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THE MARKED MAN , CHAPTERI = . i . I The Viking’s Story ™ Gustaf Erickson sat in the ¢'san whitewashed kitchen of his house on Madrid beach and watched his son Norman disapprovingly, His small blinking eyes moved restelessly from beam to locker to panel, fixing them selves nowhere, returning each time to the tall lean figure of his son. The boy- was stufiing & plckerel for their dinner. Over_his.old dungarees, faded and scraped thin at the knees and “elbows, [i& wore a' woman’s blue apron, Gustaf obzerved it, scowling, It was his wife's; apron. She had been dead six days. B Norman deftly bent the slim body. of the pickerel to fit the square baking dish and slid the pan into the oyen. As he opened the iron door heat slapped out into the room. Sweat rose on his forehead at the edge of his straight blond hair. He walked to a narrow shelf under the window and poured two dippers of water into a tin basin. ' His father regarded him critically. Norman’s hands distressed old Gustaf. They were too slender. The fingers were too thin and too long. Their suppleness irritated the old man, just as the comfortable way Norman wore the apron irritated him. Somehow the hands and the apron suggested the land, and the womanish ways of lands men, A salty anger arose in Gustaf Er ickson, anger at his son, at youth, at the passive and secure content of all men who did not thirst for the sea. #How long yet you goin’ to work on that wagon job?’ he asked. His voice had a windy flavor, as if it had been tuned and broken against the resonant chorus' of mighty storms. | " Norman took™fiis serious blond face ‘ from “the rolter towel. He looked at his father before he" answered. “1 figured on golng back tomorrow,” | he said at length. “Hans gave me as long off as I needed. 1 was staying at home on account of things here. “That ain’t what I'm asking. How long yet you going to waste time driv ‘ing around on a.wagon?” b “Two months more, anyway . . ." - @Qustaf tapped the arm-of his chair with the short, knotted, once capable .fingers .of his. broad right hand ¥es eyes, which had a habit of widening or screwing shut accord -dng to thie heat of his temper, regard €d -his. son with emphatic disapproval. = «Pell-’'em . you're quitting,” -he said. He spoke'slowly. He pronounced his words firmly as he always d.d when there was malice. in him. *“You've 'fode -around enough . on -land. I'm » takin*: you partners.” * «In the boat?* Norman asked. Gus ‘tat"thought that he winced. | “Sure, in the boat. Tomorrow.” "* Norman turned without comment to the ‘window. He knew that argument \was futile. He could no more dispute f(he verdict of his father than he could ' stop the rush of water in Lake Michi loan. He stared out at the lake re ; ;glllt_msly, conscious of his father’s ‘eyes boring hard- at his back. He did Pd't wish to fish. Since the-firsi -day he could remember, another day -of-storm iand disaster on the coast, ‘that vast heaving® water had moeked -him, It had combated him. It had’ taunted mm and” dared him to hate -it. And he could not bate.it. His re sentment against deep water was ;eooted often by another sensation, a strange tugging at his heart, particu larly on-quiet days when it rolled with ‘a slow oily tempo. If the lake" were ‘:ln to+old Gustaf it must: be kin to im. -‘His - father loved it more than :he*did- wife or child; more than life dtself, BT w : . * Whole-souled old Gustaf offeréd the disdainful witers a passionate and l‘mmlng devotion. His brittle heart softened when he thought of those wet, unresponsive wastes. Thelr buf fets onty endeared them to him, their repulses stimulated his hot desire, their . austere resistance stirred him to new unreasoning attempts to con- | quer, : i ~ Norman understood this fn his fa ther. .qu_Oultnt played’ the part of . ‘%ulionu.e loves 'to Lake Michigan. - His little black-eged mother had ::lowq‘,thal.’. ‘Certainfy she had not wed such a rivil, She had not be- Jonged here ot the beach 1n the wind and spray. She' hid dled yearning for a farm. A dozen times in these ‘lfx days Norman had blamed the cold compassionless. waters .or her hard lite, her lonely death., ; It's time you learned to fish,” Gustaf growled. “Been enough wearin' of 'lp‘?po and spidin’ around on lind’ and drlvin’ folks' wagons for any boy o mine! I'l make a man o' you now.” He arose jerkily from his chalr and ~crossed to the door, His back was bent, just as his arms were and his legs. He once had been ‘uller than his son was: pow. Age had shrunk ‘him, pinching his flesh and bones. He siammed the door behind him and sat down gullenly upon the step. e was ashamed ¢ his son. “Pll learn him to sall,” he grum bled, “learn him now!" His shoaglaers were hunched as he “gat on the kitchen step. His attitude gave him, somehow, the appearance _of great strength. He knew what the :no fn Madrid Bay thought of blm. ; belleved him worn out. He had . that, the way they pitied him the day of his wife's funeral. They were mistaken, He wasn't worn out. He could still conquer his son. The strength was there, hidden deep down tu hig body that was wasting under the heartless inroads of the years, His tired old hands were capable still of immense feats of lifting, short bursts of terrifying toil. His big fists were hard. He held them locked now, over his big knees, “Him an Erickson!” he grumbled. “A grown boy, and still ashore!” Gustaf knew the duties of an Erick son. An Erickson went to sea. On salt, in the old days. But he wouldn't insist on that for Norman. He'd be satisfied with the lakes. Gustaf Erickson had sailed broad ~old square riggers In the days of his blond inquisitive youth. He had felt the sleet of the Cape and the Horn on his face. He had sweat himself into fever in<the Sargasso sea and then, because of fabulous tales of a dollar d day with the Groat Lakes lumber fleets, he had left salt water tehind him, and never regretted it. A man could domineer labor on the lakes. He rose in five years from sec ond mate to master of a pot-bellied, over-worked shingle schooner, com manded her for three boisterous sea sons, and one night, alone, swam ashore from her heart-breaking wreck on Mustache shoal. His terified crew hed taken the boat ten hours before. Lashed to his wheel, Gustaf Erickson, stubborn, pitiless, un afraid, an unthinking. mariner who up held the dignity of the old sea, watched his eraft sink lower and lower, and boiling waves swarm over her decks. In the morning, the morning of his thirty-eighth birthdav, groping a spar, he was tossed ashore and crawled, beaten, up a flat sandy beach. He had lived a long, long life. A French-Canadian farmer found him and took him home., Three menths later Gustaf married the -farmer's daughter. Why not? She was young, meek, womanly and available. By Gustaf’s choice they named their son Norman. “If it's"a girl,” he had said, “call her Aleece, or Ami, or any of the French names you want. If he's a boy, he’s a sailor, like me and my father and my gradpaw. I”ll call him Norman, aftet my gradpaw.” By the same bewildering odds that had broken up Gustaf’s schooner and cast him safely to land, his soa Nor ma had declined to put to sea. Hunched. over on the back step, await ing the fish that Norman baked, Gus ‘taf Ericksoh thought of the five fret ful years he had tilled miserly soil. He had wasted many good plowing hours staring across dunes at the beckoning lake. Then one morning, while his wife cried out bittérly that he did not love her, that he never had loyed her, he sailed away to the fishing banks. He had no crew to bully. Alone, reck less, early seasons and late, he drove the hoat that his own hands had bulilt, setting and lifting nets, matching his temper against wind and weather, al ways making good catches of fish. He moved hig wife without cere mony from the farm to the house on the beagh. She was past all remon strance then, And each winter there after, while ice spread over the water, Gustaf Erickson sat by .the stove, night #Tter night, In this same white washed " kitchen,. and told mon§trous tales of the five fresh lakes and the seven salty seas. Only once, in the years that Nor man’'s mother kept”his house, did Gus taf strike her: that night she had pro tested when he flogged their son.” He got out a piece of half-inch rope be cause the boy had sniveled llké a baby ovér Gu:' f's favorite story of ‘thie captain's © amddog t 0 “It was a g od dog” old Gustat had sald, “a'big ‘dog, strong, hairy all over, His name ‘was Nels, ‘We liked that dog. The schagner . . . ah, the Gottland, she ‘was a fine strong schooner, a five-master! Nobody ever jump ship off her, 1 tell you. Til' that captain's. come aboard for a ‘ voyage, Why oy think that wom an come ayy\ P e | Old Gusth{,‘ Iodl? “We hate her, us 0p schooner. She never give nobody ‘endugh to eat, not even ‘her old man. She wis punished for itl It blows three days down off Newfoundiand, Blow? How ean |1 tell it!The third night . . . by Mack inac, we all was glad when It gets dark that night so we don’t have to look no more at the waves! 1 was at the wheel, The captaln, 1 know not where that captain was. He wus all over, He wus a good sallor, But his woman, she sit with the dog In the cabin. Jupiter, was she scared! We'd of been kind of glad she feel bad, all of us on schooner, If we was not so seared ourselves, And then that’blg - wave come along, two, three times as blg as all the rest, The biggest wave in the world. It smashed in the cabin skylight, tore right through -the tar. paullns . . push, rvight Inl- It took out all the bulkhead on the port glde. The ocean does not love the captain's wife. A big, big hole! #] gee something float past when | have wiped the salt from out my eyes. Two somethings, out that skylight. I hollered. Hollered loud. The eaptain came. It was all awash o the cabin. Dark. He found no dog. No wife. “Jt was a good dog. We feel sorry that dog was lost. But the woman? She give nobody enough to eat” Gustat would light his pipe at this polnt, pufiing contemplatively over CHARLTON COUNTY HERALD ‘A Romance of the Great Lakes by KARL W. DETZER Copyright by Tha nggl‘—ch:emll Co. i the merciless justice of the sea. Many nights he repeated the tale in his grim weary singsong. The lake wept on its beaches, end his son Norman, fleeing white-faced.to bed, lay awake under the hand-hewn shingles, hour after pitiless hour, with terror sitting atr&! the flannel covers, pressing the hreats¥ out of his iungs, tormenting sleep from the room. “I'll make that boy a sailor yet!” he heard old Gustaf storm to Lis mother. “Why should. an Erickson act so?” Gustaf never forgot that night’s scene, any more than Norman did. The sympathy that grew up between his faithful, harassed litile wife and his son seemed unfair to him. He watched i* suspiciously. He assigned all his fallures with Norman to ber, attrib - T f [ bvy w ANTE < /i ' Il igi-_; ol R ? / i ‘IM?“""‘V Sl ’ 1P g ,—Ar‘?‘\:"fitl 7 E i Y \ \\w ¥ el ‘/‘I/’f AN ALYk ] \\ . o- ,l /{/ /////II \ A g — ‘,,1/,‘.“ f R ‘/ 1Y R // M ?\/ = D \=sls ,‘./43 \” ‘»,II {‘. l’ ‘(y'\ A / 'y’,; NG T iy o 1 K [/ H ‘\\\ o "’l ’\l‘ /I 5 s [ = f o!lN A = " 2 = z, il/ Iy /‘i ‘ e R\ "7 2\ /%“4 y e Z{> / | / | “How Long Yet You Goin' to Work on That Wagon Job?” uted contemptuously to back-hills French -blood the sensitive spot in his son’s pliant adoléscent mind. To be sure he regretted his wife's abrupt re moval from hig life. It was a shock to discover one morning that she had gone to bed quitely and died. . Norman cleaned the house carefully after the funeral. He saw her, wait ing; always in an apron, for his fa ther’s boat to tome ashore. He put on the apron without distaste when neces sity drove him to do her work. It did pot occur to him that it might be a soft womanish symbol to his father. i“You been layin’ around land long enough,” Gustaf grumbled that noon when he finished the pickerel and po tatoes. “Nearly twenty jears old, and where you ever sailed? Madrid bay! Thet's fine sailin’ for a gros n man, now ain’t it? I was twice around the Horn when | was twenty, My paw and my gradpaw didn’t die ashore. Why | name you Norman?” He kicked his chair back from the table. Norman arose. It was apparent as they stood side by side how much taller he was now than his father, In his pink Erickson face, there showed clean untested lines. War Communique That Has Its Amusing Side , An amusing Instance of war propa ganda in the form of an official com munique which gaye an astounding Spanish version of the battle between Sir Francis Drake and the Spanish armada, has just come to light in London, Plerre Van Paassen records, in the Atlanta Constitution, This of ficial Spanish proclamation, issued In Madrid by the government of Philip I In September, 10588, tells a story which will astonish every schoolboy who remembers the story of the fa mous game of bowls, und the sub sequent trouncing of the Spanigh fleet. The Spanish communique re lutes that the duke of Medina, in com mand of the Spanish fleet, salled up the channel as far as Plymouth “where, having been notitied of the enewy's presence, he uustered und placed o order all his warships; and erylging along the channel, on August 1, they discerned some enemy sulls, which the following duy appeared to be sixty warships, These the duke caught up and overtook, but they would not glve battle, although 1t was represented to them.” From this point, the Spunish version proceeds to re late that flonlly some of the Engish ”—-_—-—‘-——-—————-———-— Caesar’s Personality Historlans say thit Jullus Caesar was tall and of commanding presence, His features were angular and prom fnept. He bhad a falr complexion, with keen, expressive black eyes. In later years he was bald; at no time of his life did he wear a beard. Though en dowed with a constitution naturally by no means robust, he became inured ‘ to hardship and exhibited astonishing - powers of endurance, In matters of dress, he was particular to the verge \ of effeminacy. “I'm goin2 out,” Norman said, He nodded indefinitely in the directicn of town. *ll won't be back for supper.” Old Gustaf growled. -~ “Get In early,” he ordered. “And tell Hans Miller what 1 say. Tell him Jyou're through drivin’ wagon., You're going to have a man's job!” It was two o'clock when Norman walked out soberly from the lNouse. His father watched him go gloomily, without taking the trouble to answer his balf-hearted good-by. Norman made deliberately across the beach P\whllé still within sight of his father’s &r&th. But once beyond it, turned ide and proceeded north, up toward Ottawa lake. He had small idea where he was going. Except that he had no intention of seeking Hans Miller this afternoon, or of imparting to him at once his father’s decision that he must go as helper in the boat. He hated the Great lakes Intensely that minute. He hated fishermen, He hated boats, the smell of boiling nets, wind, waves, three-day blows, Life was extraordinary. Here he ‘Wds, his mother dead not a week, and ‘this thing he had dodged all his life “immediately caught up with bhim. A job in the fishing fleet! He had worked more than three yéars for Hans Miller, who owned the store ir Madrid Bay, Lelping the fat Dutchman put up ice and do other odd jobs in winter, in summer deliver ing the ice and fres. green vegetables to the back «doors of resort cottages along Ottawa lake. From the begin ning his father had objected to the agon. The day Miller took him on .. . the boy bad run. down the wharf to his father’s fish shanty to tell him the news. “Your name's Erickson,” Gustaf ex ploded when Normar paused for breath. “An Erickson driving a gro cery wagon!” Norman still remembered it resent fully. His mother had taken no part in that quarrel. Her bewildered black eyes were troubled at the argument, but she offered no counsel, Only once, and he rer.embered now the anxiety on her face, she had taken him aside and reminded him dutifully, but with no conviction, that other boys fished with their fathers. It was the winds Norman dreaded; the rage of waves dismayed him, Al ways during the tempestuous weather of three-day blows, he remembered Gustaf’s story of the schooner Gott land and the captain’s dog. He'd not tell his father that. g “A dam’ poor Erickson,” old Gus taf would complain, “No stomach for winds, pfaugh!’ i Gustaf made that “pfaugh!” an ugly word. He had a way of thrusting it in to Norman's flesh like a fish knife. To be sure he need never hear it again. He had stayed in his father’s house because of his mother, hadn’t he? To rizht, tomorrow, he could start out unmindful of winds and weathers. He could leave the lake and all its dis tasteful memories, could settle some where beyond the hills, and farm? He wa'ked a bit more rapidly at ‘the thought. He hated farms, He passed up the long gentle rise of the road behind the village and at the top sat down, Here, somewhere near this spot where he was sitting, he had fought once when he was a small boy. He had fought and lost. It was with a schoolmate named Ed die Baker, one day when he had been walking home with Julie Richaud. The standard school in Madrid vil lage, where Norman spent eight short, ships did engage In real battle, which resulted in fifteen of them belng taken by the Spanish, including Sir Francis Drake's flagship, with the admiral himself on board, What happened next the communique does not stale, the imagination of the officlal writer hav ing exhausted itself by that time. Similarly, during the World war, gome communiques left troops at a certain point aund never referred to them again, Goes With Piano Jean Ann Blomker, less than four yeare old, was In a children’s day pres entation at the church, Her father was trying to get her to glve her reel tation at home before the eventful day, “1 don't remember 1t Jean Ann as serted when her daddy trled to coax her to speak. “Well, think,” he sald, “1 am thinking. 1 know it but 1 can't pay It” “Well, now, how does it go,” he begged, “It goes with tha plano,” she an swered promptly. Energetic Conversation R. L. Jones has canlculated that If a milllon persons were to talk steadily and the energy of thelr volces were to be converted into heat, they would have to talk for an hour and a half to produce enough heat to make n cup ful of tea (even If they were all poll ticlans) l=Nature American Toleration There ara Japanese and Chinese temples of worship In New York city, Chicago, San Francisco and other large cities, nlso churches for other heathen denomipations, satisfying terms, was remarkable !or| only one thing, Two camps of cml-‘ dren succeeded during school hours in living amicably under the same roof. Even in his youth Norman was con scious of these two discordant forces, because he belonged by right of blood to both of them, One group, big, blond, slow, thor ough, came from the neat homes of the village fishermen, The other group, small, quick, ill-disciplined, with sharp black eyes like Norman’s mother, were the sons and daughters of French-Canadian farmers who came ¢owa in an onslaught from the black hifis, Julle Richaué was one of these. She arrfved on an autumn morning when Norman was struggling with fourth-grade reading. He was eleven years old. He had grown too rapidly. His legs were bony, and the short knee breeches his mother had made for him four months before already had crawled upward, till they did not conceal the tops of his bhand-knit stockings, He was self-conscious and his voice had just broken, Julie Richaud was a small, round, flashing-eyed girl, who cared less than nothing for any book or the confining routine of district school discipline. With her arrival Norman felt for the first time in his life a dim satisfaciion that be was bhalf-F'rench, She made eyes at him for three days, On the fourth, during voon lunch period, she kissed him on the cheek. “l 1 like you,” she told him, *“What funny yellow hair you got!” Norman flushed and wriggled free. He stayed out of Julie’s reach during the remainder of the fourth grade, The next year he was more friendly, even going so far as to run away from school with her one morning recess. They spent two ecstatic hours propped ~on their elbows at the end of the dock counting the gulls that flew - overhead. They returned to school in the after noon. Together, after the others were dismissed, they wrote the word “tru ant” five hundred times. It was an afternoon late in May . « « Norman was twelve years old and the fifth-year term bhad less than a week to run ~ . . when he walked with Julie to the top of this hill road where he was now siti'ng. Julie was singing. It was not a tune. Nerely something about bean soup hot and cold. Never for a moment was her tongue still. She stopped suddenly and sald: “Eddie Baker cheated in spelling today, Norman. Twice, 1 seen him. What do you think teacher’'d do if she catched 'im?¥” Norman did not know. He could think of nothing that would appall Eddie Baker, not even the end of the world. At the top of the hill he sald, “See you t-morrow,” and lay down by the roadside. He watched Julle skip on through the yellow dust. The weeds already were growing tall enough to conceal him where he lay., A farmer's wagon, crawling out from town, creaked its unoiled wheels up the hill. The farmer was asleep on the high seat. Between the wheels and through the slowly revolving spokes, Norman made out a pair of bare feet running behind the wagon, The horses came abreast of him, their driver still sleeping heavlly, Norman perceived suddenly that the boy running behind the wagon was the same Eddie Baker about whom Julie had jJust been talking. He was a well-built, shifty-eyed, muscular youth, a year older than Norman, two Inches shorter but a good ten pounds heavier. He had the name of a ready fighter lin the Madrid Bay school. Norman knew him to be In vincible, The wagon passed while Norman watched, Before he had time to speak young Baker twisted about, He glanced up the road and down it, then crawled rapidly Into the box of the wagon. He slid off directly, with two brown paper parcels in his arms, The farmer still slept, The thief scampered to the side of the road seratching hils short, dusty bare legs In brambles. As he dropped Into the grass he saw Norman, He did not gpeak for a moment, Then, when he lled, Normun felt for him an extravagant and pltiless scorn, “Ie give it to me,” Baker sald sul lenly. Norman looked at him, his mild, sober blond face taking on for a mo ment a suggestion of pink, “You swiped it!” Norman sald, He was not accusing, He was merely stating a fact In the blunt awkward winy common to him, His father was like that In speech, Old Gustaf made hig statements firmly, as if he did not expect contradictions, Eddie Baker looked n little startled nt the word, But he did not attempt any further denlal, ile unwrapped the longer of the two parcels, It con talned a wooden box of plog tebaceco senled In red paper, He looked at Norman diplomatically. “I'll go hulves on I1t!" he offered, “You swiped it!" Norman repented, His volee arose somewhat, but still it did not Indieate noger, “l 1 seen you steal,” Baker countered, “geen you stenl lots of times . , ) “Me?" Normun nsked, “And 1 can lick you, one hand tled behind my back " Norman stood up slowly. He had no desire to fight. He knew Eddle Bak er's prowess, But u:- formalities must be observed. “Try 1t1" he W (10 BE CONTINUED.) i { P e h W 4. R o I"l fi N, ‘\‘ i £ Wk g L~ < i N \§ .‘thr *‘R:?“/ L™ R e SAME PRESCRIPTION HE WROTE IN 1892 When Dr. Caldwell started to practice medicine, back in 1875, the needpl for & laxative were not as great as today. People lived normal lives, ate plain, wholesome food, and got fi;lentfi' of fresh air, But even that early there were drastic physics and purges for the relief of constipation which Dr., Caldwell did not believe were good for human beings. The prescription for constipation that he unecr early in his practice, and which he put in drug stores in 1892 under the name of Dr. Caldwell’s SByrup Pepsin, is a liquid vagehablé remedy, intended for women, children and elderly rople, ¥ and they need just such a mild, safe bowel stimulant. This prescription has proven its worth and is now Ehe largest selling liquid laxative. It has won the confidence of I)eoplo who needed it to get relief from readaches, biliousness, flatulence, indi gestion, loss of appetite and sleep, bad breath, dyspepsia, colds, fevers. At your druggist, or write “S{mp Pepsin,” Dept, 88, Monticello, Illinois, for free trial bottle. You Know A Tonic is Good ‘ when it makes you eat like a hungry boy and brings back the color to your cheeks. You can soon feel the Btrengthening, In vigorating Effect of GROVE'S TASTELESS CHILL TONIC, Pleasant to take. 60c. 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