as suddenly as a flash of lightning, and with a shock like that of a couple of ram's heads joining in mid air, they came together. Dire and fierce was the conflict, and brief as it was terrible. As the dust cleared away, it was observed that one of the twain was pretty badly whipped. One walked one way, and the other another, no word of explanation being offered by either party; and thus was begun and ended a somewhat mysterious affair.