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Mountain man
A Ughh&l Sealed
OH. C. Wire—WNU S«rvlca By HAROLD CHANNING WIRE
CHAPTER Xlll—Continued
With no time to lose, he swung
M, clipped the four wires at the
nearest post, then leading Kit ran
to the next. Three sections of fence
were cut and the wires pn 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 I”
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 4hem 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
ing 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’l”
“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 herel”
Complete stillness had come after
Iha three slow shots. Thera 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
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 «lash 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’s
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
“Hold that prisoner here!”
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
BAKER COUNTY NEWS
"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 Breck’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, uxv
washed 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
free 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 unusual 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 while
working on a translation of the
Psalms. About that time, too, Arch
bishop Aelfric translated parte at
the Bible into Anglo-Saxoah
—IMPROVED
UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL
SUNDAY I
chool Lesson
By HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST. D. D.
Dean of The Moody Bible Institute
of Chicago.
Q Western Newspaper Union.
Lesson for April 30
Lesson subjects and Scripture texts se
lected and copyrighted by International
Council of Religious Education; used by
permission.
PAUL CROSSES INTO EUROPE
LESSON TEXT—Acts 15:36; 16:4-15.
GOLDEN TEXT—And after he had seen
the vision, immediately we endeavored to
go into Macedonia.—Acts 16:10.
Guidance is the moment by mo
ment need of every man and wom
an, boy and girl. The whole of
life calls for decisions, many of
which look quite innocent and un
important, but upon which the des
tiny of an entire life may turn. Who
does not recall the poet’s lament
over the want of an ordinary horse
shoe nail which resulted in the loss
of the shoe, which disabled the
horse, whose rider was lost, with
the result that the battle went
against his people.
Since the great issues of life may
turn on the simplest of choices, we
need guidance at every point in life.
This need has been recognized by
those who would make merchandise
of their neighbors. Quacks and
charlatans offer guidance by every
method, from' reading the palm,
looking at the stars, or consulting
the spirits, to those smug enter
prises which pose as spiritual and
talk much of prayer, but which do
not honor the name of Christ nor
recognize Him as Redeemer and
Lord.
One of the glories of the Christian
faith is that the believer is indwelt
by the third person of the Trinity,
the Holy Spirit Himself, who is
ready and willing to give divine
guidance in every detail of life from
the smallest to the greatest.
We study today the coming of the
gospel into Europe, and that means
through our forefathers to America.
We consider what from our view
point was a crucial point in the his
tory of the Church. Thanks be to
God that His servant Paul was in
that hour obedient to the guidance
of the Holy Spirit. Observe that
the gospel came to Europe
I. By Providential Hindrance (15:
36; 16:4-8).
Not only the steps, but also the
stops of a good man are ordered of
the Lord. That is not an easy les
son to learn. We may be as much
in the will of the Lord when all of
our efforts seem to be thwarted as
when they prosper. Let us not for
get it.
Paul had set out on a second jour
ney to carry out a follow-up cam
paign in the cities where he had al
ready preached. This was a good
plan and had God’s blessing (see
v. 5). But soon we find that word
“forbidden” (v. 6) and then “suf
fered not” (v. 7). The Holy Spirit
began to close doors to the gospel
preacher. Now what? Shall he go
on in determined self-will? Or shall
he become discouraged and embit
tered in his soul? No, let him wait,
for God is guiding him by provi
dential hindrance, which is soon to
be followed
11. By Divine Guidance (16:9, 10).
The Spirit spoke to Paul in a
vision revealing the divine purpose
that the gospel should go over into
Macedonia. The Spirit leads in our
day, possibly not by visions, but by
impelling inward prompting com
plemented and checked by the
teaching of Scripture and by provi
dential circumstances, and a man
may know what is the will of God.
A word of caution is needed at
this point. Some earnest Christian
people go astray by projecting their
own desires and purposes into the
place where they come to regard
them as the vrfll of God, and thus
do themselves and others, and
Christianity itself much harm. The
three things already mentioned
should agree—(l) the,inner prompt
ing of the Spirit, (2) the teaching of
God’s Word, and (3) God’s hand in
our outward circumstances.
HI. Through a Faithful Witness
(vv. 11-14).
The gospel came to Europe be
cause Paul and his fellow workers
were faithful to their calling. When
God led, they went to Macedonia
(w. 11, 12), where they sought out
those who were in the place of
prayer (v. 13). Paul spoke to them
about Christ (v. 14). It is one thing
to have a vision, it is another thing
to be obedient to that vision (Acts
26:19). There are some who talk
much of their consecration to God,
but who give little evidence of it.
The little girl was right (though her
grammar was wrong) when she
said, “It’s better to walk your talk
than to talk your walk.”
IV. Through a Receptive Heart
(vv. 14, 15).
God sent an obedient messenger
to the place where He had a pre
pared heart (v. 14). Space forbids
much reference to this godly, suc
cessful business woman and house
mother, but we do note that she
not only received the Word of God
into her own heart, but at once
gave herself to the task of passing
it on. The first thing she could do
was to give aid and comfort to the
messenger of the truth, and she did
that at once. Be assured that from
that day on she did all she could
to prosper the- gospel on its way
through Europe and to the ends of
the earth. Have we done likewise?
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• i
Prepared for Big Stuff
*After First Encounter
An Englishman visiting a friend
in Nevada, where the air is rare
and distances deceptive, started
on a stroll with his host to a moun
tain which seemed but a few miles
distant. After walking for severs*
hours, he was amazed to find th<
mountain was apparently no near
er and to have his friend explain
that it was still 30 miles away.
Returning home by a different
route, they came upon an irriga
tion ditch. The Englishman sat
down and began removing his shoes.
“What on earth are you going to
do?” asked his host.
The Englishman, gravely con
templating the ditch, replied,
“Swim this river!”
(safety Talks J
The Careless Male
It appears that the male of tha
species is more careless than the
female. *
Os every 100,000 males, in tM
United States, 119.6 were killed in
accidents during 1937, reports the
National Safety council.
Only 51.3 of every 100,000 women
suffered accident deaths.
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Genius begins great works; la
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Multiply Faults
Not to correct one’s fault is to
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Greater Flatterer
Self-love is the greatest of flat
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