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A Bit of Embroidery
For Small Son's Suit
By RUTH WYETH SPEARS
“[Sear MRS. SPEARS: Those
pages of embroidery stitches
in ycur Book 2 have interested me
greatly. I can never remember
from time to time how to do even
feather stitching. It is ingenious
the way you show how to make
each kind of stitch, and I turn to
your book often. I have a small
son now four and a half years
old, and have always enjoyed
v I
* A
making his clothes and trimming
them with little touches of em
broidery. Do you think he is too
old for this? B. H.”
You still have a year or so if
you keep the suits smart and boy
ish. I am sketching an embroid
ered trimming idea for you he’re.
The thread should match the color
of the trousers. Mark an outline
for the embroidery with pencil as
at A. Work over this with tiny
chain stitches as at B; then make
larger chain or loop stitches as
at C and D.
Mrs. Spears’ Sewing Book 2,
Gifts, Novelties and Embroider
ies, contains 48 pages of step-by
step directions which have helped
thousands of women. If your
home is your hobby you will also
want Book I —SEWING, for the
Home Decorator. Order by num
ber, enclosing 25 cents for each
book. If you order both, a crazy
quilt leaflet with 36 authentic
patchwork stitches will be includ
ed free. Address Mrs. Spears, 210
S. Desplaines St., Chicago, 111.
Not Boasting
Tubby—Pete boasts that hli
wife made him all he is.
Heiny—That’s apologizing.
Rip Van Winkle?
Teacher of History Class (to pu
pil who had been ill) —I’m glad to
ace you back, Jack; you will have
a lot of leeway to make up. How
long have you been away?
Jack —Since William the Con
queror landed, sir.—Stray Stories.
Teacher—Robert, your arithme
tic is awful. I’ve added it four
times and each time gut a differ
ent answer.
Covering Up
Hubby—l wear the pants In my
home.
Friend—Yeah, but right after
•upper I notice you wear an apron
over them.
YOU BET!
“Ludcn’s, like hot Icm
onade, contain a factor
that helps contribute to
your alkaline reserve.”
Arthur Bartels,
Athletic Director, New York
LUDEN'S
MINTHOL COUGH DROPS 4^o
Thought at Eventide
Life's evening will take its char
acter from the day that preceded
it.—Washington Irving.
Without Progress
Leisure without books is death,
burial alive.—Seneca.
Mountain man I
A BatuteA Setual
By HAROLD CHANNING WIRE
SYNOPSIS
Jim Cotter, forest ranger, had been mys
teriously killed In the pursuit of his duties.
Got don Breck, his best friend, takes over
Cotter's Job, hoping to avenge his murder.
"Dad” Cook, forest superintendent, warns
Breck.
CHAPTER I—Continued
— 2 —
Cook nodded. “They’re tough.
And when you say tough in this
country it carries weight. Now we
don’t go much out of our trail to
catch a moonshiner in these moun
tains, because the court usually
shoots him right back on us, as
Cotter said. Makes a powerless fool
out of the ranger. The Tillsons
know that and play on it. There are
throe of them, grazing cattle in the
summer on Sulphur Creek, while
their real business is making rat
poison by the carload.
“I don’t give a dam’ about that.
Where we tangle is over forest fires.
If they want to make private use of
the North Trail in packing their
bootleg out, they start a fire down
south and get every man jack of
us fighting it. If it isn’t big enough,
they make it bigger. And if it shows
signs of dying too soon, they’ll start
it up again.”
“Good Lord, Dad!” Breck broke
in. “If you know all that, why are
they still in the mountains?”
“You know a thing first,” Cook
observed sagely, “then you prove
it.”
Breck nodded, though an impa
tience was growing within him. He
knew the ranger was right. Cook’s
deliberate way of doing things had
the mark of experience. But for
himself, give him a chance and
he would plunge in, find the one
man and get it over with.
As if sensing that, Cook said, “The
job is no week-end party. If you
sign on, it’s for the summer—under
orders. The Tillson outfit is at the
bottom of our trouble, but there are
plenty others. You’ll learn the rest
if you go up.”
“Then it’s settled?” Breck asked,
b.)th hands swiftly gripping the ta
ble edge.
“What’s settled?” Cook left his
chair and strode heatedly to the
door and back again. “You mean
settled that you’re going? Why yes!
No one else would take the dam’
station!"
Breck sprang up facing him.
“Then swear me in! That’s what
I’ve been waiting to hear.”
From a desk drawer the ranger
secured a small bronze shield. It
had a solitary pine tree flanked by
the letters US, while across the top
ran the completed legend: Forest
Service. Cook pinned it on Breck’s
shirt over his heart. Then he held
out one hand.
“Shake, son. This is the way I
swear ’em in. I never go wrong,
either. You’ll bunk in the spare
room here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll
drive to the foot of North Trail at
Carrol Creek and pack for an early
start next day.” He stepped back,
surveying Breck’s tailored figure.
“Have you anything to wear?”
“I’ll buy an outfit.”
"All right. Rig yourself up In
mountain clothes and order at least
a month’s supply of grub. The rest
can come up later. Sorry I can’t
scout around town with you. Just
one thing. Don’t let that piece of
bronze make you feel too important.
On the other hand, don’t let it slow
you up when the time is proper.”
CHAPTER II
There is still a spirit of the old
untamed West about Lone Tree, that
even electric lights and gasoline fill
ing stations cannot banish. The town
itself is but a green patch set in a
desert valley below the Sierra Ne
vada wall.
Yet it is not a mountain town
alone. The desert, the mines, the
cattle ranches pour their men upon
its streets, and life, any time after
dusk, is lived with frontier vigor.
In the general store where Breck
ordered his supplies, he questioned
the man who waited on him. “Is
Lone Tree usually as alive as this?”
“Y’ep, first of June,” was the cryp
tic answer.
“What has June to do with it?”
“New here?” he grunted.
“New in Lone Tree, yes.”
“One of Tom Cook’s men?” A
wave of his hand indicated the forest
service badge.
“You’re right,” Breck replied
brusquely, nettled by this cross-ex
amination.
“Well,” said the man, squinting
again at his scales, “I guess Cook
knows his business.”
Breck waited for more. That was
all. His cheeks felt hot and his
jaw tightened. What the devil did
the fellow mean? He turned angrily
from the grocery counter and found
himself scowling into a long mirror
of the men’s furnishing department.
What he saw gave him a queer
shock.
Among racks of coarse, service
able clothing his tailored figure was
ludicrous in contrast. His low shoes
were like paper against the cow
hide boots put out in rows upon a
table top. Then he looked at his
face, white and soft beneath the
brim of his Panama hat. He dis
liked his own reflection and walked
back to the grocer feeling more
friendly. “I see what you mean,”
he laughed.
But that friendliness was not re
turned by the other man. It was
some time before he asked, “Tak
ing Cotter’s place?”
“Yes. Did you know him?”
“Some. Too bad he went like that.
But accidents do happen up there.”
“Accidents!” Too late Breck
cursed his ready tongue. By some
indefinable change of expression he
knew the storekeeper had baited
him, and he had given himself away.
It was a lesson to remember. Keep
what you know to yourself.
Finished with ordering his sup
plies, he left the store and found
that outside the street had become
even more crowded. He hadn’t yet
learned what it was all about. Back
at headquarters he asked Cook, “Is
this circus night?”
“The town sure is full,” the ranger
agreed. “It’s always like this the
first two weeks of June. Cattle sea
son, you know. They’re rounding up
stuff that has wintered on the desert
and will shove a big herd into the
mountains when we open govern
ment grazing on the fifteenth. That
will be about your first worry.”
“Trouble in it?”
“Considerable, some years. A
man is permitted only a certain
number of animals. If the winter
has been dry he’ll crowd his permit
in order to get everything he owns
up in the high grass country. I’ve
been sort of easy with them so far.
This year is different. If we want to
enforce one rule on the range, we’ll
have to enforce the whole lot.”
Cook’s slow smile considered
Breck. “Yes, son, there’ll be trou
ble in it. You will have to take
count and settle disputes, and which
ever way you decide, you’ll be in
bad with someone.”
Breck gathered his bundle of work
clothes and started to the bunk
room, but stopped at the door. “If
it’s all right with you, I’m going to
give my badge a rest tonight.”
“Fair enough,” said Cook. ‘Say,
if you want to mix with the crowd
and maybe get acquainted with men
you’ll have to deal with later, why
don’t you go to the cowboys’ dance?
It’s in the old movie palace west of
town. They’ll be well liquored up
by 10 o’clock and at their best about
midnight.”
“Will the Tillsons be there?”
“Sure enough. They run these
shindigs as part of their business.
Costs a man five bucks to get in.
Liquor free. There’ll be Jud, Hep
and Art; Jud being the oldest and
the tallest, though they all run close
to six feet. Hep and Art are mostly
shadows for their brother. Jud’s
the he-wolf of that pack.”
Cook paused, glancing at his
watch. “It’s sort of late to find a
ticket. Usually they want to know
who comes in. But they haven’t
been troubled for a long time, so
you may get by. Worth trying any
how.”
CHAPTER 111
Breck felt a rise of excitement
as he pushed through a door and at
once became a part of the crowd
within the old building. The room
was long and wide with raftered
ceiling. A stage that filled one end
showed its original use as the town
theater.
Breck walked away from the door
and stood against the wall, watch
ing. He had come with certain pre
conceived ideas as to what he would
find at a cowboy dance, his knowl
edge having been gained from mov
ing picture sets. He was surprised
now.
Pretty girls were plentiful. Breck
had not intended to dance. Now he
was not so sure of it. Sun-tanned
faces slipped past him, cheeks
flushed, eyes bright, red mouths
turned laughingly up to their part
ners.
One girl in particular drew his
survey. Soon after he entered she
danced close by and met his gaze
with a pair of strangely arresting
brown eyes. She did not smile, yet
he saw a shadow-like movement
cross her lips. He knew she ap
praised him thoroughly. He believed
she was amused.
As she danced on in her cowboy’s
arms, his eyes followed. She was
small, with dark curly hair just
above the fellow’s shoulder, and had
that free-mannered, out-of-door look
as much as any of the men about
her. Evidently she was accustomed
to wearing a man’s shirt, for the
rounded neck of the dress she had
on now showed a narrow, sun
burned V over the whiteness of her
throat.
Not exactly pretty, Breck decided,
as in dancing, she again turned to
ward him. Her face in repose looked
a little tired, though when she
smiled at something her partner
whispered, the expression vanished
in a swift parting of her lips and
an upward tilt of her head. At
that moment Breck’s decision not
to dance left him and he only wait
ed until he could meet this girl.
He leaned against the wall with
the stream of people flowing by.
There was a punch bowl on a stand
at the end of the room opposite the
stage. Here girls stopped often, but
he noticed that the men shunned it,
and went alone through a smaller
doorway. The room was soon heavy
with dust and cigarette smoke and
the thick odor of whiskey—not good
whiskey either.
From the clamor of voices an oc
casional distinct sentence drifted
across to him. “Hi there, cowboy.
What you all doin’?” The answer
was lost, but men burst into laugh
ter and girls looked away. Came
snatches of business. “Dry summer,
you bet . . . Two thousand head
. , . My permit calls for ...” And
then something that brought Breck
up with a start. “Hello, Jud Till
son!”
He turned toward the sound of the
greeting. The speaker had danced
on, but three men stood between
himself and the door, their eyes lev
eled in his direction. They were tall
men, lean-bodied, all bearing the
same characteristic of thin, sharp
faces. Dad Cook had said he would
not recognize the Tillson brothers.
That was true. He would never
have picked these three from the
many that crowded the dance hall;
for several others, talking loudly
and swaggering with guns hung
from their belts, made a better show
of being hard.
The Tillsons were dressed unob
trusively, each in a gray Stetson,
flannel shirt unadorned by handker
chief, dark trousers, and cowboy
boots with stitching on the black
leather.
Two shifted their eyes when he
turned to survey them. One held
his gaze, stood motionless for a sec
ond, then strode casually across the
intervening space.
His step was slow, deliberate, like
the calculated tread of a tawny
mountain lion. He came within a
pace and halted. Breck returned
his stare, looking into steel blue
eyes that narrowed slightly, opened,
narrowed again. Instinctively Breck
knew he was up against a man of no
mean intellect, a man of parts, who
understood the world and especially
the path he intended to cut through
it.
He spoke, and the somber expres
sion of his face shifted only in a
further squint of his eyes. “I’m Jud
Tillson,” he said.
“Glad to know you,” Breck an
swered, though his right hand re
mained at his side. This was no
regular introduction.
“Thought you did know me!” Till
son snapped.
So Breck had told the gatekeeper.
He frowned and surveyed the man
thoughtfully. “I did know a Tillson,”
he said at last. “But you’re not the
one. My mistake.”
“What are you doing here?” Till
son demanded.
“It’s a dance, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t bring a woman!”
As he searched for a reply, Breck
was conscious of the small, dark
haired girl moving slowly past him,
and of her eyes intent his way. “Is
it against the rules to come alone?”
he countered.
Tillson hooked his thumbs into his
belt. His voice came slow and much
too even. “Are you sure you aren’t
making more than one mistake to
night? Isn’t it maybe a mistake for
you to be in here at all?”
Most Birds Migrate at Night; When
Clouds Are Low Fly Close to Earth
Most birds migrate at night, some
by day or night, others only by day.
The reason for the majority of night
flights is probably that the birds can
feed and rest during the day and
then fly at night when they are well
fed and strong. When the clouds
hang low the migrating birds fly
close to the earth to avoid them.
Step out in your back yard some
night when a storm is brewing and
listen to the strange calls of count
less birds that are hurrying south
ward in the inky blackness with no
guide save that called “instinct.” It
is when migrating birds are flying
low on cloudy nights that they often
strike high towers, smokestacks or
perhaps become fascinated by some
dazzling lighthouse beacon and dash
themselves to death against it, ad
vises Frank L. DuMond in the De
troit Free Press.
The following species usually mi
grate by day: Loons, cranes, peli
cans, shore birds, gulls, hawks,
swifts, nighthawks, ruby-throated
hummingbirds, bluebirds, jays,
blackbirds, kingbirds, waxwings
and swallows.
Some common night migrants
are: Warblers, flycatchers, spar
rows, rails, cuckoos, vireos and
w£ens.
This migrating urge is not con
fined to our summer resident birds
and those that nest a few hundred
miles north of us. Even now high
on the top of the world, birds are
in motion. From those bleak, rocky
islands in the Arctic ocean; from
“No,” Breck assured him. “Not
the slightest.”
He said no more. Tillson turned
on his heel and walked away. Breck
was still aware that from the danc
ing throng two brown eyes sought
his face. He met them. The music
ended, then at once began a new
number. Impulsively he stepped out
to the girl. “May I have this?
Don’t say it’s taken!”
“It is taken,” she declared, look
ing up at him with a quick smile.
“But you may have it.”
A tall figure moved toward them
from some distance down the room.
The girl clutched Breck’s arm.
“Let's dance!” He swept her into
the crowd, and looked back only aft
er they had taken several steps.
The man was standing where they
had been. He was one of the Till
sons, Art, the youngest.
Neither Breck nor the girl spoke
while they danced halfway around
the room. He studied the soft little
head. Why had she left that fel
low? He wanted to ask, but waited,
feeling he would learn in time.
Presently, in the slow movement
of a waltz, she looked up, smiling
quizzically. “Well, are the rubes as
funny as you thought they’d be? I
hope we haven’t disappointed you!”
Little shadows of amusement flit
ted around the corners of her mouth.
Her eyes were bright with laughter,
yet there was something else in
them; a something that perhaps
had drawn him to her from the first.
She did not look happy. It made
him wonder. Where did she come
from? Did she belong here? But
then he thought certainly she did.
“Rubes?” he puzzled. “What do
you mean? And why should I be
disappointed?”
“Didn’t you expect a cowboy
dance to be screamingly crude? Of
course this is your first experience.”
“Well, all right,” he admitted.
“This is my first cowboy dance and
I came out of curiosity.”
She looked up. Her eyes were not
brown as they had seemed from a
distance. They held a warm tinge,
almost gold.
“At least you’re honest about it,”
she said. “And really I was curious
about you too. Are we as good a
show as you hoped? Goodness, won’t
you have a story to tell when you
get back to Los Angeles, or San
Francisco or wherever you come
from!”
“But I’m here to stay,” Breck
laughed, making this decision sud
denly. “As for the dance, it is about
what I expected; except for one
thing.”
“What?”
The tightening of his arm was
not altogether voluntary. The girl
had taunted him and he knew It;
he was a little angered, yet he had
the sudden desire to hug her.
Though his arm drew her to him
only the slightest bit, the result was
volcanic.
She halted in the middle of a
dance step, flung down his hand and
faced him with eyes flashing. “Don’t
you try that on me, you city man!”
Until that instant Breck had not
thought anyone on the floor was pay
ing attention to himself and the girl.
Now all at once he was confronted
by a dozen sullen faces. The music
went on; dancing in other parts of
the room continued. But in this
corner men left their girls and
crowded up in a close ring.
“What is it, Louy?” someone
(TO BE CONTINUED)
the tundra where the musk-ox and
the caribou are at home; from the
dark coniferous forests of Upper
Canada they come drifting down,
many to sojourn during the winter
with us, and when the mercury re
treats in the thermometer and win
ter winds howl and stark branches
nod and toss in the snow-blanketed
woods, snowy owls hunt in Michi
gan, and old squaws and golden
eyes ride the waters of our open
streams and lakes. It is then that
the bird-lov«r shares his crust and
grain and feels the warm glow of
friendly hospitality steal over him
as such unexpected wayfarers as
the purple finch, evening grosbeak,
snow bunting, tree sparrow and
slate-colored bunting come to dine
at his feeding shelf.
Ant-Lion Traps Its Food
Man uses pitfalls to trap elephants
and other wild animals, but the ant
lion thought of that first and has
been using it for centuries. This in
sect feeds on a variety of others,
but ants form its main diet. The
ant-lion digs a hole in sandy ground
and then buries itself at the bottom,
leaving only its powerful mandibles
showing. As soon as an ant reaches
the edge of the pit, the sand crum
bles and the victim tumbles to the
bottom. If the ant stops hall way
and tries to scramble out, the ant
lion pelts sand at it and brings it
down until he can grab it with his
pincers. The ant-lion then make*
a meal of the victim.
Finest Needlework
In Exclusive Design
Pattern 1841
It’s the accessories in a home
that make it beautiful. Fulfill your
ambition for a delightful home—
it’s easy when such lovely de
signs are at your command. This
oval doily—suitable for center
piece, buffet or luncheon set
measures 18 by 36 inches, the
other doilies 12 inches and 6
inches. Made of string, they work
up easily. The richness of the de
sign will give you pleasure. Pat
tern 1841 contains directions for
making doilies; illustrations of
them and of stitches; materials
required; photograph of section of
doily.
Send 15 cents in stamps or coins
(coins preferred) for this pattern
to The Sewing Circle, Needlecraft
Dept., 82 Eighth Ave., New York,
Please write your name, ad
dress and pattern number plainly.
Tale of Two Brothers
A man of 75 told a judge the
other day that he had only had
one brother—and he died 125
years ago.
His father, it seems, was 70
when this man was born in 1863.
He had been married before —at
20—and had had a child, who died
a day or two after birth, in 1813.
So the man told the truth. Only
his brother was really a step
brother.
A longish “step,” too.
Beware Coughs
from common colds
That Hang On
No matter how many medicines
you have tried for your common
cough, chest cold, or bronchial irri
tation, you may get relief now with
Creomulslon. Serious trouble may
be brewing and you cannot afford
to take a chance with any remedy
less potent than Creomulslon, which
goes right to the seat of the trouble
and aids nature to soothe and heal
the inflamed mucous membranes
and to loosen and expel germ
laden phlegm-
Even if other remedies have failed,
don’t be discouraged, try Creomul
sion. Your druggist is authorized to
refund your money if you are not
thoroughly satisfied with the bene
fits obtained. Creomulslon is one
word, ask for it plainly, see that the
name on the bottle is Creomulslon,
and you’ll get the genuine product
and the relief you want. (Adv.)
In Due Time
Everything comes if a man will
only wait.—Benjamin Disraeli.
MOROLINEfI
SNOW-WHITE PETROLEUM JELUt Ik M
Love’s Reflection
For love reflects the thing be
loved.—Tennyson.
How Women
in Their 40’s
Can Attract Men
Here’s good advice for a woman during her
change (usually from 38 to 52), who fears
Bhe’ll lose her appeal to men, who worries
about hot flashes, loss of pep, dizzy spelis,
upset nerves and moody spells.
Get more fresh air, 8 hrs. sleep and if you
need a good general system tonic take Lydia
B. Pinkham’a Vegetable Compound, made
especially for women. It helps Nature build
up physical resistance, thus helps give more
vivacity to enjoy life and assist calming
jittery nerves and disturbing symptoms that
often accompany change of life.-) WELL
WORTH TRYING!
Help Them Cleanse the Blood
of Harmful Body Waste
Veur kidneys are constantly filtering
waste matter from the blood stream. But
kidneys sometimes lag in their work—do
not act as Nature intended —fail to re
move impurities that, if retained, may
Eoison the system pnd upset the whole
ody machinery.
Symptoms may be nagging backache,
persistent headache, attacks of dizziness,
getting up nights, swelling, pufnneas
under the eyes—a feeling of nervous
anxiety and loss of pep and strength.
Other signs of kidney or bladder dis
order may be burning, scanty or too
frequent urination.
There should be no doubt that prompt
treatment is wiser than neglect. Use
Doan's Pills. Doan’s have been winning
new friends lor more than forty years.
They have a nation-wide reputation.
Are recommended by grateful people the
country over. Ask your neighbor l
