Newspaper Page Text
Mountain man
/} BasuteJi tfidiOH Serial
... By HAROLD CHANNING WIRE
i ■■ ■ ■■■■■ —" —1 |M|
SYNOPSIS
Jim Cotter, forest ranger, had been mys
teriously killed In the pursuit of his duties.
Gordon Breck, his best friend, takes over
Cotter's job, hoping to avenge his murder.
"Dad’’ Cook, forest superintendent, warns
Breck that the Tlllson brothers, mountain
moonshiners, are apt to give him trouble.
Before leaving for his mountain station,
Breck buys an outfit and decides to attend
the public dance run by the Tlllsons In
Bone Tree. At the dance Breck dances with
Louise Temple, pretty "cowgirl" for whom
be takes a liking.
CHAPTER lll—Continued
—3—
Another man edged through the
mob and glowered out of a flushed
face. ‘‘Something wrong?”
‘‘Yes, you are!” Louise answered,
giving him a little shove. “Get
along. Why spoil a dance?”
Behind them the group broke up
as quickly as it had formed. Men
returned to their partners and
swung on with the music. But when
the waltz ended Breck felt a heavy
grip on his shoulder. He whirled
from it and confronted Art Tillson.
It was a handsome, arrogant face
that he stared into; not much more
than a boy’s. It had the sharp-fea
tured Tillson strength, save for dull,
somber eyes. Even this moment’s
rage did not hide that deep brood
ing.
“Is this fellow botherin’ you, Lou
ise?” he asked. “If he is—”
“Art!” she broke in, ‘‘You’re a
little bit drunk. Go outside for
awhile.” It was a command, given
as if she expected to be obeyed,
and for a second the boy seemed on
the verge of going.
But then he looked at her sullen
ly. “Throwin’ me down?”
“No, of course not!”
“You cut a dance.” Tillson swayed
unsteadily, clutched her wrist and
started to draw her close. “Come
on, Louy, this is mine.”
Breck saw her hold back. He
stepped between them, forcing
young Tillson away with his elbow.
The boy whirled, his face livid and
tightened into knots over his jaw. He
stood with eyes narrowed in the
way Breck had already seen Jud
narrow his.
“Buttin’ in, are you!” he snarled.
“Want to fight about it?”
The music had stopped. Every
body had turned, waiting. Break’s
mind worked swiftly.
“Well,” he heard Tillson sneer,
“are you crawlin’ off?"
“Not a bit.”
“Come outside then!”
“Why outside?” Breck demanded.
“What’s the matter right here?”
Outside, in the dark with few to
see, was not what he wanted. He
glanced at the stage, then beckoned
to a grinning cowboy in the crowd.
“Get up there and clear a ring!
You’re going to have a show!”
The puncher yelled and others
Joined him. They leaped across the
old footlight trench and booted the
orchestra from their chairs. A
squared circle was made in the
wreckage of broken scenery. They
tried to roll the curtain up but it
stuck halfway.
“All right,” Breck cried, spring
ing ahead of young Tillson. “This
act's ours!”
Half a dozen cowhands had ap
pointed themselves seconds on each
side; one stepped into the square to
referee. None was too steady on
his feet. Tillson’s first plunge at
Breck knocked the referee into the
scenery and after that no other vol
unteered.
Breck had counted on his knowl
edge of boxing. He found instantly
that this was a fight. Tillson came
with head lowered, right arm driv
ing with killing force, and followed
up with a left equally powerful.
When Breck struck, it was as if his
fists had crashed into iron. He saw
a brown, mallet-like thing rise, and
partly turned that blow from his
jaw, yet faces spun about him dizzi
ly. A roar filled the room,
u Stepping back, he gained his bal
ance, judged his position better and
closed in before Tillson had recov
ered for a fresh attack. He jabbed
as their bodies locked, heard a
grunted oath, took a terrific thrust
against his own side. Two arms
tightened about him, crushing his
ribs. Tillson’s head rose under his
chin, snapped his head back, butted
upward until breathing was stopped.
He tried to struggle out, found him
self powerless, and then the truth
of this fight came in a mad surge
of strength. Art would kill him if
he could.
With that, all semblance of what
the city was pleased to call civiliza
tion slipped from him. He had no
sight, no feeling, no thought save
one—tear off this thing.
Locked in Tillson’s arms, he let
himself drop backward, squirmed
from the embrace as Tillson relaxed
in falling and was free as they
struck the floor. Instantly then he
sprang up, took the advantage and
struck the other down the moment
he rose.
The roar that had filled the room
died suddenly. Silence made him
conscious of things outside his bat
tle. He heard a warning voice snap,
"You, Jud, stay out of it!”
There was a retort and an imme
diate shifting of men. They seemed
to be taking sides, some back of Art
Tillson, a good many others behind
himself. What happened then passed
actually over his head.
He had crouched to meet a blow.
At once the space that had been a
ring, was a crush of men, drunken
curses, the spat of fists upon flesh.
In a wave of bodies he was borne
on, knocked down, cast over to the
edge. Before he could move, the
house was plunged into darkness.
Someone had pulled the light switch.
A match flared at one end of the
si age and in its short glow Breck
saw a grinning face. The man’s
vcice was lost in the tumult of bel
lowed shouts, but his mouth framed
a word: “Fire!” Laughing crazily,
he dropped the match into a pile of
boards and scene canvas, and
danced about as the flames shot up.
Breck lunged to his feet. On the
floor below him the mob surged to
the exit. One girl stood over at
the side, alone, motionless against
the wall. In springing toward fier,
he jerked the ropes that held the
stage curtain. It crashed down and
, - I L ?■ a;..
He whirled from it and confronted Art Tillson.
for a time the house was again
black.
His hands found the girl as he
stumbled along the wall. “Quick!”
he ordered. “This way!”
When she did not move, he picked
her up bodily, thrust her feet-fore
most through an open window and
let her down outside. He followed,
saying again, “Quick!”
The high board fence was not far
off; he struck against one plank,
crashed through, managing some
how to drag the girl with him.
Suddenly the girl halted. “You
might,” she said, “tell me what it’s
all about. And please stop hugging
me. You hurt.”
Breck stared. Looking back, he
saw there were no flames from the
building. Someone must have
thought to stamp out the fire. He
could hear motor cars being started,
and through the trees casual voices
called: “So long. Adios. See you
later.” He felt stupid. Apparently
most of the tumult was in his own
head.
“I thought Jud Tillson—” he be
gan.
She cut him off with a laugh. “So
that was it! That’s good enough for
news, really. Louise Temple, res
cued! Having to be rescued. And
from the Tillsons!”
Breck met her laughter with a
shrug. She leaned toward him, soft
ly smiling. “Of course I’m grateful.
Even if it wasn’t necessary. It only
seemed so funny for a minute. Good
night.”
He offered his arm formally. “I’ll
see you home, if you wish.”
“No, thank you again, but I’m
staying at the hotel, and so are the
Tillson brothers. I think you have
seen enough of them for one eve
ning.”
At this moment he could work up
a good rage when he thought of Lou
ise Temple. He could easily hate
her. Yet he knew that after a while
he would remember her eyes, with
their half-amused, half-unhappy
look, the tilt of her small dark head,
and that in the dance she had been
a wholly satisfying partner.
CHAPTER IV
“Say, Dad, who is Louise Tem
ple?” Breck paused in his early
morning meal and glanced across
the table at the ranger.
“Old man Temple’s kid,” said
Cook, continuing with flapjacks,
ham and eggs,
i Interesting, Breck thought, but not
• very complete. Yet he did not press
the question, for there were more
immediate things to occupy him.
Both he and Cook had been up at
I daylight, and by this time the room
about them was piled with boxes of
provisions, fire tools, telephone sup
plies and other equipment ready to
be packed to the mountain station.
A flivver truck stood outside the
door. And beyond that, past the
first fifteen miles of sloping desert
and red rock hills, rose the granite
wall of the High Sierras.
“You’ll ride the cushions today,”
Cook said, when the meal was iin
ished, “but tomorrow you’ll be forK
ing hard leather.” He crossed to a
plank chest and unlocked it, asking
over one shoulder, “Have you a
gun?”
“No,” Breck answered. “I intend
ed to buy one in town this morning.”
“Don’t do it.” Cook stooped, dug
in the chest, then came back with a
German Luger.
Breck stiffened with recognition.
1918! In a flash of memory he saw
that same round, cold bore thrust
between his own eyes; then a vision
of Cotter, himself wounded, a strug
gle, the gun turned, its sharp spat
muffled, and only Cotter rising
where there had been two. He saw
the grin on his distorted face and
heard him say, “I’ll keep this. Might
bring good luck sometime.”
Cook placed the gun on the table
without speaking. Breck picked it
up, feeling the old familiar balance
of the brown grip in his hand.
“I’ve seen this before,” he said.
Cook bent over the gun with fond
eyes. "I suppose so. And I guess
Cotter would want you to have it. So
it’s yours.”
He straightened, turned and gazed
toward the mountains before he
spoke again. “I’m a peace-loving
man, Breck, but I hope you get a
fair chance to use that gun—and
use it plenty!”
By midmorning they had the fliv
ver truck loaded to its top, had
made last-minute purchases of more
tobacco, and locking the Lone Tree
house, left it to a summer of deser
tion.
At the postoffice where Breck
stopped to give orders about for
warding his mail, he caught quick
glances from a line of men who
squatted along the board walk.
Most of the men were cowhands,
though a few in mixed garb were
not to be definitely placed. When
he came out of the postoffice one of
the cowboys looked up with a friend
Average Height of American Woman Is
Set at 5 Feet, 4£ Inches, With Shoes
According to the dictates of high
fashion, we understand, the Ameri
can woman is 5 feet 6 or 7 inches
tall. Now that the Gibson girl is
back in fashion the fundamental
rules (on high authority) are about
the same—still the perfect 36, tall,
slim waisted and long legged, com
ments the Kansas City Times.
This might seem to be a rather
unhappy situation for the American
women. According to a recent
study by a life insurance company
the average height of the Ameri
can woman is 5 feet 4V4 inches (with
shoes). It coincides admirably with
the Venus de Milo; but the Venus
has been deposed as a standard of
fashion. She is too pleasantly
plump, so nothing else need be said
to explain the fall of her influence.
Many persons have rather count
ed on the idea that the height of
the whole population is increasing.
This hope is contradicted by the
fact that a similar study 40 years
earlier shows approximately the
same height for women. In the
height of college women Vassar re
ports an increase of inches in 37
years. Maybe this means some
thing. Or it may simply mean that
ly, “Howdy, Ranger.” At which one
of a pair who might be from the
mountains, or the desert, or nei
ther, offered a low grunt.
Breck climbed into the truck, ask
ing as soon as Cook started on,
“Who are those two at the end of
the line?”
“In black ranch hats? They’re
nesters from the Pothole country.
The Potholes are a bunch of small
meadows along a mountain just
south of the district you’re going to
take over. These people homestead
ed before it was put in hue forest
reserve.”
“Not very friendly to the service,
are they?”
“No, I guess not. The Tillsons
use them one way and another. But
we don’t have much trouble except
over a brush fire now and then if
their grub runs low.”
“How do you mean?”
Cook’s gray brows drew together
in his quizzical smile. “Why, they
get thirty-five cents an hour for fire
fighting. Easy money at that if they
keep their fires out of big trees
where it would make real work.”
“Am I hearing you right—they set
them?”
“I reckon they do, son,” Cook
laughed. “They’re twenty - five
miles from your station. What’s to
keep ’em from sticking a match in
the brush?” He shrugged and his
smile faded into serious eyes. “In
away it’s a good thing. If they
burn off little patches of brush every
year we’ll never have a big area
go up all at once.”
“Well I’ll be darned!” Breck was
beginning to sense that this ranger
business was something more than
riding a horse and carrying a gun.
He shot a glance at the man beside
him. Cook’s seamed, angular face
had the fighting set. He would not
be one to cross. And yet he winked
at these deliberate fires!
“You see, son,” the ranger went
on, as if answering Brack’s mental
question, “you don’t want to have
too many enemies on your trail at
the same time. Right now the Till
sons are plenty. After awhile we’ll
get around to the nesters; though 1
think removing this other crowd will
settle that too. The head gun in
the Potholes is a man named Weller.
You’ll meet up with him soon
enough.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
more tall girls happen to be going
to Vassar.
The women of average or less
than average height can find com
fort in the fact that they have lots
of company. Incidentally, the men
seem to be perverse about the whole
business. They have away of fall
ing in love without consulting the
fashion dictators or a yard stick.
We even know some men who ad
mit that small women excite their
protective instincts. They like to
beam down from a masculine height
of 5 feet 11 inches with a compla
cent sense of their own strength and
stature. It is all a rather compli
cated business once you venture
past the safe pages of a fashion
magazine.
Locating the Heart
The heart, a four-chambered con
ical flattened muscular bag about
five inches long, is located in the
cavity of the thorax between the
lungs. It lies obliquely behind the
lower two-thirds of the breastbone,
with the base pointing upward,
backward and toward the right and
with the apex pointing downward,
forward and toward the left.
I
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UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL
SUNDAY I
chool Lesson
By HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST, D. D.
Dean of The Moody Bible Institute
of Chicago.
C Western Newspaper Union.
Lesson for February 19
Lesson subjects and Scripture texts se
lected and copyrighted by Internationa]
Council of Religious Education; used by
permission.
BEVERAGE ALCOHOL AND ITS
SOCIAL PERILS
LESSON TEXT—Amos 6:1-6; I Peter 2:11,
12; 4:1-5.
GOLDEN TEXT—It Is good neither to eat
flesh, nor to drink wine, nor anything where
by thy brother stumbleth.—Romans 14:21.
“Hazards in the use of alcohol in
a machine age”—this is the topic
assigned for our lesson today. It is
a good one and worthy of the care
ful thought of every intelligent citi
zen. With automobiles alone kill
ing over a hundred persons a day,
and the obvious connection between
alcohol and death on the highway,
we might say much about the folly
of trying to cut down traffic acci
dents while we are licensing more
and more “taverns” along the road
to fill the drivers with the destruc
tive stuff.
There is much that might be said
about the social havoc that is being
wrought by alcohol. It is bad enough
that a man pays 25 cents for a
drink, but even worse, that he gives
25 minutes of his life for each in
dulgence. But the liquor industry
covers that up under a mask of fes
tivity, making booze look like a de
sirable adjunct to congenial and suc
cessful living. It does not picture
the bleary eye and the babbling
tongue of the drinker, nor does it
present the broken-hearted moth
er, the devastated home, the ragged
children, and the empty cupboard.
Liquor is one of America’s major
problems. Let us face it.
The Scripture portions assigned
for our lesson rightly emphasize
fundamentals, the first being a call
to awake from a false sense of se
curity, the second emphasizing that
this is a spiritual battle, and the
third pointing the way of victory as
being in holy living.
I. Foolish Security When Sur
rounded by Danger (Amos 6:1-6).
Surprise attack is always effec
tive. Satan would lull us all to sleep
in the assurance that “God’s in his
heaven—all’s well with the world.”
God is in heaven and it is certain
that ultimately He will reign over
all, but just now the world is in
the hands of the Wicked One (I.
John 5:19).
The people of Amos’ day, to whom
the message was addressed, had
come to the point where prosperity
had made them at ease when they
should have been active, foolishly
secure when they should have been
sacrificially serving their fellow
men who were in need. The pic
ture is astonishingly up-to-date. To
day in our own land the Gold Coast
and the slums rub elbows, but few
of those who have plenty are con
cerned about those who have not. In
the eyes of most people the pur
pose of gaining possessions is to re
lieve one from the necessity of work
and to enable one to evade life’s
responsibilities.
America needs to awaken to its
dangers, and we repeat that not the
least of these is the liquor question.
We must either win a victory over
it, or it will destroy our people.
11. Spiritual Warfare—While at
Peace with God (I. Pet. 2:11, 12),
“Fleshly lusts, which war against
the soul” (v. 11) are the object of
serious concern on the part of every
sincere Christian. There is a battle
on, and the enemy of our soul
knows how to make the abuse of
the normal impulses and appetites
of man his strong ally. The rush of
modern life, the increasing use of
stimulants, both natural and arti
ficial, the very luxury in which many
live, these things tend to give the
flesh and its desires undue promi
nence, and not infrequently cause
even God’s children to fall into sin.
We are called to a holy warfare,
but that does not mean that we
live in a constant turmoil. We are,
after all, pilgrims and strangers in
this world. Our citizenship is in
heaven (Phil. 3:20) though we live
on earth. In the heart we have
peace, and that enables us to fight a
good fight against the world, the
flesh, and the devil.
111. Doing the Will of God in a
Self-willed World (I. Pet. 4:1-5),
Essentially there are two opposing
principles operative in the lives of
men—we either are controlled by
God’s will,' or by self-will. The flesh
is really man’s personality con
trolled by his own self-will. It re
sults in the kind of life described in
verses 2 and 3. When a man be
comes a Christian he should move
over into the will of God.
Such a man may be regarded as
strange, but as a matter of fact,
men will recognize his godliness
(see I. Pet. 2:12). Dr. Will H.
Houghton tells of “a soldier who
ultimately was made a Christian be
liever through seeing his compan
ions make fun of another soldier,
who was a believer in Christ. The
thing that impressed him was the
fact that though they made fun of
this man, they left their money in
his possession for safekeeping!” Do
we have that kind of a testimony?
When He Doesn’t Worry
His Satanic majesty never wor
ries about the man who has come
to the conclusion that there is no
devil.
osues&m
m&u,
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Dost thou love life? Then do not
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