The government authorities took steps to prevent the disease from getting a foothold in the ranges and grazing sections of the West. “The government will kill all infected animals,” said Secretary of Agriculture Houston. “It will stop all movement of infected cattle from infected areas, and will do everything to localize the epidemic.” That the foot-and-mouth disease cannot be transmitted to human beings by eating the flesh of diseased animals, but can be contracted by drinking unboiled milk or butter made from the milk of an infected cow, is the statement made by doctors who have studied the disease. Fate Calls Upon a Modern Valjean. This is a story of a few sheets of legal cap paper faded and yellow with age, a modern Jean Valjean, whose quarter of a century of peace and industry may end in a black cloud of misery and death, and a passionate crime in which brother slays brother. Unlike Victor Hugo’s celebrated character, this modern Valjean has not mounted the rostrum of justice to proclaim his guilt and true self before the wide world, but, to the contrary, the man accused refuses to acknowledge the alleged facts and criminating evidence that the hand of the law spreads before him. Recently carpenters moving an old desk in the district attorney’s office in Pittsburgh, Pa., accidentally broke open a locker, from which tumbled a number of dusty papers. Among them were the verdict and minutes of a coroner’s inquest and an indictment for murder. The papers recalled the crime of almost a quarter of a century ago. In 1892, Joseph Gantt and his brother Frank were ex-convicts. Both had served their time, reformed, gone to work, and were living with their parents in Pittsburgh. On the day before the murder, just twenty-two years ago, Frank Gantt was picked up by the police on the strength of his former record. At the dinner table the following night, Joseph accused Frank of returning to his old ways of crime and bringing more disgrace on their aged parents. The charge resulted in an argument. The table was upset as both men jumped to their feet. The lamp was dashed to the floor and the room was in darkness. When lights were restored, Frank was dead on the floor from a knife wound and Joseph was gone. The story was told at the coroner’s inquest. Sisters and brothers were brought before the grand jury, and an indictment was returned. Then Fate smiled on the man who wished to reform, tucked the papers in an out-of-the-way corner of the district attorney’s desk, and left them a score of years until her smile faded. When Assistant District Attorney John Dunn brought the papers to the office of the county detective department in Pittsburgh, Detective E. E. Clark was interrogating Miss Ethel Reese in regard to another case. The girl is not as old as the musty papers. “Ever hear of Joe Gantt?” asked Dunn. “Not that I remember,” replied the detective.