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RESURRECTION RIVER
-Q
SYNOPSIS
Warren Lovett, thirty-three, junior part
ner in the powerful Wellington. Parkes &
Lovett, Incorporated Mines of Chicago,
which engages In questionable transactions,
plans to make a secret coup in the Cana
dian Arctic, where a few years before a
rich but inaccessible mining field has been
discovered on Resurrection river, which
flows Into Dynamite Bay. Patricia, high
spirited and beautiful daughter of crusty
old Jasper Wellington, who is engaged to
Warren, decides to accompany him. Over
her father's objections, he agrees to take
her. They go by plane. Pat meets "Po
leon,” a French-Canadian prospector, who
tells her there are only 300 prospectors in
the field and that because of the difficulties,
they are hanging on by a thread. Pat is
disturbed when Warren will not disclose
what his secret mission is. She visits the
prospector's camp and is depressed to see
how discouraged they are. She meets Sam
Honeywell, a friend of Poleon's. Moved by
the plight of Bill Fornler, a prospector,
who, though fatally ill, struggles to hold
his claim, Pat decides to help him. In
formed by Lupe Chiwaughiml, head of a
family of half-breed retainers of the com
pany, about Pat's befriending the prospec
tors, Warren tries to dissuade her. He
tells her that Craig Tarlton, with whom she
had once been in love, is now deputy min
ing Inspector for the Resurrection river
area. A brilliant geologist, he had resigned
in disgust from her father’s company be
cause of its devious methods. Later she
meets Craig, but he is cold. Inferring that
she is merely feigning Interest in the pros
pectors. Her compassion for the hapless
prospectors growing, Pat decides to build a
huge community house or Den. When the
job nears completion, Warren tells her to
abandon It. She refuses after a stormy
scene. Craig leaves on a three-month In
spection trip to the north.
CHAPTER V
It was a raw ugly day—that fate
ful October eighth. A cold wind
was whipping down from the Arctic
ocean, and a white-cap surf pound
ed against the rocky shore of Great
Desolation. With a sleety rain beat
ing monotonously upon her tent, Pa
tricia had snuggled deep in her
warm blankets and slept till nearly
noon.
For several weeks the weather
had been sharp and chill. Each
day was shorter, each night per
ceptibly longer, than the one be
fore. In the middle of September a
short “squaw winter” had blown
down from the coastal hills, killing
all greenery and bringing a six-inch
snow. Though the snow had quickly
melted and the weather had faired
up a little, the lazy golden days of
summer were definitely gone, and a
sullen whine in the wind heralded
the savage winter storms shortly to
come.
Just as Patricia was deciding that
she ought to get up and hurry across
the river to that bothersome com
munity house of hers, some one
rapped at the front of her tent.
“Come in,” she bade.
The stony-faced Lupe Chiwaughi
mi entered, shaking the rain from
his slicker.
“Mail plane come from Fort
Smeeth dis morning,” he informed.
He handed Patricia a small packet
of letters. “Dese are for you,
Mees.”
When Lupe had gone Patricia
snuggled into the blankets again
and read her mail. Her mother,
her sister Frances and several gos
sipy girl friends had written.'There
was also a note from her Chicago
bank advising that her account had
been overdrawn.
Frowning in surprise, Patricia
studied the attached statement.
“Why, darn ’em!” she exclaimed.
“They didn’t enter my September
allowance. I’ll have to get War
ren to wireless ’em or my checks
will start bouncing back at me.”
She hated to ask a favor of War
ren, after their sharp clashes of the
last two months, after her postpone
ment of their marriage; but this
bank mistake was serious.
She threw aside the blankets,
jumped out of bed, dressed hurried
ly, flung on her belted trench coat,
and started for Warren’s tent.
Through the rainy gloom she could
see the “Rock-Hog Den” in the
drogue of pines across Resurrec
tion. Very cheery and homelike
the big house looked, with lights
shining through its windows, and
blue wood-smoke streaming from its
four tin chimneys. She wondered
how the 75 rock-hogs over there
were making out with their noon
meal. Without her supervision it
was probably one big scram-jam
ble. Confound those fellows any
way!—weren’t they ever going to
learn how to run that place by
themselves? When she wasn’t on
the job, managing and directing,
they were just 75 bewildered big
clumsies.
In a few minor respects the com
munity house, now almost two
months old, was a disappointment
to Patricia. So far she had been
forced to manage it herself. And
she had had to keep putting money
into it. Not a great deal, true, but
a little bit right along. And then
she had built too small. Big as the
lodge was, it could not quite cope
with the demands made upon it;
and a few of the prospectors were
living in overflow tents.
But in her main hope—that the
place would be a substitute home
where the man could have a real
rest and a little human comfort—
the Rock-Hog Den had come
through ^mashingly. Her womanly
instincts had been a true guide; she
had sized up the great need of those
men unerringly, and had filled it.
The proof of her success was as
overwhelming as an avalanche.
They had taken to the Den so avidly
that at first they had completely
swamped and buried her. They
were so keen now to get in to the
Bay that she had been compelled
► By William Byron Mowery
© William Byron Mowery.
WNU Service.
to make out a rotation list in order
that every man might have his turn.
To watch them come in all tired
and spiritless, spend their allotted
fortnight in the “warm clean
place,” and leave again with belts
tightened and their courage up—
that was the finest experience of
Patricia’s twenty-four years.
But for all the unexpected suc
cess of her idea, she was more
and more afraid that when the fur
season opened, her men would aban
don their claims and pitch off from
Dynamite Bay. A dozen had al
ready left for good, and the others
were on the verge of following. She
couldn’t blame them —their plight
was really pitiful. Their clothes
were patched and'repatched, their
prospecting equipment was worn
out, they were falling behind on
their assessment work, and another
Arctic winter stared them in the
face. Worst sign of all, they were
losing faith in their claims and be
ginning to think this field so inac
cessible that their holdings might
never be worth a thin Canadian
nickel . . .
When she entered Warren’s tent
he was standing before a chart that
hung from the ridgepole, the same
big chart which she had seen at La
Salle street headquarters in Chi
cago. Then it had been white; but
now it was sprinkled with several
dozen squares and oblongs of red.
Many times Patricia had wondered
what those red splotches meant.
They looked mysterious and a bit
sinister.
“Warren” — she gave him the
bank statement—“these people say
I’m overdrawn, and I know perfect
ly well I’m not. They forgot to en
ter my September allowance.”
Warren did not even glance at the
paper. “They’re right, Patricia,
I’m sorry to say. Your credit for
September—and for October too—
was not sent in to them. I dislike
to tell you bad news, dear, but I
must. Your allowance has been cut
off. Your father decided that the
only way to make you come home
was to stop your money.”
Patricia stared at Warren, dum
founded. Her allowance cut off—
she couldn’t quite grasp so astound
ing a fact. Why, her allowance had
always been one of the infallible
things, like day and night!
Warren toyed with a letter knife
on his work table. “Patricia,” he
said finally, “you surely must real
ize that I’m here at Dynamite Bay
on business for the company, and
that it’s very important business.
If my plans go through the firm
stands to make an extremely hand
come coup. I presume you know
by now, I presume Tarlton told
you, that Dynamite Bay is an ex
traordinarily rich mineral field—”
“What!” Patricia broke in. For
a moment this sudden revelation,
settling a question which had
plagued her for three months, made
her forgot all about the allowance.
“ ‘Rich, extraordinarily’ — Warren,
is that straight?”
“It’s straight," he stated. “The
whole story isn’t yet known, won’t
be known till complete surveys
have been made; but we do know
positively that the field is of the
first magnitude.”
“Now, dear,” Warren went on, in
his patient logical fashioA, "this
community house of yours broke
into my plans very badly. Your
whole project runs counter to the
Il
IV ■WI/l '
at
"Dese Are for You, Mees.”
best interests of Wellington, Parkes
& Lovett here at Dynamite Bay.
Personally I had nothing to do with
cutting off your allowance. I merely
kept your father informed of the
situation, as I was duty-bound—”
"But—but wait a minute,” Pa
tricia interrupted, all perplexed. "I
don’t follow you. What is this ‘coup’
that you’re talking about? How am
I damaging your plans? What are
these plans of yours?"
Warren sidestepped. “We can’t
go into all the details, dear. It's a
dry business matter.”
"But I insist on knowing! I'm do
ing a good job over there among
those men, a badly needed job; and
I won't drop it without a solid reason
why!"
« ——
Warren shrugged. “I don’t see
that you’ve got any choice. Now
that your father has cut off your al
: lowance, you’ll have to give in and
• go back to Chicago.”
That “give in” was de'cidedly the
I wrong expression to use on Patricia
[ Wellington. \
i “I’ll be damned if I’ll go!” she
i burst out. “Dad can’t order me
- around like that! He’s not going to
’ domineer over me. I’m a human
being, the same as he is. I’ve got
. ideas and wishes of .my own—”
> “But he’s got the power,” War
■ ren reminded.
His remark drew Patricia’s fire
i to him. “You’ve got power, too!
You’re a partner in the firm. You’re
; the real brains of the firm. Look
> here, are you going to stand for
; this? You’ve got money, lots of it.
i You can advance me what I need.
■ It’s not much. Only a few hundred
i a month. Will you or won’t you?”
i Her sharp question put Warren
• on the spot. He dared not make
> good the allowance, for she would
> use the money to keep the com
munity house operating. Already
that Rock-Hog Den, plus the quiet
; word which Tarlton had passed out
i to the prospectors last summer, had
stalemated him for three exasperat
ing months.
On the other hand he hesitated to
■ antagonize Patricia by an outright
i refusal. On his work table stood a
desk calendar with “October 8”
staring him in the eyes. Their wed
l ding date. The day on which he
was to have married Patricia Wel
[ lington. That marriage, almost a
certainty once, was a raging doubt
with him now. Little by little Pa
tricia had been drawn into the hu
i man current at Dynamite Bay; and
■ it seemed to him that in propor
■ tion as she had drifted out into deep
• waters she had gone farther and
farther away from him.
। And he was not blind to her
stormy emotions toward Craig Tarl
■ ton.
“Are you going to side with me
or dad?” Patricia pinned him down.
“Can I keep my community house
going? Yes or no!”
Warren made a swift decision. If
he stood firm, Patricia would have
to go home. Doubtless she would
be furious with him, might even
break their engagement; but with
patient effort he probably could win
her around again. Certainly any
thing was better than for her to stay
on at the Bay. She would keep
that Den running, to his great dam
age; and if Tarlton returned, saw
what she was doing and joined
forces with her, she would be Tarl
ton’s.
“Dear,” he said firmly, “I’m com
pelled to refuse.”
All Patricia’s dammed-up anger
at Warren’s dishonesty and evasion,
all the bitter disappointment of her
Arctic trip with him, all the heart
ache over her failure to build up
loyalty with him, came bursting out.
“All right, keep your money!”
she blazed at him. “I don’t need
it. I’ll get along without it. You’re
exactly like dad. You dictate. You
give me just so much liberty but
no more. The only difference be
tween you and him is that he’s blunt
about it and you’re diplomatic. This
allowance of mine—you’re as guilty
on that score as he is. He wouldn’t
have cut me off if you hadn’t sug
gested it. And you—you did that
behind my back!”
She paused for breath, plunged
on: “D’you know what I think of
you, Warren? You fall a little short
of honesty all along the line. You’re
not absolutely honest with me or
with dad or with the firm or with
anybody or anything—except your
own personal advancement. If
you’d been honest with me, if you’d
told me the truth about this situa
tion when we first landed here, I
probably would never have built
that house. But you didn’t. You kept
me all in the dark, as Craig once
said. Even now I don’t know what
this 'coup' of yours is. I wouldn’t
believe you even if you told me—
you’ve lied and hedged and evaded
so much—”
“Patricia!” he begged. "Please,
please.”
"You think you can force me to
go back home,” she stormed on,
“but you can’t! I’m staying here!
I’m keeping that Rock-Hog Den right
on going! I’ll get by somehow. I
don’t care if I do break into your
plans. You never consider my
plans. Try and make me go!"
Warren did not argue. Argument
would only make her angrier at
him. His course was plain, and he
held to it.
"Pilot Odron,” he informed her,
rather sharply, "is getting one of
the planes ready now to take you
south. In half an hour—that'll give
you time to change clothes—l'll
send the Chiwaughimi metis around
to help Ellyn pack your things and
i to strike your tent.”
Patricia’s glance met and clashed
i with his. The hidden threat in his
’ words was not lost on her—he was
i going to make her leave by pulling
her tent down.
White-faced with anger, she
stared across the work table at him,
defiant, her dark eyes flashing.
i “You won't pull any raw trick
> like that on me, Warren Lovett!"
she cried. "I’ll show you some
: thing!"
i She whirled on her heel, made
for the door and dashed out into the
- rain.
: Warren stepped over to the flap-
front and watched her as she ran
। down toward the bank of Resur
rection. Her threat puzzled him,
and he could not imagine whers
she was going; but neither ques
tion worried him very much, for
he knew that in the last analysis
he held the power.
At his work table he wrote a stra
tegic letter to her mother, intending
to send it along with Pilot Odron so
that it would reach Chicago as soon
as she did.
As he was finishing the note, Lupe
Chiwaughimi appeared at the tent
door.
“M’sieu Lovett, come here. Look
see.”
Warren stepped over, looked
where the metis was pointing. What
he saw took him a staggering sur
prise. Where Patricia’s tent had
stood, there simply was no tent.
It had vanished, magically, as
though the ground had swallowed it.
Down toward the bank of Resur
rection a dozen husky prospectors,
with Patricia’s slender figure in
their midst, were hurrying toward a
big York at the water edge. Every
body in the group was carrying
" • 11/
J) k L
r t
xlcv
She Felt Terribly Alone and
Friendless.
something of Patricia's belongings—
her trunks and suitcases, her cot,
her tent and poles.
“What’s happened, Lupe? Where's
she going?”
The metis gestured across the
stream. “She moving over dere.
Over near dat chateau she built.”
When Poleon and the man had
pitched her tent in the pines near
the Den, Patricia sat down on a
steamer trunk amid the litter of
her baggage, and took thought.
It was characteristic of her to
act first and think of the conse
quences afterward.
Three months ago she had gone
slumming in this prospectors’
camp; now she was living in it!
Crazy, the thought seemed, when
she pushed it off and looked at it
rationally. Only this strange land,
where neither day or night was in
fallible, could have led her into so
impossible a situation. By any sane
standard of judgment she had all
along been acting in a most silly
fashion. This last step, her move
across the river, was the most out
landish of all.
She ought to go home at once.
The sooner, the better. She would
have to go home sometime, of
course. She ought to cut clean, and
do it immediately. Not tomorrow,
but today. Now!
“But what’ll poor Bill do?” she
moaned. “And if I go away, the
Rock-Hog Den’ll fall to pieces in a
week.” And there were her pros--
pector friends. And Craig.
A person less stubborn than she
would have packed up for home
without a second’s hesitation. Her
entire stay at Desolation had been
wretched enough, but now her posi
tion had suddenly become almost
unbearable. It seemed to her that
she was being attacked from all
sides and hadn’t one real friend.
Her father was dangerously angry;
this allowance jolt left her without
a penny; Warren had failed her;
and these prospectors, humanly un
able to hang on much longer, might
pick up and leave any day.
And Craig Tarlton . . . His cold
ness and scorn cut the deepest, hurt
the worst, of all. He definitely
wanted nothing to do with her. She
no longer deceived herself about
that. Humiliated and discouraged,
she knew that she ought to put half
a continent between him and her
self forthwith; that she had to bury
him, and God’s lake, before she
would ever have peace at heart
again.
Altogether she felt terribly alone
and friendless, there in her lonely
tent. The dreary rain and desolate
weather were infinitely depressing.
She again visioned all those wilder
ness leagues between herself and
home, and the thought frightened
her.
In one of the half-dozen overflow
tents nearby, a gramophone started
playing, and a shrill song broke
into her harassed thoughts. The tin
pan tune jarred on her intolerably.
She jumped up and sprang over to
her tent door.
“Sam! If you don’t muzzle that
awful screech-bok, I’ll throw it into
the river and pitch you after it!”
“Gosh, I’m sorry. Miss Pat," Sam
called back, from inside his tent.
"Why gosh, I was a-playing that
piece 'specially for you. I thought
you mebbe was feeling a little blue
after your run-in with Mr. Lovett,
and I figgered a bit of music 'ui
cheer you up.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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LU T ^ll
NOW is the time for all smart
women to come to the aid of
their wardrobes. Sew-Your-Own
wants to lend a hand, Milady:
hence today's trio of mid-summer
pace makers.
At The Left.
A trim little reminder that care
ful grooming is an asset any
where, anytime, is this frock. It
features simplicity. Its forte is
comfort. Make one version in cot
ton for all purpose wear, another
of sports silk for dressy occasions.
You’ll praise the cool cut of its
short sleeves and softly rolled col
lar. Yes, Milady, you’ll enjoy
making it.
In The Center.
Here you have a light and
breezy ensemble that’s the per
fect attire for Society. It has cos
mopolitan dash, refinement, and
engaging charm. Once more
you’ll be the subject of compli
mentary tea table talk with your
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Make it of sheer chiffon or more
durable acetate. You’ll have a hit
in either.
At The Right.
The little lady who likes unusual
touches in her frocks will go for
this new dress and pantie set. It
has the chic of mommy’s dresses
plus a little-girl daintiness that is
more than fetching. Wrap around
^TcLVOIItQ. JQecipe
the IVeeh^^
Freezer Ice Cream.
1 quart mUk
1 package ice cream powder (vanilla,
itrawberry, lemon, maple, or choco
late* flavor)
Add milk very gradually to ice
cream powder, stirring until dis
solved. Pour into freezer can;
place in freezer and pack mixture
of cracked ice and salt around
can (use 8 parts ice to 1 part
salt). Turn slowly for 3 minutes,
then rapidly and continuously un
til frozen. Makes I*4 quarts ice
cream.
Any of the following may be
substituted for milk in this rec
ipe: 1 quart rich milk or light
cream, 1 cup cream and 3 cups
milk, or 2 cups evaporated milk
apd 2 cups milk or water.
•With chocolate ice cream powder, add
% cup sugar.
—
■snsTiinyiiwiTnßnw
LIFE’S LIKE THAT By Fred Neha
BUBBLES _____
^igg
I always look ... there might be an old maid there.
styling makes it easy for eventM
tiniest girl to get into and J
quite a time saver on ironing dajß
A splendid idea is to cut this p J
tern twice and be assured of lit J
sister’s all summer chic, ■
The Patterns. I
Pattern 1237 is designed J
sizes 34 to 46. Size 36 requires J
yards of 35 inch material nJ
% yard contrasting for collar. ■
Pattern 1333 is designed foil
sizes 36 to 52. Size 38 requires J
yards of 39 inch material. Thiß
dress alone requires 4 3 4 yards. To I
line the jacket requires 2’4 yardsß
of 39 inch material. I
Pattern 1322 is designed foil
sizes 4,6, 8, 10, and 12 yean. I
Size 6 requires 3’4 yards of 35 ■
inch material plus 5'4 yards of ■
ribbon for trimming as pictured. |
Send your order to The Sewing |
Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1020, ]
211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, HL
Price of patterns, 15 cents (in
coins) each.
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
A check*
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