Newspaper Page Text
Thursday, June 12, 1947
I / T »"y rr; WßLcs! W'-tV
g ~~ ty J. Allan Dunn ——■> ~~
CHAPTERS I AND II
Dick Byrnes got off the sleigh
stage at Bison Crossing with
eagerness, despite the fact that
his return practically announced
a failure.
He had been away for months,
trying to place his invention, a
new type of portable saw, in
Musketoon. Times were dull, and
he knew now, too late, that he
had gone about it the wrong
way. He could try again, and put
it across; but it would take some
capital, and his savings were
gone. A few hundred dollars
might have set him on his feet,
and now he had exactly 50 cents,
after paying his stage fare.
He meant to get his pal, Will
MacLeod, to go out again with
him on trap line. Will was book
keeping now for his Uncle Alex
ander, known as The MacLeod,
but Byrne knew he would not
have to coax Will very hard to
take to the wftods. They had done
well before, and they were boon
companions. There was more
than ordinary friendship be
tween them, both Celts, though
Byrne was Irish and Will Mac-
Leod Scotch to the backbone.
Then there was Marion, Will’s
sister. That was not a case of
friendship with Dick Byrne. He
was in love with Marion, always
had been since he met her. Just
how she felt toward him he was
not certain. He meant to ask her
as soon as he was better off fi
nancially.
He had hoped great things of
the saw. It was a good invention,
practical and novel. But now he
was back again, and, even if Will
linked up with him, Byrne would
have to be staked by Alexander
MacLeod for his outfit.
The MacLeod could get anoth
er bookkeeper. He would be glad
enough to have two more men
bringing in pelts. As a team.
Advertisement
from where I sit... // Joe Marsh
Fish Bites Woman!
Willie Wells was coming home
from Seward’s Creek the other eve
ning with a string of trout, when a
stern looking lady (visitor at the
Boxwood Inn) stops him, and tells
him a man his size could be better
occupied than catching fish.
Willie tells her off real good
naturedly by saying: “Perhaps
you’re right, but if these fish had
kept their mouths shut, they
wouldn’t be here.” (At that, says
Willie, laughing out loud, she
looked just as if a fish had bit her!)
Blabbing mouths never cause
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. Byrne and Will had broken
I records. They would do it again,
' and then Dick would have an
i other stab at the invention. He
i would go to a bigger city this
I trip, exhibit his model in a va
cant store, interest the general
public in backing it.
He wondered how Marion was,
hating to have to acknqwledge
to her that he had fizzled. She
had been great about encourag
ing him. Now . . .
Singush, the breed, hailed him,
told him Alexander MacLeod
wanted to see him. It was almost
as if The MacLeod har 1 known of
his coming. Yet Byrne bau not
written, waiting for a break be
fore he let Will—and through
Will, Marion—know hovz he was
making out. Will had not writ
ten him either, for the past four
months, but Will was a poor cor
respondent.
But The MacLeod had many
and far-reaching connections.
He came close to being a ruler
in his remote, far-flung do
minion. He recognized—and that
reluctantly—only one power, one
authority higher than his own,
occasionally exhibited in the
person of a trooper of the Royal
Canadian Mounted.
Alexander MacLeod was of the
old school. In pioneer days he
would have been factor for some
big fur company; now he was his
own master, shrewd, resourceful,
avid for power, impatient of any;
suggestion of control or competi
tion. An overlord of the wilder
ness, The MacLeod, supremely
jealous of his standing.
Byrne found him in what he
called his counting-house, at the
back of the great store that held
the goods he traded to the In
dians and a few white trappers,
for the skins they brought him.
Byrne looked for Will and did
not see him. There was some one
anything but trouble. Nobody who
knew the facts would ever criticize
Willie’s right to go fishing on his
one day off any more than they’d
deny his right to come home to a
mellow glass of beer.
From where I sit, the slower wa
are to criticize—and the quicker
we are to recognize another’s
tastes, the better we’ll get along
together whether those tastes
apply to beer or fishing.
fa
THE SUMMERVILLE NEWS, SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA
i else at the bookkeeper’s desk, a
, stranger.
The trader led Byrne through
:1 the covered way that connected
;| the store and MacLeod’s house,
took him into an austere room
1 with furniture made at St. Jo
; seph’s Mission, a room lined with
; books and with dark paintings
j on two walls; pictures, brought
, from Scotland 100 years ago,
portraits of the MacLeods of that
ilk: all resembling the trader,
with harsh, dour, forceful fea
tures showing dimly through an
cient varnish.
MacLeod motioned Byrne to a
chair, gave him a cigar, poured
him a drink, took one himself as
he sat opposite the younger man.
A big, gray-haired, wide-shoul
dered man in his vigorous 60’s,
was Alexander MacLeod. One
shoulder a little higher than the
other, as with one shaggy eye
brow. Eyes keen as new chisels,
gray as shadow ice. Byrne felt
the force of him though he did
not like him. Few did.
This hospitality was unusual.
It meant that MacLeod wanted ■
[ something, wanted it pretty bad
l ly, for as close to nothing as he
! could get it.
“So you’re back,” he said. “I
thought you would be. I’d a no
tion you’d find them too slick for
you in town. Did they take your
invention away from you?”
Byrne had once tried to get
MacLeod to back it, but the trad
!er had wanted control for a
small sum. Now Byrne was tem
porariily licked and MacLeod
knew it. He would have to go to
work again for the astute trader.
Byrne was a good trapper.
There were not many whites who
could compete with the bloods
and breeds, but Byrne was one of
them. Will MacLeod, The Mac-
Leod’s nephew, had been anoth
er, especially in conjunction
with Dick Byrnes. Byrne was
wilderness born and bred. He
loved the silent and lonely places
but he had imagination and,
also, ambition. When he went to
Mucketoon to try and place his
invention. Will MacLeod came
off the trail. He did not like it
without company, nor with any
company except that of Byrne.
So he had started to work as a
bookkeeper in the store.
Byrne wondered how he would
be liking that job. However you
worked for The MacLeod, if you
drew kit or grub or money from j
him you practically became his I
serf. Byrne had stood for it be
cause he had saved money to ex
ploit the saw, was willing to do
it again. Will was more restive
Byrne smoked his good cigar
and sipped his good drink com
fortably. Anything you got free
from The MacLeod was a tri
umph. But he wondered what I
the old silver dog-fox was up to.
He shook his head at the ques
tions about the invention.
“I’ve still got it,” he said.
“Times were not so good. I’ll
know how to go about it better
next time. Singush told me you
wanted to see me.”
“I did,” answered MacLeod. “It
may mean a short cut for your
next exploitation of your saw.”
He deliberately finished his own
drink, watching Dick Byrne care
fully. Yet there was no time to
waste. This was no matter of
trading with merchandise and
peltry. It was an affair of life
and death, one that death had
already touched; an affair of
honor and of reputation, which,
to MacLeod, were not quite the
same thing, but equally vital.
“I’ve some business for you.
Byrne. You’ll understand it is
.entirely confidential. What will
you take to carry a message to
White Rock?”
“To White Rock? When?”
White Rock was a ghost camp
that had flared up and smoked
out when the ledge proved a
freakish fault. “White Rock” was
the local term for the white
quartz that carried the free gold.
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Byrne had not imagined any one
living there. Especially in win
ter.
“Now. Without delay. Nipego
sis, visits the place in spring,
summer the Conjuror, is there.
His tribe and early fall, but Nip
, egosis stays there all the time.
You must start at once. ’Tis im
portant.”
It was clear enough that Mac-
Leod so considered the errand.
But what would he want with
Nipegosis? The old shaman was
supposed to be well over a cen
tury; he was the spiritual head
of his tribe, reputed as a real
wizzard. MacLeod naturally dealt
widely with Indians. It could not
be an uprising. Those days were
gone. It might be a mutiny of
some sort against MacLeod’s
methods, enticements held out
by some rival who knew the ter
ritory, and wanted to invade it.
That did not matter especially
to Byrne. He considered the trip,
the present weather and the fu
ture. He did not like the pros
pect any too well. A spring thaw
might come, overtake him half
way there, or back; leave him
perilously stranded.
“I have no dogs,” he said.
“I do not wish you to take a
sled,” said MacLeod. “I will fur
nish you with all equipment, free.
You may keep it afterward. But |
| you’ll have to use snowshoes.
I You’ll have to travel light and
fast. I want none to see you'
leave. I do not choose to use an
Indian. You are the best man
available, but the essence of the
job is speed and secrecy. How
much?”
“I could go tomorrow morning,
I suppose,” said Byrne, slowly.
“If the price was right.”
He glanced through the win
dow at the snow, the forest,
stained with blue and purple in
the gathering dusk.
“You must go tonight,” insist
ed MacLeod.
Byrne saw that he was to
glide out from the house in the
darkness, be swallowed swiftly
in the cover of the deep woods.
Those who knew he had come
back to Bison Crossing would
find him gone, but not know
where. They would never learn
from MacLeod. The early morn
ing wind would erase the pat
tern of his snowshoes on the
brittle, powdery crust. It would
not be so easy to get away quiet
ly with the fuss of getting dogs,,
packing a sleigh. For the first
time Byrne felt a sense of some
thing sinister connected with
this secret mission.
“How much?” demanded the
trader, his shaggy eyebrows
meeting in a scowl of impatience.
Byrne still temorized. He could:
see that MacLeod wanted him!
and him alone as his messenger. '
He meant to make the most ofj
the bargain, especially if he was
only going to see Will for a few
minutes, only get a glimpse of
Marion before he left.
Why was MacLeod not sending
Will? They might have had a;
row. The MacLeod ruled his ■
household with a heavy and un-!
yielding hand. Will did not take:
kindly to restraint.
“I’d like to see Will before I
go, if I go,” said Byrne. “Will—
and Marion.”
A thundercloud seemed to sud
denly shadow MacLeod’s brows.
The veins lifted in it, throbbing.
“That ne’er-do-well has not
been in Bison Crossing for four
months,” he said, with a pound i
of his fist. “I trust he ne’er sets!
foot in it again. As for his sis
ter, the foolish lass has gone
with him. They’re gone—and I’m
well rid of them.”
Byrne flushed, started to de
fend his friend, to champion
Marion. But arguing with The
MacLeod in wrath was like talk
ing to a thunderstorm. He knew ■
that MacLeod might quarrel with:
Will, but he was sure Will had
done nothing worthy of meriting ■
such an outburst. And The Mac- i
Leod loved his niece. Even as he
had mentioned her name his
(See Page Six)
Mental deficiency is no family
disgrace, parents are told.
Retesting of autoists’ eyes ev
ery five years is advocated.
SUCCESSFUL
PARENTHOOD
SMILES BRING REASSURANCE
TO CHILD AT DAY’S END
Os all the smiles in the world,
j perhaps the most rewarding are
those with which a father greets
I his children at the end of the
I day. These it’s good-to-be-alive
I smiles which fathers reassure
their children of their love don’t
I stop with just one generation—
the boy brought up by a genial,
. loving father is almost sure to
be equally kind to his own chil
dren.
Another thing about these
end -of - the-day smiles, they
have to be dependable, some
thing like the children can ex
pect to look forward to. The fa
ther who comes home pleased
with the world one night and
plays boisterously with his chil
dren—but comes home scowling
the next night and walks right
past the children with a curt
greeting—builds up more fear
than pleasure of his home-com
ing. Even if the score is about
half and half, because of the
bad half the children will find
reasons for being out of sight
when father arrives for fear he
may be disagreeable. None of
that running and climbing and
huggings with which children
greet the father who can be
counted on to be cheerful.
This necessity for a warm
greeting to bridge the absences
which are an accepted part of
the father - child relationship,
doesn’t mean that a father (or
mother either) should never
show anger to his children. The:
occasional experience of a whop
ping rage in his parent helps
the child accept his own angry
feelings without too much guilt.
For anger is a normal human
emotion. Learning to control it I
is one of the businesses of grow
ing up. But a child doesn’t know,
that—all he can feel is the bust
ing sensation of rising spleen,
and the unutterable sense of
frustration that anger expresses.
If parents were always calm the
child might feel unworthy of i
them and certainly pretty dis
couraging over ever becoming
like them.
Always remember, though, that
healthy, momentary anger is one
thing—prolonged sulks and re- j
sentment quite another. There is
no poison in human relationships
more deadly than resentment.:
Usually it springs from jealousy,;
for parents are sometimes jeal- j
ous of their children without!
realizing it. Or the jealousy may ,'
be of the wife or husband, and'
the children are used to “get;
even.” A father who has never
really grown up may be jealous;
of his wife’s superior maturity.:
her poise and adjustment to life
He then tries to get back at herj
by turning one of the children
against her, usually a daughter.;
Or it may be the child-wife who
tries to retain her power over
her husband, after her beauty:
has faded, by drawing a son;
away from him.
But we’ve come a long way;
from our cheerful beginning, so
let’s go back and again urge fa
thers to greet their families with
a smile!
THE ANSWERS
1. Eightieth.
2. When Senate and House
adopt bills that vary it is a con
ference of men from both houses
to resolve differences.
3. Yes; July 31.
4. That Yugoslavia. Bulgaria
and Albania were responsible.
5. 233,000 persons on relief in
dicates some unemployment.
6. U. S. attorney-general.
7. Brazil and Argentina.
8. Count Camillo Benso di Ca
vour. 1810-1861.
9. Correct spelling.
10. The 3-cent stamp.
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An aviation editor says Rus
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Britain is expected to get full
coal quota from United States.
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J
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pOO and j. 50
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BELTS AND BILLFOLDS
PAGE THREE
Nervous ailments are called
. worst health problem now.
Industrial profit last year was
34 per cent over 1945 earnings.