Newspaper Page Text
Mountain man
BasuteA tyictian Serial
By HAROLD CHANNING WIRE
CHAPTER Xlll—Continued
—l2
With no time to lose, he swung
toft, clipped the four wires at the
nearest post, then leading Kit ran
to the next. Three sections of fence
were cut and the wires on the
ground before a spurt of flame
flashed out of the black shadows
ahead. Simultaneously a lone bullet
whined past.
He straightened, and in the si
lence that followed the gun’s crack,
his voice burst sharply:
“Ranger here!”
A sudden rush of hoofs and a rat
tle of pistol fire all but drowned the
answering shout. “To hell with the
Rangerl”
After that guns crashed from ev
erywhere. As he sprang to his horse
and faced the opposite edge of
woods, Jackson and his cowpunch
ers charged up behind him. Breck
leaped Kit in with them and they
swept across the bald dome. The
woods turned red with stabs of
flame. Involuntarily he dodged.
Enough shots were being fired to
wipe out the dozen men in a second,
yet they rushed on. One horse fell;
its rider limped back toward the
fence.
At the forest’s edge the two bands
came together, and there real fight-
Vig began. Jackson, astride a tall
gray horse, was suddenly engulfed
between two forms. Breck wheeled
Kit that way, and caught a blow
from a knotted rope between his
eyes. He struck up with his gun
to ward off a second blow.
Nothing was plain in the dark
ness. Horses thudded together,
drew apart. Lariats whirled. A
loop caught one horse by the fore
feet; he plunged headlong and a
man’s body turned twice in mid-air.
Cowpunchers from each side were
too closely packed to allow guns.
Firing had ceased. There sounded
only the swish of ropes, grunted
curses, one voice shouting as if that
mass could obey his command.
Then suddenly above all else rose
a thunder of cattle on the run. They
had poured past the break in the
fence and now, in one wave, were
sweeping across the bald dome.
Breck caught sight of them through
the open trees, spurred Kit from
their path, and with other men, left
the fight to dash from that un
checked rush.
One rider, racing at an angle in
front of him, turned in his saddle
and fired a last shot. The range
was no more than twenty feet.
Breck felt a slash of fire along his
cheek, then knew the full fury of
fighting blood. The figure entered
a lane of trees. Breck followed at
a run down the long mountain spur.
Over Kit’s lowered head, as swift
and regular as clock ticks, he shot,
aiming a little to the left of the
man, wanting a prisoner rather than
a corpse. The automatic held ten
shells in its clip. Until six were
fired the figure ahead showed no
signs of halting. At seven he wa
vered in his saddle. At nine he
threw up his hands, bracing himself
as his horse stopped with all feet
dug into the earth.
Breck rode down beside him.
The fellow turned, gaping with
wonder. “For God’s sake, what’er
you shootin’? I counted ’em. Nine
and still goin’!”
“There is one more and that’s
plenty,” Breck answered. “Now you
turn face front and keep your hands
high.”
He reached across, lifted the
man’s gun, then drove him upward
to a point where they could climb
back to open ground. The herd had
spread out by now; he could hear
calls, and voices answering from
near the drift fence. Presently a
fire guided him.
Jackson’s tall gray horse came
first into sight, then he recognized
one of the cowpunchers and rode to
where they were gathering. The
old cattleman was sitting on a log,
trousers rolled up from a bloody
leg.
Breck ordered his prisoner to the
ground and dismounted. Only six
men were at the fire. “Ain’t all here
yet,” said Jackson. “We’re just
waitin’. Likely some of us will have
to go hunt pretty soon.”
The little group stood in silence.
One by one others rode in, reached
the ground, questioned with their
eyes but said nothing. Soon there
were ten.
“Mac’s yonder,” the last arrival
reported, pointing further along the
fence. “Leg’s broke."
“You, Fred,” Jackson ordered,
“take him a horse.” He straight
ened from dressing his own wound
and looked around the group. “Ten
here. Mac makes eleven. Who’s
missin’?”
“Where’s Johnny?” someone
asked.
Before an answer could be given
the distant crack of a gun broke
through the night. Three shots
came slowly, telling of deliberate
aim.
Breck leaped to his horse, flinging
back as he lunged away, “Hold that
prisoner here!”
Complete stillness had come after
tba three slow shots. There was
something horrible in the cool way
of firing. He pictured the boy, ruth
lessly shot down, lying somewhere
in the canyon below.
But he could have saved himself
the agony. Before he had gone far,
Johnny came loping upward, gun
alert as he questioned from a dis
tance; “Ranger?”
“Yes. Are you all right, son?”
The boy approached. “No I ain’t!
Three shots just like that . . . and
I missed him!”
Back at the fire, with all men
accounted for and no signs of re
newed attack, now that all the cat
tle were scattered over the moun
tain, Breck faced his prisoner.
“Whose outfit are you from?”
The fellow looked up suddenly.
“Brown’s of course.”
“All right, you’re going back to
Brown and you’re going to tell him
that his line ends west of Black
Mountain, at the creek. Tell him
it’s open season on any of his cattle
“Hold that prisoner here!’”
found this side of it. Understand?
Now get out!”
When the Middle Forker had rid
den away, quiet fell over the group,
broken at last by Jackson’s an
nouncement: ‘‘Let’s get along, boys.
Soon we’ll be too damn stiff to
move.”
It was a wordless line of men
that rode down Black Mountain in
the first light of dawn, and a weary
lot by the time they reached Bear
Trap. Still wordless, they threw off
saddles and clumped into the cabin.
But in a short time over cups of
black coffee and thick slices of un
buttered bread, their spirits rose
and talk began.
A cowhand turned to where Breck
was sprawled on the floor with two
others. ‘‘Well by God, Ranger, they
done initiated you!”
Breck raised a hand to his grimy
cheek, remembering that slash of
fire. His fingers came away red
with blood.
In time the cowpunchers finished
their coffee and one by one went
where they could lie down in the sun
and sleep. Breck felt the same de
sire but knew he must get back to
telephone connection with headquar
ters. When he rose, Jackson
walked with him as far as the
screened meat safe outside his door.
Halting, JG drew a chunk of beef
from its hook. “Here,” he said,
wrapping it in a gunny sack, “take
this and help yourself whenever you
come through.”
Though Breck had meat left from
what Temple had given him, he took
it gladly. Again it was the cow
country’s offering of good will.
CHAPTER XIV
The trip to Bear Trap was Breck’a
last ride away from Rock House
Station for some time. Upon Cook’s
order he remained close to the tele
phone, for day by day the first
week of July passed and then half
the second, with no sign of rain to
break the drouth that had settled
over the Sierras. His grass mead
ow began to turn brown. Needles
under the pine trees became tinder.
Three times each day he talked
with the lookout on Kern Peak, mak
ing certain that the line was clear
and getting Donny’s report. Always
it was the same. “Not a cloud.
Humidity hasn’t changed half a de
gree.”
"Any smoke?” Breck would ask.
That was the thing in mind these
days. He began to see smoke in
every patch of light, and once, sit
ting on a log near the telephone
post, he caught a definite tinge of it
in his nostrils and sprang up, ready
to throw on his pack, then realized
the odor came from his own stove.
When Cook called from headquar
ters they talked of nothing else.
“Looks bad,” the ranger said. “Dry
as a match over here; same with
you, I suppose. Things will be all
right if w» get rain in the next
storm. But if it’s lightning we’ll
earn our money!”
That was Wednesday evening. As
Breck stood at the telephone he
glanced up to the unbroken heavens
where stars hung like clear blue
gems. Later he went out again
and found that even since the time
he had talked with Cook, something
had formed up there. Black patches
had appeared. A high broad arm
covered the area south of Rock
House.
He returned to his bunk and fell
asleep with thoughts of an approach
ing storm, and dreamed endlessly
of blazes and brush hooks and then
a fire ball that swung over the for
est. It descended lower and lower
until it touched the pine tops. They
burst into flame with a queer sound.
Ringing.
Breck leaped from his bunk and
walked while still half asleep. It
was daylight outside. The telephone
bell clamored beyond his door. He
jerked open the iron box and an
swered. “Rock House. Yes. All
right, Donny, I’ve got you.”
“Fire to the south of you, Rock
House,” the lookout called down.
“Reading one seven five.”
“Just a minute,” said Breck. He
ran into the cabin, drew his map
from a shelf, unfolding it as he re
turned to the instrument.
The reading Donaldson had given
him was in degrees from a circle
about Kern Peak; north being zero.
Breck’s own map was marked with
a corresponding circle. Now he took
the direction of one seven five—a
little east of south,
“One seven five,” he repeated.
“How far?”
“Head of Lost Horse Creek.”
Breck studied the map, found Lost
Horse, saw at once by contours that
it was in steep, broken country.
Then looking further he discovered
something more. “That’s near the
Potholes, Donny. What sort of fire
is this?”
“Lightning, I think. Struck in
three places. I’ve watched a storm
since midnight.”
“OK,” Breck finished.
Another voice broke in before he
could hang up the receiver. “Rock
House!” He recognized Cook. “Get
on the trail as soon as you can,"
the ranger continued. “It will be
noon anyway before you reach Lost
Horse. Take grub for a week—no
telling.”
Cannibals Spurn White Man’s Flesh;
Rather Eat Relatives, Traveler Says
An ornithologist for the Philadel
phia Academy of Natural Sciences
says that a white man’s life among
Dutch New Guinea cannibals is gen
erally uneventful because the canni
bals prefer to eat their own rela
tives, relates a Philadelphia United
Press correspondent in the Detroit
Free Press.
The Philadelphia man recently re
turned from a year’s stay among
the Karoon cannibals of New Gui
nea. He said nothing rates higher
gastronomically than a relative who
oversteps the bounds of cannibal
propriety.
“The system,” he said, “results
in a minimum of bores and love
thieves in the tribe.” Relative eat
ing, he said, resulted in part from
the Dutch government’s attitude to
ward consumption of white men and
Chinese.
Besides cannibal lore, he returned
with 1,000 skins and 70 live birds
and admitted he owed his success to
the co-operation of cannibals.
He said the Karoons have “good
features, brown skins and a certain
amount of beauty among the young
girls.” But their minds, he said, are
low and conniving.
“For instance, let’s suppose a
“What do you think of this fire?"
Breck asked. “Lightning?”
“Maybe; though it’s mighty close
to the Potholes. Make up a crew
from the nesters there. You’ll find
a tool box near Weller’s place. I’ll
keep Donny on the line and if things
don’t look better by afternoon, Slim
will come. Now hop onto it!”
The Potholes lay some twenty-five
miles to the south and a little east
of Break’s station; a country of
small round meadows sunk below
steep ridges, connected by narrow
ravines, and all occupying a hol
low where the Sierra roof began to
break into lower levels. Nesters
had come there and settled, a man
to a meadow, before the district
was made a federal forest. Now
government land surrounded them,
yet they remained independent of
the reserve.
This much Breck had learned
from Cook when he first came on
the job, along with the ranger’s
statement: “God knows what they
live on! They don’t graze cattle and
they don’t farm. They handle Till
son’s bootleg some and get their
thirty-five cents an hour fire-fight
ing. They’ll bear a look any time
you’re in that part.”
Leading his pack, Breck could
make only four miles an hour along
a trail that climbed and descended
and climbed again. Long before he
came within sight of the Potholes he
saw a mushroom of smoke above
that area. It grew steadily, black
at first, showing the fire was in
brush, then took on the gray of
burning timber. When he topped a
rise about eleven o’clock, and looked
into the hollow country, the whole
basin was obscured in a cloud.
The main blaze seemed further
east of the Potholes, centered on
the flank of a cone-shaped peak.
Here an occasional curl of red flame
burst up through the smoke. He
turned in that direction, dipping
downward in order to pass the nest
er settlement. It came into view
hazily; half a dozen weathered
buildings, store, blacksmith shop, a
few houses scattered at the forest’s
edge.
A group of men loafed in front of
the shop. Breck rode there at once,
saying as he halted, “Is Weller
here?”
It took no more than a glance to
put them down as a shiftless lot.
They wore overalls mostly, uiv
yvashed since the day they left the
counter, ragged shirts, and stared
with sullen indifference from beard
ed faces. He repeated, “Where is
Weller?”
One jerked a thumb toward the
smithy. Breck dismounted, left Kit
tied to a hitching bar and strode to
the smithy’s door. Immediately he
was confronted by a thin-bodied,
thin-faced man who appeared out of
the black interior. His eyes were
small and close, and his nose
seemed wrinkled in perpetual ani
mosity.
“What do you want, Ranger?” It
was a blunt demand.
Breck spoke with sudden anger.
“Are you Weller?”
“I reckon.”
“Then what’s the matter with you
nesters? Why aren’t you on tha
fire?” Breck whirled from the door
“Come on now and get a crew!”
Weller followed at a slow pace.
“Can’t fight with no tools, mister.”
“There’s the box. Nothing to stop
you.” Breck waved a hand toward
the service chest that stood under a
tree not far off.
“Sure, there’s a box,” Weller
agreed. “Help yourself.”
Breck went to it and flung back
the cover. Space inside was empty
save for one shovel and a rusted
brush-hook without a handle.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
tribesman steals from a fellow
tribesman his wife or some per
sonal possession. The victim lodges
a complaint with the chief and the
chief calls a council of assistant
chiefs and priests. If they decide
the meat shortage is acute enough
to warrant drastic punishment, the
offender is invited to a big blowout.
“He doesn’t know he is about to
be barbecued. He dances with the
rest of them and the only indication
of unuaual honor to be bestowed on
him is a garland of flowers about
his neck.
“When the dancing ends, the un
fortunate is killed with specially se
lected poles and divided.
“The guests then roast him to in
dividual taste.”
King Alfred a Bible Student
King Alfred the Great was a
translator of the Bible, for it was
his ambition that "all the freeborn
youth of his kingdom should employ
themselves on nothing till they
could first read well the English
Scripture.” King Alfred died whila
working on a translation of th»
Psalms. About that time, too, Arch
bishop Aelfric translated parts ct
the Bible into Anglo-Saanaw
I ADVENTUROUS
AMERICANS
By
Elmo Scott Watson
The ‘Old Pioneer*
A CENTURY ago newspapers ir.
( ** various parts of the country fre
, quently printed contributions signed
I “By an Old Pioneer.” The man who
[ thus signed himself was one of the
, most interesting characters in the
history of the West—John Mason
Peck, preacher, writer, teacher and
editor,
, A Yankee by birth, Peck arrived
in St. Louis in 1817 as a young and
I zealous preacher sent out by the
Baptist church to Missouri territory.
, Except for two or three years, the
. remaining four decades of his life
, were spent in traveling thousands of
, miles on horseback, preaching,
exhorting, establishing schools,
; churches and Bible societies, mak
■ ing friends and giving counsel to
many a settler far removed from
> civilization.
Also during this time he was
making an even greater contribu
, tion to posterity. He was recording
i his observations and impressions of
the people and the country through
which he traveled. He interviewed
many frontier notables, among
them the venerable Daniel Boone
and later wrote a biography of the
great Kentucky pioneer.
By the time of Peck’s death in
1857 his journals numbered some 53
manuscript volumes which he willed
to a library. At the beginning of
the Civil war, the librarian went
away to fight and Peck’s material
was stored temporarily. When the
library was moved to new quarters
at the end of the war it was left
behind and eventually was acquired
by a paper mill and turned into
cardboard. Thus much priceless his
torical information was lost.
But despite this loss, Peck’s life
had not been lived in vain. His
writings, published in the newspa
pers, had a great deal to do with
bringing settlers into Illinois and
Missouri and in establishing those
two commonwealths.
• * *
Under Five Flags
\X/' ALPOLE ROLAND is believed
to have been present at more
historic events and known person
ally more historic characters than
any other American who is not fa
mous in his own right.
He served under five flags, with
the British, as a major in the Turk
ish army during the Crimean war,
a colonel of cavalry in the Mexican
army, a general in the Chinese
army under Li Hung Chang, a scout
for Custer in the Civil war. During
the Crimean war he was an eye
witness to the famous Charge of the
Light Brigade and in India he was
present at the “Relief of Lucknow.”
He knew the Duke of Wellington,
Napoleon 111, Sultan Mejdid VI of
Turkey, who decorated him, and
Abraham Lincoln, who expressed his
gratitude for Roland’s leaving the
Chinese army to volunteer in the
Union army. Roland went 20 miles
into Confederate territory and re
turned with the topographical maps
upon which the famous battle of
Gettysburg was fought.
At the age of 71, he volunteered
for service in the Spanish-American
war and was rejected as being phys
ically unfit. But 13 years later, at
the age of 84, he was lost in the
Canadian woods for 21 days without
food—and came out of it without any
injury to his health. In fact, he
lived to be more than 100 years old,
but this war-worn adventurer spent
his last days in a poorhouse in
Detroit.
• • •
‘The American Traveler’
JOHN LED YARD, Dartmouth
J sophomore, paddled home in a
canoe down the Connecticut river to
Hartford in 1772. This was not only
the first recorded trip of its kind—
it started Ledyard on his career as
“The American Traveler,” who saw
more of the world, as it was then
known, than any other man.
He went to sea and landed in Lon
don at the time the great navigator,
Captain Cook, was preparing for his
third South Sea voyage. He won a
berth on Cook’s vessel as a corporal
of marines. Returning, he went to
Paris and hobnobbed with Thom
as Jefferson, Lafayette and John
Paul Jones. Then back in America,
he accepted Jefferson’s suggestion
that he explore the western part
of North America by crossing it on
foot eastward to. Virginia. This
meant going first to London, cross
ing Europe and Asia and taking a
Russian ship to the Vancouver is
lands.
He started from London in De
cember, 1766, and reached Stock
holm uneventfully. He learned there
that he was to cross the Gulf ol
Bothnia by sled but the ice route to
Russia was not frozen over. Faced
with waiting until spring to cross by
boat, he decided to walk around
the gulf instead—a 1,500 mile
trek through unknown country.
Although the feat seems impossi
ble, he reached St. Petersburg sev
en weeks later. He continued by
sledge across Russia until Empress
Catherine banished him as a French
spy.
Shortly thereafter he started on a
trip to explore Africa but died sud
denly in Cairo, January 17, 1789.
® Western Newspaper Union. 1
BABY CHICKS
BRED FOR PRODUCTION: Duck*
RAISED FOB PROFIT: Chlok.
SOLD BY QUALITY: Turkey.
STARTED CHICKS: Pulleta
Milford Hatchery Pikesvllle P. o.
J Rockdale, Md.
t i n i mi
Jlsk Me Another
% A General Quix
I
The Questions
i
1. When does a breeze become
a wind?
2. How many miles does tha
earth travel daily?
3. Does Yukon Territory belong
to Alaska?
4. How far can the human eye
see?
5. Can anything be greater ia
width than in length?
6. In what year were the first
U. S. coins made?
7. Is Joan of Arc’s home still in
existence?
8. Does an elephant drink with
its trunk or its mouth?
9. Is it true that if a car going 40
miles an hour strikes a solid wall,
it would strike with the same force
as if it had fallen from a tall
building?
The Answer*
1. When it blows from 7 to 38
miles per hour.
2. On its annual trip around the
sun the earth travels about 1,601,-
644 miles daily.
3. No; it is part of the Dominick
of Canada.
4. An almost unlimited distance,
depending upon the size and
brightness of the object. For ex
ample, the sun is over 92,000,000
miles away.
5. No, length is always the long
er dimension.
6. In 1793.
7. The house where she was
born still stands at Domremy, in
eastern France. Nearby are the
Chenu woods where the voices
called her to her patriotic mission.
The dungeon at Rouen, where she
spent her last days, is also still in
existence.
8. Its mouth. It sucks up water
in its trunk and squirts it into its
mouth.
9. The National Bureau of Stand
ards says that a car going 40
miles per hour, hitting against a
solid wall, would strike with a
force equivalent to falling from a
height of 52 feet—at least a four
story building.
QuickC
uotesM
Sentinel Feature* '
INDIVIDUAL FREEDOM
“EVERYTHING that is really great
and inspiring is created by the
individual who can labor in freedom.
Restriction is justified only in so far as
it may be needed for the security of
existence.” — Dr. Albert Einstein.
Goddesses of Virtue
Light and Justice have left our
shores, but happily only for a
short time; they will merely visit
their sisters, Equality and Fra
ternity, in San Juan, and will re
turn presently to be with Liberty
and Peace again. All are daugh
ters of Resident Commissioner
Santiago Iglesias of Puerto Rico,
stationed in Washington.
The United States is proud to
be haven and home to Light, Jus
tice, Equality, Fraternity, Liberty
and Peace. May they long abide
with us!—Philadelphia Inquirer.
Q%e^lnm
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You find them announced in
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i L—— --1* 1
