text: XD idprrof DIaIxSJ fc^'-.igE3 i^Ziy— 5 l i**K7Jß®3<s E ¥*- --WSjri AgJ/wiLLiAM 7] I '7 s r/1 iMACLEODftwB gg&Tr^^^SWfl _ - 3=-' 'A ffa ffiSy 1 QM^ : *Uxj^ tN s zAerv^f 8 ”^- THE STORY SO FAR: Buck Hart, brother of Sheriff Hart, is found with a bullet in his back. He was “dryguished” by the big cattlemen, said his friends, some of them rustlers. He himself was believed to be one. At the general store Terry asked for stock in the company, provided he was made manager. Since nobody in the territory knew cows better than Terry the directors jumped at the offer. The news of the deal shocked the small settlers. They felt that he had betrayed them. A bitter resentment wiped out his popularity. Politically the small man dominated the county. The nesters combined with the people of the towns to elect tickets opposed to the cattle barons. CHAPTER HI Terry tightened the saddle cinch, taking more time over it than was necessary. When at last he mounted and turned his back to the men watching him he held his horse to a walk. His enemies were not going to have it to say of him that he had dragged out of town on the run. He caught a glimpse of a face staring at him from a grimy window of the Red Triangle Saloon. A A moment later a gun roared. His hat tilted forward. Through the brim and the crown a bullet had torn its way. Calhoun Terry dismounted. He walked back along the wooden sidewalk, close to the wall, and pushed through the swing doors of the Red Triangle. They had tried to kill him from cover. He would find out if they would dare to do it in the open. Three customers were at the bar. Alford—Turley—Brand. The gaze of Terry picked them up in turn. It observed also that the back door was ajar. He had a mental vision of somebody vanishing into the alley swiftly a moment before his entry, a heavy-set, bowlegged man with an ugly, sullen face. Most of those present were strongly individual of wild and reckless temperaments, familiar with danger, and because of it they saluted in their hearts the cynical audacity of the man who faced them with contemptuous scorn. “By God, you take the cake. Terry.” Brand said with a hard laugh. “You got away with it at Evans’ store. Don’t you reckon you’re pressing your luck too far?” The cattleman ignored the question. “Didn’t Lee Hart have time to shut the door when he ran away?” Terry asked, his voice gentle, almost caressing. There was a pause, too long, before Brand spoke. Hart hasn’t been here.” There was another moment of silence before Turley answered: “We heard a shot. It didn’t come from here, if that’s what you mean.” The cowman stretched out his left arm and laid a Forefinger on the hole in one of the panes of the window beside him. “My mistake,” he said. “Fellow shot that hole in the window in a row two months ago,” the bartender explained. Terry did some swift guessing. The bullet which had passed through his hat had come from a rifle. The sound of the shot told him that. But Hart had been armed only with a revolver. Therefore, he had borrowed the saloon Winchester. Since he was in a hurry to get away unnoticed, he had not taken it with him. The weapon must still be in the room, but Calhoun's searching eyes had not found it. Probably somebody had passed it to the saloon man, who had hurriedly put it under the bar. Terry held out an expectant hand. "Give me that rifle under the bar," he ordered. The bartender's eyes grew big. "Why, Mr. Terry, I—I don't reckon—" "The rifle," interrupted Terry coldly. "You don't have to give it to him. Hank," Brand told the man. "This fellow ain't cock-a-doodle-doo in this town." Apparently the bartender was of a different opinion. He stooped down and passed a rifle across the top of the bar. An investigation showed that it had been fired very recently. Terry laughed scornfully and handed it back to the man in the white apron. "Someone may want it again to shoot me in the back when I leave," he said. Terry's gaze passed to rest on Alfred. "I'm a little surprised at you. Roan. When I was your neighbor you wouldn't have stood behind a scoundrel who tried to shoot another man." In the back.” Alford shifted uneasily on his feet. A flush crept up into his wrinkled face. “I don’t stand back of anyone doing it now,” he said. Calhoun Terry gave him a long, keen look. He could see that the little man was embarrassed and ashamed. “I get it, Roan. Lee took you by surprise. Didn’t give you time to stop him.” He let his cold eyes sweep the room again disdainfully, then turned and pushed through the swing doors. Walking to his horse, he mounted and rode away at a road gait. Though it was not yet seven o’clock the morning sun flooded the land with light. So still was the air that even the aspen leaves did not tremble. It seemed to Ellen Carey, during that momentary impression, a country without voice and empty of life. Yet the fugitive thought had not faded from her mind before a meadowlark flung out its gay and joyous song, before she saw outlined against the horizon a file of antelope passing through the sagebrush. It was all familiar to her, yet how good to see again! For five years she had been away at school with in Round Top, Calhoun Terry, manager of the Diamond Reverse B ranch, rescues intimations that he knows about the killing. Terry was formerly a small rancher. He sold his place to the big ranch and won the enmity of the small rancher in Kansas City, and during that time she had been at home rarely and for short holidays. She turned Buck’s head toward the ranch. Breakfast would be waiting for her, and Lane Carey liked to have his daughter eat with him. She guessed how lonesome it had been for him during the years she had been away. At the top of the first rise she stopped a moment to look down into the valley where the Box 55 lay among the cottonwoods by the river. From the hollow beyond, rose a cloud of slowly moving dust. She knew what that meant. Cattle or horses were on the march, traveling so steadily that she could tell they were being driven. Somebody must have got an early start. A rider showed on the nearer lip of the hollow. While she watched, a second came out of the valley and joined him. One of the men rode a bay horse, the other a black. It was too far to be sure, but she thought she recognized the one on the bay. There was a lithe grace about the figure that suggested Jeff Brand. A faint pink beat into her cheeks. That reckless ne’er-do-well had been in her thoughts a great deal during the past two weeks. She found the combination of deference and audacity in him fascinating. Apparently one of the riders caught sight of her. Both of them looked in her direction for a moment, then disappeared into the valley from which they had come. At breakfast Ellen mentioned the riders she had seen. Lane Carey was a man of great promise. A moment later a gun roared. "I took this more seriously than she had expected. "You weren’t near enough to know who they were?" The girl’s answer was delayed only a fraction of a second. She told the truth, with a reservation. "No." Carey Lane was an honest man. He had cows himself, and no man could say he used a running-iron too freely. Though times were hard, he had made a reasonably good living because he had the post-office at Black Butte and ran the stage station. But some of his neighbors were hard pressed. Low prices and short feed had kept them impoverished. Until recently they had made ends meet by working part time for some of the big cattle outfits. But the large ranches, owing to the prevalence of rustling, had made a ruling not to employ any man who had cattle of his own. The result had been to increase rather than decrease thefts. He rose from the table and picked up a dusty, weather-beaten hat. “Wish you’d take care of the mail today, honey,” he said. “I got to help Jim fix the pasture fence. May not be back in time.” “All right, dad.” She looked him over critically, as the daughter of a widower grown careless of his appearance is likely to do. He wore no coat. His vest and trousers were wrinkled, and the run-down at the heel boots would have been rejected scornfully by a tramp. “We’re going to get you some new boots next time we go down to Round Top.” He raised a protesting hand. "Now, don’t you go to tidin’ your old father. These boots are right comfortable. I got them broke in fine, and I wouldn’t swap them for new ones.” Black Butte was the halfway house of the stage line. The passengers and driver ate dinner at the Box 55 every day but Sunday. Ellen spent most of the morning at the house. When the stage rolled up to the door, Ellen was at the post-office waiting for the lean sack of mail the stage-driver flung on the table for sorting. Six passengers emerged from the Concord and streamed to the eating-house. During the hour, the stage was there, Black Butte was a gathering place for the neighborhood. Men sat on the porch and exchanged gossip. Cowboys on the bread line came here to learn what ranches needed riders. Snatches of talk drifted back to Ellen. She caught the name “Buck Hart” once, and two or three times that of his brother Lee. They were connections by marriage of the Carey family; rather remote, but they called her Cousin Ellen. The girl had raised no objection, though she had no great interest in them. Men. They regarded him as having gone over to the enemy. He had been their leader and they resented deeply an act which they somehow regarded as somehow not in accord with the interests of the smaller ranch owners. Through the window, she caught sight of a man alighting from a sorrel horse. A faint excitement stirred in her. She heard someone walking across from the big house. Her father said, “How’s everything, Jeff?” The drawling answer was, “Fine and dandy, Lane.” Carey relieved his daughter and she walked out of the post-office. Three men lounged on the porch. One of them joined Ellen and strolled to the house with her. “Thought I saw you this morning while I was riding,” she said. Brand slanted a look at her. “Not unless you were up at Jack Turley’s place,” he answered. “I’ve been busy breaking a colt to the saddle.” “No, I was out Flat Top way.” He shook his head. “Must have been someone else.” He smiled at her. “I’ll have to do better than that. Can't have you mistaking every bowlegged waddy for me.” “It doesn’t matter, does it?” “A lot. Take a good look at me, young lady.” She did not avail herself of the offer. “I’ve seen you before,” she mentioned. “And you’ll see me again, any number of times.” “Dear me! Is that a threat or a promise?” she asked lightly. His cool eyes rested on her dark good looks. “It’s a promise, to myself.” “You don’t know how grateful I am,” she mocked, with an ironic curtsey. “Are you grateful enough to let me take you to the Sleepy Cat Ranch dance?” he wanted to know. She considered that a moment. “No, I don’t think so.” She added, “Of course I’m greatly flattered.” “Why won’t you go with me?” “Must I give reasons?” “Are you going with someone else?” “Since you ask—yes.” “Since you ask—yes.” “Since you ask—yes.” Who?” “You’ll find out in time, if you are there.” He did not like it. She saw that. There was a suggestion of sulkiness in his good-looking face. “I hope he’ll enjoy himself, whoever he is.” There was an implication in his manner that the unknown escort might not find pleasure in all of the evening. “I do hope so. If he looks bored, it will be a bad social start for me, won’t it?” “He won’t be bored,” Brand predicted. “I’ll help you entertain him.” Ellen read into his words vindictive resentment. She stopped, slim and straight, dark eyes flashing. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Brand.” “It will be a pleasure,” he told her. They had reached the house. The girl moved up the porch steps and turned to look down at him. She said slowly, “I can see I’m not going to like you.” Not at all abashed, he smiled up at her confidently. “Oh, yes, you are. Very much. I’ll take care of that.” She felt anger stirring in her. “Some people would call it impudence,” she said, a tide of color in her cheeks. Ellen turned and walked into the house, leaving him there. In Jeff’s eyes, as he walked back to the post-office, little devils of mischief gleamed. Long ago he had discovered that one way to stir a girl’s interest in him was to arouse her resentment. It kept her mind full of him while she was devising ways of satisfying it. His quick glance picked up another horse at the hitch-rack across the road from the post-office. It did not take him a second look to read the brand. “A gent from the Diamond Reverse B with us this morning?” Asked one of the loungers. “His royal moustache,” a young man in chaps answered. “None other than Mr. Calhoun Terry.” Terry came out to the porch, let his gaze drift around slowly, and crossed the road to his horse. There was a cool arrogance in the way he ignored Brand that got under that young man’s skin. Jeff could not let it alone. “I see you are still wearing the hat that went to the wars, Mr. Terry,” he jeered. “Did you do anything about that matter you were going to take under consideration?” Without a word Terry swung to the saddle and jogged down the road. Jeff glared angrily at his broad, flat back, then turned and walked into the office. “What did Terry want?” he asked abruptly. Carey looked at him, surprised. “Wanted to know if I had seen anything of a bunch of she stuff missing from a park where he had them herded.” “What did you tell him?” “I don’t like the way you ask that question, Jeff,” the ranchman said quietly. Brand corrected his manner. “Sorry. I meant, were you able to give him any information?” “I told him Ellen had seen a bunch being driven into the hills,” Carey said, the eyes in his tanned, leathery face without expression. “Who was driving it?” “She wasn’t close enough to tell.” That night at supper Ellen said to her father, “Are you going to beau me to?” The Sleepy Cat dance?” “What’s the matter with the young men? Are they all asleep?” he asked. “Not all of them. I had an invitation from a very good-looking man.” (TO BE CONTINUED) THE ELT MINER, ELT. MINN. Kathleen Norris Says: When Your Husband Falls in Love Also working there is a woman, Daughter’s attitude is that as nobody’s happy, very beautiful and unscrupulous, under the present arrangement why not break it? She has my husband completely be- all up and try the new one? By KATHLEEN NORRIS WHEN a man, after twenty years of marriage, gets tired of his wife, neglects her, hurts and insults her, and openly admits that he wants to be freed to marry another woman, what is the wife to do? This isn’t a new problem, but the shock and helplessness of it make it seem eventually new to every woman to whom it comes. Sometimes this shock, coming to her at a bad physical moment, almost upsets her reason for a time. Such a danger seems to me very close to Emily Baker, who writes me from a big Massachusetts manufacturing town. Emily will be fortunate if she can hold to her reason and keep her balance in the months ahead. If she can, I think I can promise her happiness and serenity when this time has gone by. A Quarter Century of Work. Emily is 50; she has been married 27 years. She has a married daughter living in the West; a married son living near her, and a young daughter and son still at home. She married for love, worked hard as a young wife and mother, never had a servant until a few years ago. For a whole quarter century she washed, cooked, dusted, made beds. Dressed babies, dressed babies, served meals, helped school children with their lessons, packed picnic baskets, trimmed Christmas trees. “Tom always came first with me,” says her tear-stained letter. “Dinner every night included something that ‘Daddy’ especially liked, the children must be respectful, considerate of him when he was tired, they must remember his birthday. They all love him dearly, as indeed I do—or did. “My younger son, now called by the draft, is closely devoted to his mother. But my unmarried daughter, Alida, thinks her father can do no wrong. And he is doing wrong now, my good, patient, generous husband of a few years ago. Alida works in his office, and also working there is a woman some 10 years older than she, divorced, with a boy of five, very beautiful and unscrupulous. She has my husband completely bewitched. “He began by being irritable and unreasonable with me, and impatient because I was so often nervous, tired, and sensitive. I feel myself to be old, gray, useless and homely these days, and what I see in my mirror only confirms the impressions. But I need tenderness so, and the security of my home! And those are just the things he proposes to take away. He is handsome, rosy, strong and young at 53, and seems years younger than I. “Tom wants a divorce. He wants to bring his young wife here and have her keep house for him and Alida when Don goes to camp in June and I go west to visit my daughter when her baby comes. He says I am to go to Reno, stay with Betty as long as I like, ‘visit’ anywhere I choose. I cannot express to you the forlornness of this prospect without him and without any one of the children, who have been all my world for so many years! I am not a baby, I am not pitying myself, but under no circumstances could I compete in beauty and charm with a fresh girl of 28, who is flattering Tom to the point when he is a complete fool over her. “Alida is the sensible, practical, outspoken type. Her attitude is that of a man who has to be a woman.” LOST AFFECTION What would you do if your husband fell in love with another woman? Would you give him up, or would you live a heart-breaking existence, knowing he no longer cared for you? Kathleen Norris offers a far happier solution to a woman who has to face this problem after 27 years of married life. She loves both parents, but that as Joan is madly in love with Daddy and Daddy with Joan, and as nobody’s happy under the present arrangement why not break it all up and try the new one? When I cry about this, and I can’t help crying, she says, ‘Oh, now, Mother, men hate women to cry! Brace up. It’ll all come out right. You wouldn’t.” I want to hold Daddy if he wanted to be free, would you? I don't know what I want. Shame and pain and memories of the days when my babies and husband loved and needed me are so mixed up in my heart that I seem half-crazy. Will you tell me what to do? Must I surrender everything these years have meant to me to ‘play the game’?” The Path to Follow. My dear Emily, playing the game in this case means continuing in your own home and your own life, ignoring what you can of insult or hurt, enduring the rest, keeping yourself as calm and friendly as if none of these storms was raging over you, and showing to an ungrateful man the patience and kindness that may be obtained in only one way: the way of constant prayer. What Tom is doing, thinking, asking and planning is not your immediate concern. What you do, think and plan most emphatically is. See that you make the most of yourself in every way. Even a middle-aged woman can be a pleasant sight, if she is freshly and appropriately dressed; even gray hair is charming if it is brushed to silky brightness and trimly braided or curled. Your interest in books, current events, radio programs, gardens and flower arrangements, the supervision of meals, the details of club or hospital, prison or charity or orphanage responsibilities, will reflect itself in a brighter outlook on your own fortunate life. Brush aside the absurdity of a man of 53 embarking upon a new love adventure, tell Alida you will not discuss it, and assume once and for all the dignity to which your useful and beloved years entitle you. Years of Harvest Time Ahead. By all means visit the married daughter and welcome the grand child. Make it a long visit. Make much of Tom’s grandfatherhood; perhaps they will name the baby for Tom. Write Tom reports, ask Alida for news of the household— in short, proceed as nearly as you can along normal lines. Another few months or a year at most will see your physical and mental crisis ended, and you will be in for years of health and activity and high spirits. The fifties are wonderful years; to a woman like yourself, who has earned the right to spend her leisure in the ways she likes best, they are a golden harvest time. But to weather this particular time, you must steel yourself to bear your husband’s selfish incon siderateness. He will come back, and you will forgive him. And if the crystal vase of those early years of trust and devotion has been bro ken, it is for you to show the world that the cracks weren’t very seri ous, that they could be mended, and that you meant it when you said, ’way back in 1914, “for better or for worse.” The term, commode, broadly de scribes a cabinet or chest that is not large in size and used for storage or as a drawing room piece or for a bureau in a bedroom. The com mode may have doors or drawers. Cleaning Patent Leather To clean those fashionable patent leather accessories, wipe spots first with a soft clean cloth and then polish with a cloth on which have been sprinkled a few drops of glyc erin. VIRGINIA VALE By (Edited by Walter Newspaper Union.) WHEN Ida Lupino and Louis Hayward (Mr. and Mrs.) found that they were to be co-starred in Columbia’s “Ladies in Retirement” they gave three rousing cheers; they thought that they'd be answering work calls together. So—the first week, they actually had one day together on the set. The second, she worked every day and he didn’t work at all. Not until the third were they in line for simultaneous calls. And they’re cast as bitter enemies! “We saw more of each other when we were working in studios that were miles apart than we do now!” wailed Mrs. Hayward. Ida Lupino, Incidentally, this looks like a good picture; it’s made from a stage hit, Charles Vidor is directing, and the cast includes three top-notch actresses—Elsa Lanchester, Edith Barrett and Isobel Elsom. So many people wanted to know how the Walt Disney pictures are made that he was practically forced to make his new full-length RKO release, “The Reluctant Dragon.” In it he uses both live actors and his usual brand, and we’ll actually see how the characters and production are created. Martha O’Driscoll is in great demand on the Paramount lot. As soon as she completed her work in “Henry Aldrich for” President” she reported for Cecil B. DeMille’s “Reap the Wild Wind,” and learned that she'd have to have her blonde hair darkened several shades, all for the sake of Technicolor. The cast for this picture Martha is an impressive O’Driscoff one Paulette Goddard, Ray Milland, Raymond Massey, Susan Hayward, Walter Hampden, Janet Beecher, Spring Byington, Robert Preston, Elizabeth Rison. A stairway plays an important part in the new Ronald Colman picture, “My Life With Caroline,” so RKO commissioned Nicolai Remis to build it. It’s called “free standing,” because it is entirely free of support by columns or walls— it’s suspended from steel beams in the middle of a huge drawing room set. And the treads are covered with white, Chinese angora fur. Cost, approximately $5,000, in case you’d like to duplicate it. Lewis Milestone directed, with due appreciation for the staircase. Remember Charles (“Buddy”) Rogers, who was a movie hero years ago, and married Mary Pickford, and abandoned the pictures for band-leading? He plays the romantic male lead in “Mexican Spitfire’s Baby,” starring Lupe Velez and Leon Errol. The new March of Time film, “China Fights Back,” depicts the struggle of the Chinese people to preserve their national independence and democratic way of life. It also shows how, under the leadership of Chiang Kai-shek, China has replaced her destroyed industries with thousands of small factories in the mountainous interior. Veronica Lake, who skyrocketed movie fame in “I Wanted Wings,” turned slapstick comedienne in Preston Sturges’ “Sullavan’s Travels.” The script called for her to shove Joel McCrea into a swimming pool, then be yanked in by one leg by McCrea, and swing at his jaw till he ducked her in self defense. Her blonde hair was a mess of stringy locks, and her silken evening gown was another mess, when she emerged. But a chance to work in a Sturges picture is worth it. The Mutual chain’s news analyst, Raymond Gram Swing, has a new contract which will keep him on the air Mondays and Fridays for another year for the same sponsor. At the annual luncheon of the Woman’s National Radio committee, he was acclaimed “the commentator best serving the interests of democracy.” ODDS AND ENDS—Jinx Falkenburg, America’s No. 1 model (did 38 magazine covers during the last 12 months), says it's much easier to pose for photographers than for a movie camera... Rita Johnson thinks she rates a medal for being Hollywood’s No. 1 Stewer—says she stews about everything... IF artists will make a series of shorts dealing with the activities of the Federal Bureau of Investigation; J. Edgar Hoover is scheduled to appear in them... Paramount will screen “Bur ales," a story of the Mexican constabulary, as a good-will gesture... The talented Irish actor, Barry Fitzgerald, is slated for the next Tarzan film. Yvette, whose rise from a sustaining spot on NBC to that of featured vocalist on Ilka Chase’s “Penthouse Party” has been so sudden, is learning what it means to be famous. A fan in Maine sent her a newspaper clipping which read “Lonesome? Join Yvette’s Correspondence Club,” and gave the address. Practically every day Yvette learns of another business enterprise that bears her name; she has nothing to do with any of them, but they certainly have complicated her life. PATTERNS SEWING IN ONE pattern, sun suit, frock and bonnet are all included. Even if she’s only two, she can put on the front-button frock all by herself; the plain neckline and ruffly wing sleeves will be cool and comfy, all summer long. This trio is sweet in percale, gingham, linen, seersucker. Pattern No. 8871 is designed in sizes 2 to 8 years. Size 3, 3 yards 36-inch material without nap; 5 yards braid. For this attractive pattern, send your order to: SEWING CIRCLE PATTERN DEPT. 211 W. Wacker Dr. C Enclose 15 cents in coin for Pattern No. Size.. Name Address “Puller,” my Aunt Edna says to me, "there ain't nobody stingier than the person who won't pass along good news. Goodness knows, it doesn't cost anybody anything." And taking that to heart, I've been telling the folks how KELTOGG'S PEP gives you vitamins that ordinary meals are so often shy of—vitamins Bi and D. Best part of it is you get 'em in a cereal that tastes so much good you wonder how it can be good for you. You win both ways! A cereal rich is essential and Dealing With Faults Bad men excuse their faults; good men will leave them. WOMEN HEED THIS ADVICE!! Thousands of women are helped to go smiling through distress peculiar to women—caused by this period in life — with Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound—made especially for women—has helped thousands to relieve such weak, nervous feelings due to this functional disturbance. Try it! Advertising Dollar buys something more Hum space and circulation in the columns of this News paper. It buys space and circulation plus the favorable consideration of our readers for this newspaper audits advertising patrons. LET US TELL YOU CIRCLE Room 1324 J. Fuller Pep By JERRY LINK IDDLE GERMANTS Your MOOT IT. 