Newspaper Page Text
I
W/e Lamp *
BY ARTHUR STRINGER JL W. N. U Service /
»
Carol Coburn. Alaska born, Is returning
north to teach in an Indian school.
Aboard ship she Is annoyed by Eric (the
Red) Erlcson, an agitator. She Is rescued
by a young engineer.
She Is disappointed that he Is Sidney
CHAPTER 111
I couldn’t send documents which
1 didn’t possess on to Sidney Lander.
And I couldn’t get any response to
my repealed letters to the high-and
mighty Record Office officials at Ju
neau. I had to wait, as women so
often have to do in this world.
Summer, up here under the shad
ow of the pole, seemed a very short
season. I'd been twice to Anchor
age, to explore the wooden-fronted
shops and buy things to cover my
nakedness and bring home an arm
ful of month-old magazines. And
through it all, as the voice over our
tinny radio announced, “Time
marches on.”
For the sun was swinging lower
and lower and the birch leaves were
turning and the wild fowl heading
south. The fireweed was red on the
hillsides and I once more faced the
familiar old task of stoking a drum
stove with spruce logs. There was
a sheeting of ice on the trail pools
in the morning and we breakfasted
by lamplight. Doctor Ruddock
brought Katie O'Connell seven wild
ducks which he’d shot on the Inlet,
explaining that the six mallards
were for the staff, and the spoonbill
for the principal. With the coming
of the first untimely snowfall, in
fact, I’d taken to whipcord riding
breeches and invested in a pair of
pacs, high boots made of rubber,
with generous enough foot room to
allow for at least two pairs of wool
en socks. Katie, when she saw me
thus attired, proclaimed that' I once
more looked like an old-timer. Then
she went over her combination rifle
and shotgun, which she called a
“game-getter,” and asked if I’d
swing in with her on a moose hunt
across the Inlet.
But instead of a moose hunt we
went on a baby hunt. For Katie had
been right about her vanished pa
poose. Word came that our poor lit
tle redskinned Oedipus had been
found abandoned in a poplar grove
east of Wasilla. Doctor Ruddock,
who brought the news to Toklutna,
said there was a passable trail
through the hills and delegated Ka
tie and me to motor over to Mata
nuska Valley and bring the outcast
back.
Katie, who would have started out
for Timbuctoo at a word from that
doctor of hers, lost no time. It
wasn’t an entirely dignified depar
ture, for it took place in the school’s
old wood-toting motor truck.
By noon the next day we won
through to the Matanuska River,
where we were told to push on east
ward along the valley toward what
was called the Butte. High up in
the hills, as we went, I could see
mountain sheep, looking like little
clouds anchored to the rock lodges.
Then Katie snorted aloud. For at
a turn in the road we came face to
face with a bewhlskered old-timer
with a bolstered hunting knife and
a six-gun swinging at his hip, to
say nothing of a long-barreled rifle
in the crook of his arm. He looked,
for some reason, like a picture out
of the past. The light in his sat
urnine old eye was none too kindly
as he studied us and then inspected
our mud-covered truck.
“Them contraptions,” he mordant
ly *nnounced, “weren’t built for
Nor*h Country mushin’, no more'n
women wore.”
Katie, after agreeing with him,
made an effort to explain our mis
sion there. The rugged and defiant
old figure assailed the trail ruts
with a barrage of tobacco-juice
shrapnel.
“Injuns like that ought t’ be shot.
And in the good old days,” he said
as he slapped his six-gun, “I’d a
done it on sight." He spat again.
“That’s what’s the matter with this
whole gol-darned country. She’s
gone soft on us. And 'stead o’ spoon
feedin’ them copper bellied sons o'
she-dogs she should be puttin’ a
bounty on their scalps.” And still
again he spat. “That’s what's spil
in’ this ol’ territory. Too much gov
er’mcnt. I’ve trapped her and pros
pected her from Keewalki down t’
Wrangel. And in the ol’ days—”
“We're from the Toklutna Mis
sion,” interrupted Katie, “on an
emergency case.”
“So I savvied,” was the unhur
ried response. “But in the ol’ days,
as I was savin’, we could run our
own camp. But now it’s your Uncle
Sam who steps in and runs us same
as he runs the Injins. He makes a
raft o’ fool minin’ laws, slaps a
closed season on beaver, and gits a
game warden after us if we shoot a
lady-caribou t’ keep body and soul
together. He tells us t’ settle down
and grow turnips. But once we clear
an acre or two he claims we ain’t
provin’ her up right and puts her
back in the public domain.”
The old-timer, when he spat again,
was able to convert the movement
into a sweeping gesture of repudia
tion.
“And right now a thievin’ lot o’
politicians is set on turnin’ this val
ley into a truck garden for a bunch
o’ broken-down corn-rustlers on re
lief. They’ve got their survey men
over there, markin’ out road lines
and drivin’ stakes and claimin’
they’re pavin’ the way for the resur-
THE STORY SO FAR
Lander and he Is surprised In turn to learn
her name. He la working for the Trumbull
company which la contesting her father's
claim. He Us engaged to Trumbull's daugh
ter.
Carol had seen Lander and Barbara
INSTALLMENT 111
rcction of Alaska. And next spring
they’re countin’ on plantin’ an army
o’ pie-eaters on the valley tundra
and watchin’ ’em git rich growin’
spinach for themselves.”
He shifted his cud and brushed
aside the mittened hand with which
Katie was semaphoring for silence.
“This ain’t no place for college
doods,” he doggedly pursued. “I
got one o’ them know-it-all engi
neers over t’ my shack right now.
He kin talk big about g’ology and
machine-minin’, but he could no
more take a tom-rocker back in the
hills and wash out a poke o’ dust
than I could pilot one o’ them air
planes that’s stampedin’ our good
ol’ brand o’ husky-dogs off the trails
of Alaska.”
Katie, very plainly, could stand for
no more.
“That’s all very interesting,” she
bellowed. “But we’re here to find
an Indian baby. And if you can help
us in our search I’d rather like to
know it.”
The challenge in Katie’s voice
brought a keener look of animosity
from the bewhiskered old face.
“I was a-comin’ to that, lady, if
you’ll only keep your shirt on.” And
still again he spat with delibera
“l was a-comin’ to that, lady, if
you’ll only keep your shirt on.”
tion. “Your Injin baby’s over there
in my wickyup.”
“It’s where?” cried Katie, re
minding me of a coiled cobra.
The old stranger seemed to relish
her bewilderment.
“It’s over yonder in my wickyup,
with that dood engineer tryin’ to
wet-nurse a little life into it. And
I'll be doggoned if he ain’t got it
squallin’ again like a two-year-old.”
“Take me to it,” commanded Ka
tie. Her lips were grim as she mo
tioned for the old-timer to climb up
on the truck. She was, apparently,
too exasperated to talk to him. So
I did the conversing.
“Where," I asked as we rocked
along the rough trail, “was the baby
found?”
“Why, this long-legged quartz
cracker came mushin’ down through
the hills with a sheep dog at his
heels, a right smart dog with a nose
like a weasel’s. Fact is, that hound
smelt out something in a poplar
grove jus’ over the knoll beyont my
clearin’. Kept whimperin’ and whin
in’ and circlin’ back there until his
owner jus’ had t’ investigate. And
there he finds an Injin baby wrapped
up in a ragged blanket. And then
comes stampedin’ t’ my shack door
sayin’ we've sure got t’ save that
little Injin's life. It looked plumb
dead t’ me. But I’ll be gol-darned
if that dood didn’t get some signs o’
life out o’ the little varmint, after
workin’ over her half the night and
warmin’ her up with hot milk and
my last bottle o’'hootch.
“What’s your name?” I asked,
primarily to cover Katie’s open
groan of indignation.
“You can call me Sock-Eye,” he
answered, “Sock-Eye Schlupp.
What’s yourn?”
“It's Coburn,” I told him. And
the deep-set old eyes studied me
with a livelier interest.
“You ain’t Alaska born?” he ven
tured.
“I was born,” I proudly explained,
“on the Koyukuk.”
The man who called himself Sock-
Eye stared at me.
“A Coburn from the Koyukuk?
You ain’t meanin’ to tell me you’re
ol’ Klondike Coburn’s girl?”
I announced that I was.
“Why, I mushed many a trail
with that leather-necked ol’ pan
swizzlcr,” was his slightly retarded
rejoinder. “And I seen you when
you was a squallin’ little brat no
bigger 'n a minute, over back o’
Pickle Crick Camp. Why, it was
mo helped tote you down t’ the sky
pilot at Elk Crossin’, when you was
christened. And consoomed my
share o’ the moose-milk after that
sky-pilot ’d mushed on t’ his next
mission post. They called you Carol
in them days.”
HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL, PERRY. GEORGIA
In fond farewell at the Seattle dock.
Miss Teetzel, head of the Indian school,
resents Carol's youth. Carol gets a letter
from Lander asking for her father’s docu
ments and declaring "The Trumbull outfit
and I are parting company."
“Carol Koyukuk Coburn,” I said,
feeling a little closer to him.
“Sure it was, girlie,” said my
new-found friend. “Your pappy ’d
been pannin’ pay dirt along the Koy
ukuk and held he was handin’ luck
on t’ you with that name.” Sock-
Eye spat luxuriously, indicated tha
right trail fork for Katie to take,
and turned back to me. “But his
own luck didn’t hold out. It sure
didn’t.” Still again Sock-Eye spat.
“That was a dirty deal they gave
him over on the Chakitana.”
“He died there,” I said, with re
proving quietness in my tone.
“And died fightin’ for his rights,
tryin’ to push through t’ the Record
OfTice to git his patent from bein’
canceled on him. But he was buck
in’ something too big for him. Seems
like you got t’ be a college g’ologist
and a law sharp before you can stake
a claim in this country nowadays.”
“Then somebody else should be
keeping up the fight,” I said with a
sort of she-woli fierceness that
brought the deep-set old eyes back
to a study of my face.
“ ’Tain’t a fight where a pinfeath
er cluck like you’d have a look-in,”
observed Sock-Eye Schlupp. He spat
wide into the fringing spruce. “And
nothin’ much is gained by bellyach
in’ over water that’s gone down tha
flume, girlie. You should be satis
fied Klondike sent you outside t’
git eddicated proper.”
“Perhaps I’m not,” I said, em
bittered by a sense of relapse in
the face of some old loyalty.
“Then what’re you set on doin’
with yourself?” my companion cool
ly inquired.
I told him, briefly, about my work
at Toklutna. But it didn’t impress
him much.
“You’re sure wastin’ your time on
them no-account Nitchies,” he
averred. His morose eye ranged
along the far-off mountain peaks.
“Same as I’m wastin’ my time in
this valley, batchin’ it in a ten-by
twelve wickyup and bakin’ my own
sourdough. I’ve got me a minin’
claim up between the Little Squaw
and the Coldstream where the moth
er lode runs as thick as your leg and
once I get back there and open her
up she’s sure goin’t’ be a second El
Dorado.”
I could feel Katie’s elbow prod
my ribs.
“They all say that,” she muttered.
I remembered that she was right.
I’d seen them broken and wasted
from bad diet, and arthritic from
bad teeth and burnt out with bad
whisky, but still nursing their dream
of some lucky strike that was going
to make them millionairesovernight.
And in it, I felt, lay both the curse
and the glory of all Alaska.
“Here we be,” cried Sock-Eye as
we rounded a trail bend and rolled
up in front of a log shack with a
pair of weather-bleached moose
horns over the door.
The light wasn’t strong in the
shadowy warm room. But I could
make out a dog, lying beside the
stove, and a man in his shirt-sleeves,
stooping over a blanket-lined basket
without a handle.
I stared at that man, rather stu
pidly. Then I looked back at the
dog, in an effort to verify the in
credible. The man stooping over
the blanket-lined basket was Sidney
Lander.
I could feel my heart beating a
little faster as I stood staring at
him. I could see Katie O’Connell’s
eyes widen as she inspected the
nursing flask he’d made out of what
looked suspiciously like a beer bot
tle with a glove finger tied over its
end. It wasn’t working right, ap
parently, from the thin wails of pro
test that came from the basket.
“Leave this to me,” said the nurse
as she reached for her hand-bag.
Sidney Lander, thus elbowed
aside, stood watching the expedi
tious hands that betrayed none of
the hesitations marking his own
clumsy movements. When the dog
lifted his pointed nose and nibbed it
in a friendly way against my knee
his owner raised his eyes and stared
straight into my face.
He saw, for the first time, just
who it was under that worn old
parka. But he didn’t speak and he
didn’t smile. He merely stood there,
with wonder in his eyes.
“I didn’t expect this,” he said as
Sock-Eye Schlupp busied himself
stoking the stove. “I was on my
way down to Toklutna to find out
why you hadn’t much faith in me.”
“In what did I fail you?” I ques
tioned, a little resentful of his power
to dampen or quicken my spirits.
“I asked for the data and docu
ments to back up your Chakitana
claim,” he reminded me.
“I don't happen to have any docu
ments, as yet,” I told him. “But
even if I had, why should they go I
to you?”
“I wanted to lay them before John
Trumbull,” replied Lander, puzzling
me by the grimness of his jaw-line, j
“He's the big smoke in the Chaki
tana Development Company.”
“But also your boss,” I said.
“I’m afraid he won’t for long,”
was Lander’s unexpectedly embit
tered reply.
“Why not?” I inquired.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
GOOD TIDINGS FOR THE EASTER BREAKFAST
(See Recipes Below)
EGGSTRAORDINARY!
With the passing of winter and the
arrival of spring comes the joyful
Easter season, bringing with it new
life and new hope . . . Why not ex
press these good tidings in the
traditional Easter Sunday break
fast?
Make your Easter breakfast the
No. 1 breakfast of the year—the
time when the whole family, and
guests, too, perhaps, gather leisurely
’round a gaily decorated table laden
with their favorite early - morn
dishes.
Let color-splashed eggs be the
centerpiece. You can use those that
the children have
in the center of a
Then, to complete
the scheme, mark each person’s
place at the table with an egg cari
cature—Uncle Sam, an Indian Chief,
Mr. Rabbit or even a pert young
lady.
“While they’re still “oh-ing” and
“ah-ing,” serve "eggs in nests’’—
just to keep the theme in mind. To
complete your menu, you’ll of course
want glasses of cold fruit juice, crisp
ham slices or bacon curls and
steaming popovers. It’s taken for
granted that you’ll make plenty of
hot coffee. They couldn’t ask for
more!
♦Eggs in Nests.
(See picture at top of column)
1 egg
Vs teaspoon salt
Butter
5 bread sticks
Separate egg, placing white in
small, deep bowl and retaining yolk
in one of the half shells. Beat egg
white until stiff and slightly dry
(when dry, it will have a slightly
coarse appearance). Pile egg white
in oven-proof cup or dish in which 5
bread sticks have been arranged.
Drop yolk into depression made in
center of egg white. Bake in a mod
erately slow oven (325 degrees F.)
until bread tips and egg white are
delicately browned (about 15 min
utes). Season with salt, pepper if
desired, and a lump of butter
dropped on yolk. Serves 1.
Just in case you’re wondering how
the bread sticks are made, here are
directions. Because of their dainty
arrangement in the serving dishes,
I call them Bread Buttercups:
Remove the crusts from a loaf of
uncut bread. Cut lengthwise slices
from the loaf. Trim the slices so
that they are about IVfe inches wide
and the ends pointed. Brush with
an egg and milk mixture and ar
range in baking cups. It is best to
brush the tips with a little melted
butter so that they will brown more
readily.
♦Pop-Overs.
2 eggs, beaten
Vs cup milk
1 cup flour
Vi teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon melted fat
Combine eggs and milk. Pour
over sifted dry ingredients. Beat
with a rotary beater until smooth.
Add butter. Beat. Pour batter into
hot greased muffin pans, filling one
third full. Bake in a hot oven (450
degrees F.) for 35 to 45 minutes.
Dry in oven about 10 minutes with
LYNN SAYS:
Eggs join with other foods to
fill your needs and produce your
health. They are among our best
sources of the muscle building
proteins. They are high in iron
which is needed to build good
red blood. They supply phos
phorus which forms a part of ev
ery active cell of the body.
When “peeling’’ hard-cooked
eggs, crackle the shells, then
start the peeling at the rounded
end of the egg. Holding the eggs
under running cold water or dip
ping in a bowl of cold water
helps to ease the shell off, leav
ing a smooth, unbroken surface
of white.
THIS WEEK’S MENU
EASTER BREAKFAST
Chilled Pineapple Juice
♦Eggs in Nests
Ham Slices
♦Pop-Overs
Jam Jelly
Beverages
♦Recipes given.
heat turned off. Yield: 10 large
Pop-Overs.
• • *
And now a word about the clever
ly decorated Easter eggs that ap
pear in the basket above.
You’ll agree that even the most
aristocratic rabbit should be proud to
claim these origi-
Enal eggs. Deco
rating them is
both easy and in
expensive. You’ll
need large white
eggs, a package
of dyes from the
Five and Ten, a
spoon - shaped
wire hook with an end to use as
a handle (for dipping eggs into the
dye), rubber cement and stickers.
Buy gold and silver stars, dots in
various colors, small red hearts, lin
en reinforcements that are really
meant for loose-leaf notebooks, flow
er seals such as tulips, and red and
blue legal seals. Most of these come
in several sizes, but the small ones
are the easiest to glue on a curved
surface.
After the well-known hard boiling
process you use your imagination
about covering the eggs with stars
and dots. Then try arranging hearts
in four-leaf clover patterns, or turn
the points outward and stick them
around a center dot, as flower pet
als, All-over designs of blue legal
seals and stripes of the red ones,
pasted so closely that they overlap a
bit, are quite effective. There are
endless arrangements, and you have
the advantage of being able to soak
off and replace designs until you
are pleased, without wasting an egg.
* * *
What to do with the Easter supply
of hard-cooked eggs? I’m coming to
that . . , Coarsely
come CREAMED
dinner menus a
lift when served on crisply fried
cornmeal slices, potato cakes, or
waffles.
With eggs and cheese such boon
companions, and cheese a prime fa
vorite, too, ESCALLOPED EGGS
and CHEESE is another use for Eas
ter eggs—after Easter.
Creamed Eggs.
6 eggs, hard cooked
4 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons flour
IV* cups milk
Vs teaspoon pepper
Vi teaspoon salt
Dash of cayenne or nutmeg
Melt butter, add flour and stir un
til smooth. Add cold milk. Cook
and stir constantly until thick. Re
move from fire and place over hot
water. Add seasonings and sliced
eggs, cut lengthwise. Stir carefully,
Serves 4.
Escalloped Eggs and Cheese.
IVz tablespoons butter
IV2 tablespoons flour
1 cup milk
Vi teaspoon salt
Vs teaspoon pepper
Vs teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 cup soft bread crumbs
3 tablespoons melted butter
V 2 cup grated cheese
6 to 8 hard cooked eggs
Prepare a sauce of butter, flour,
milk and seasonings. Arrange in
greased casserole in layers using
three-quarters of the crumbs, the
sliced eggs, cheese and sauce. Top
with remaining one-fourth cup of
crumbs, mixed with the melted but
ter. Bake in a moderate oven, (350
degrees F.) until sauce is bubbly
and top nicely browned, about 40
minutes. Serve plain or with to
mato sauce. Serves 4 or 6.
(Released by Western Newspaper UntoaJ
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♦ ♦ *
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Enclose 15 cents for each pattern
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