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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (June 29, 1916)
Hg NOT SOLD UNDER ANY OTHER NAME Write for free booklet "Points to be considered before purchasing a Sewing Machine." Learn the facts. THE NEW HOME SEWING MACHINE CO.,ORANGE,MASS. Kin All Flies! Thoer.Lp;r f*)ae«d anywhere. Dalay Fly KI liar attracts Am. Neat, clean, ornamental, con Daisy Fly Killer Sol, by dtibra, nr , .an. 1 by axyra.i. pr.tbiti. 11.Wl. i HAROLD SOMERS, 150 DeKalb Av,., Brooklyn, N. Y. | Alfalfa VI. Sweet Clover VM. Kami, ^b V- V" IIV for sale nnd rent on crop paymeni H, JLlLl/J J. MILIUM,, Sou City, lows Preserving Foods. A new method has been discovered, says an English paper, for preserving various food products, especially milk powder, the Idea being based upon placing the substance in a sealed ves sel or packing case with inert gas, so that this latter prevents the usual spoiling of contents by the action of the air. In the French patented pro cess the milk powder is packed In tnelal boxes of convenient size, which are entirely sealed except for a pin hole that is left at the top. A number of sucli boxes are put in a chamber .and the air Is exhausted by means of an air pump. When this'operation is finished valves are opened which allow nitrogen to enter the chamber and fill up the several boxes. When opening up the chamber the boxes are quickly removed and tlie pinhole soldered be fore an appreciable amount of air has time to enter. In this way the con tents of the boxes are kept In an at mosphere of Inert gas, and the process Is thus practical from an industrial standpoint. HEAL YOUR SKIN TROUBLES 'With Cuticura, the Quick, Sure and Easy Way. Trial Free Bathe with Cuticura Soap, dry and apply the Ointment. They stop itch ing instantly, clear away pimples, blackheads, redness and roughness, re move dandruff and scalp irritation, beal red, rough and sore hands as well as most baby skin troubles. Free sample each by mail with Book. Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept. L, -Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv. Honk! Honk. The fatalities due to automobile ac -cldents are distressing enough, but one encouraging fact In connection with them, ns stnted In a government report, Is that during the last live years the number of fatal accidents has not Increased nearly ns fast ns the number of cars. The cars have In creased 775 per cent, while fatalities have Increased only 258 per cent. This seems to Indicate more careful driv ing at present. Rare Treat. Tommy wanted to go to tli^ movies, hut his mother objected. “Aw, you never let me go no place," fie whimpered. “Why Tommy,” exclaimed his moth er; “what shocking bad grammar you use! Can't you speak more correct* ay r “Sure 1 can.” said the hoy, “if you’ll only give me a chance. You ought to hear me say: ‘Yes. mother, you let me go wherever 1 want to.’ ” Strict Neutrality. “lifts (lie war caused you to econo mize to any extent?" “It certainly has,” replied the cau tious man. "Whereas l used to ex press my views rather freely, I have lately lieeome quite parsimonious in •that respect." Good Cause. “What a leaden color your bus hand has, Mrs. .Tones." “Yea'm; lie's don’ got de plumbago ma’am." In this Matter of Health one is either with the winners or with the losers. It’s largely a question of right eating — right food. For sound health one must cut out rich, indigestible foods and choose those that are known to contain the elements that build sturdy bodies and keen brains. Grape-Nets is a wonderfully balanced food, made from whole wheat and barley. It contains all the nutriment of the grain, includ ing the mineral phosphates, indispensable in Nature’s plan for body and brain rebuilding. Grape-Nuts is a concen trated food, easy to digest. It is economical, has delicious flavor, comes ready to eat, and has helped thousands in the winning class. “There’s a Reason” 1 • THE LONE STAR RANGER A ROMANCE OF TIIE BORDER BY ZANE GREY Author of "The Light of Western Stars,” "Riders of the Purple Sage," etc. HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON MCMXV CHAPTER VI (Continued). ‘Til tell you, Duane," she said, earn estly, “I’m sure glad if you mean to bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Duane. I'm an outlaw’s wife, and I hate him and-the life I have to lead. 1 eome of a good family in Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an outlaw till long after he married me. We were separated at times, and I imagined he was away on business. But the truth came out. Bland shot my cousin, who told me. My family cast me off, and I had to flee with Bland. 1 was only 18 then. I’ve lived here since I never see a decent woman or man. I never hear anything about my old home or folks or friends. I’m buried here—buried alive with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being glad to see a young fellow—a gentleman—like the boys I used to go with? I tell you it makes me feel full— I want to cry. I'm sick for somebody to talk to. I have no children, thank God! If I had I’d not stay here. I’m sick of this hole. I'm lonely—" There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this. Genuine emotion checked, then halted the hurried speech, fcihe broke down and cried. It seemed strange to Duane that an outlaw's wife —and a woman who fitted her consort and the wild nature of their surround ings— should have weakness enough to weep. Duane believed and pitied her. "I’m sorry for you," he said. “Don’t be sorry for me,” she said. "That only makes me see the—-the dif ference between vou and me. And don t pay any attention to what these outlaws say about me. They’re ignor ant. They couldn't understand me. You’ll hear that Bland killed men who ran after me. But that's a lie. Bland, like all the other outlaws along this river, Is always looking for somebody to kill He swears not, but I don’t be lieve him. He explains that gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing—that It Is provoked by the four flushes, the bad men. I don't know. All 1 know is that somebody Is being killed every other day. He hated Spence before Spence ever saw me.” "Would Bland object if I called on you occasionally?" inquired Duane. “No, he wouldn’t. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in love with me, and when half drunk got to lighting. You’re not going to do that." "I’m not going to get half drunk, that’s certain," replied Duane. He was surprised to see her eyes di late, then glow with fire. Before she could reply Euchre returned to the porch, and that put an end to the con versation. Duane was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to say. Euchre nnd Mrs. Bland talked and Joked, while Duane listened. He tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had suffered a wrong, If not worse, at Bland’s hands. She was bitter, morbid, over-emotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough, she was a frank one, and believed her self. She had no cunning. The thing which struck Duane so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect. In that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had discovered a trait through which he could manage her. Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam of Jen nie’s face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching him, lis tening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had realized what had been so hard for her to be lieve. Watching his chance, he flashed a look at her; and then it seemed to him the change in her face wus won derful. Later, after ho had left Mrs. Bland with a meaning “Adios—manana," and was walking along beside the old out law, he found himself thinking of the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze with hope and gratitude. CHAPTER VII. That night Duane was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to Euchre for having put something worth while Into his mind. During breakfast, however, he was unusually thoughtful, working over the idea of how much or how lit tle lie would confide in the outlaw. He was aware of Euchre’s scrutiny. "Wal," began the old man, at last, "bow’d you make out with the kid?" "Kid?" inquired Duane, tentatively. "Jennie, 1 mean. What’d you an’ she talk about?" "\\ e had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up." Euchre sat with coffee cup poised and narrow eyes studying Duane. "Reckon you cheered her, all right IVhat I’m afeared of is mebbe you done the job too well." "How so?" "Wal. when I went in to Jen last night 1 thought she was half crazy She was burstln’ with excitement an’ the look in her eyes hurt me. ' She wouldn’t tell me a darn word you said. Hut she hung onto my hands, an’ showed every way with out spenkin’ how she want<xi to thank me fer bringin’ you over. Buck. was plain to me thet you’d either gone the limit or else you’d been kinder prodigal of cheer an’ hope. I’d hate to think you’d led Jennie to hope moro n ever would come true." Euchre paused, and, as tlicdc seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on; "Buck, I’ve seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is. You can trust me. 1 trusted you. didn’t I. takin’ vou ever there an’ puttin’ you wise to my tryin' to Help thet poor kid?” Tims enjoined by Euchre, Dunne be gan to tell the conversations with Jen nie and Mrs. Bland word for word. Dong before lie had reached an end Euchre set down the coffee-cup and began to stare, and at the conclusion of the story his face lost some of its red color and heads of sweat stood out thickly on his brow. "Wal, if thet doesn’t floor me"’ he ejaculated, blinking at Duane. “Young man. I l'iggered you was some swift, an sure to make your murk on this river; but I reckon I missed your real cal ibre. So thet’x what it means to be a man! 1 guess I’d forgot. Wal, I'm old, an' even if my heart was In the right place I never was built fer big stunts. D" you know what it'll take to do all you promised Jen?" s "I haven’t any Idea," replied Duane, gravely. "You'll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland’s eyee, an’ even if she falls in love with you, which is shore likely, thet won't be easy. An’ she’d kill you in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got wise. You ain't mistaken her none, are you?" "Not me, Euchre. She's a woman. I’d fear her more than any man.” “Wal. you’ll have to kill Bland an’ Chess Alloway an’ Kugg, an’ mebbe some others, before you can ride off into the hills with thet girl.” "Why? Can’t we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland and then at an opportune time sneak off without any gun-play?" "Don’t see how on earth," returned Euchre, earnestly. "When Bland's away he leaves all kinds of spies an’ scouts watchin’ the valley trails. They’ve all got rifles. You couldn’t get by them. But when the boss is home there’s a difference. Only, of course, him an' Chess keep their eyes peeled. They both slay at home pretty much, except when they’re playin’ monte or poker over at Benson’s. So I say the best bet is to pick out a good time in the afternoon, drift over careless-like with a couple of hosses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take Jennie with you, an’ make a rush to get out of the valley. If you had luck you might pull thet stunt without throwin’ a gun. But I reckon the best figgerin’ would include dodgin' some lead an' leavin’ at least Bland or Alloway dead behind you. I’m figgerin , or course, tnat wnen they come home an’ find out you’re visitin’ Kate fre quently. they’ll just naturally look fer results. Chess don't like you, for no reason except you’re swift on the draw —mebbe swifter n him. That’s the hell of this gun-play business. No one can ever tell who's the swifter of two gun men till they meet. Thet fact holds a fascination mebbe you’ll learn some day. Bland would treat you civil onless there was reason not to, an’ then I don’t believe he d invite himself to a meetin’ with you. He'd set Chess or Rugg to put you out of the way. Still Bland's no coward, an’ if you came across him at a bad moment you’d have to be quicker 'n you was with Bosomer." ’’AH right. I’ll meet what comes,” said Duane, quietly. “The great point is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick through.” “Thet’s the only chance for success. An' you can’t do it alone.” ' “I’ll have to. I wouldn’t ask you to help me. Leave you behind!” "Wal, I'll take my chances,” replied Euchre, gruffly. “I’m goin’ to help Jen nie, you can gamble your last peso on thet. There’s only four men in this camp who would shoot me—Bland an’ his right-hand pards, an’ thet rabit-faced Benson. If you happened to put out Bland and Chess, I'd stand a good show with the other two. Anyway, I'm old an’ tired—what's the difference if I do get plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck, even if I am afraid of gun-play. You ate correct, ’Hesses ready, the right minnlt, then the trick.’ Thet much ’s settled. Now let's figger all the little details. They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euchre who planned, Duane who listened and agreed. While awaiting the return of Bland and his lieutenants it would be well for Duane to grow friendly with the other out laws, to sit in a few games of monte, or show a willingness to spend a little money. The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland every day—Euchre to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jennie, Duane to blind the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries de cided upon, they proceeded to put them Into action. No hard task was it to win the friend ship of the most of those good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order than theirs coming to the hidden camps and sooner or later sink ing to their lower level. Besides, with them everything Was easy come, easy go. That was why life itself went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply. There were men among them, however, that made Duane feel that terrible in explicable wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near them. He could not trust himself. He felt that any instant a word, a deed, something might call too deeply to that instinct he could no longer control. Jackrabbit Benson was one of these man. Because of him and other outlaws of his ilk Duane could scarcely ever forget the reality of things. This was a hidden valley, a robbers' den, a rendezvous for murderers, a wild place stained red by deeds of wild men. And because of that there was always a charged atmos n lie re. The merriest, idlest most rnre less moment might in the flash of an eyo end in ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate charac ters it could not be otherwise. The ter rible thing that Duane sensed was this. The valley was beautiful, sunny, frag rant, a place to dream in; the moun tain-tops were always blue or gold rimmed, ihe yellow river slid slowly and majestically by, the birds sung in the cottonwoods, the horses grazed and pranced, children played and women longed for love, freedom, happiness; the out lows rode in and out, free with money and speech; they lived comfort ably in their adobe homos, smoked, talked, laughed, whiled away the idle hours and all the time life there was wrung, and the simplest moment might be precipitated by that evil into the most awful of contrasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark, brooding shadow over the valley. Then, without any solicitation or en couragement from Duane, the Bland woman fell passionately in love with him. llis conscience was never troubled i about tin' beginning of that affair. She launched herself. It took no great pers picuity on his part to see that And the tiling which evidently held her in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for the moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Duane exerted himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and always with de ference. Thai was his strong point, and it bail made his part easy so far. He believed he would carry the whole scheme through without involving him self any deeper. He was playing at a game of love— playing with life and death! Sometimes lie trembled, not that lie feared Bland or Allowny or any other man, hut at the deeps of life he had come to see into. He was carried out of his old mood. Not once since thia daring mo tile had stirred him had he been haunt ed by the phantom of Bain beside his bad. Rather had he been haunted by Jennie's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was, able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had with her was through Euchre, who curried short messages. But he caught glimpses of her every time he went, to the Bland house. She contrived somehow to pass door or window, tc give him a look when chance afforded. And Duane discovered with surprise that these moments were more thrilling to him than any with ,\lrs. Bland. Often Duane knew Jennie was sittiYig just inside the window, and then he felt in spired in his talk, and it was all made for her. So at least she came to know him while as yet she was almost a stranger. Jennie had been instructed by Euchre to listen, to understand that tins was Duane's only chance to help keeii her mind from constant worry, to gather the import of every word which had a double meaning. Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain, to burn up with intense hope which had flamed within her. But all the difference Duane could see was a paler face and darker, more wonderful eyes. The eyots seemed to be entreating him to hurry, that time was flying, that soon it might be too late. Then there was another meaning in them, a light, a strange fire wholly inexplicible to Duane. It was only a flash gone in an instant. But he re membersd it because he had never seen it in any other woman’s eyes. And all through those waiting days he knew that Jennie’s face, and especially the ivarm, fleeting glance she gave him, ivas responsible for a subtle and gra Jual change in him. This change, he fancied, was only that through remem brance of her he got rid of his pale, sickening ghosts. One day a careless Mexican threw a ighted cigarette up into the brush matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den. and there was a fire which left little more than the adobe walls standing. The result was that while repairs were being made there was no gambling and drinking. Time Jung very heavily on the hands of some fwn score outlaws. Days passed by without a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours of peace than ever before. Duane, however, found the hours anything but empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland’s; Je walked miles on all the trails lead ing out of the valley: he had a care for the condition of his two horses. Upon his return from the latest of these tramps, Euchre suggested that they go down to the river to the boat anding. * ci * y luuiuu i i uii usiiui tr iiiici iiitM ii — n’," said Euchre. “River gettin' low in’ sand bars makin' it hard fer hosses. rhere's a greaser freight wagon stuck n the mud. I reckon we might hear tews from the freighters. Eland's sup posed to be in Mexico.” Nearly all the outlaws in camp were issembled on the river bank, lolling in :hc shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was oppressive. Not an outlaw offered :o help the freighters, who were trying :o dig a heavily freighted wagon out of ;he quicksand. Few outlaws would work for themselves, let alone for the lespised Mexicans. Duane and Euchre joined the lazy jroup and sat down with them. Euchre Ighted a black pipe, and, drawing his Pat over his eyes, lay back in comfort ifter the manner of the majority of the putlaws. But Duane was alert, observ ng, thoughtful. He never missed any thing. It was his belief that any mo ment an idle word might be of benefit :o him. Moreover, these rough men were always interesting. “Bland's been chased acrost the riv ;r,” said one. “Naw, he’s deliverin’ cattle to thet Unban ship,” replied another. “Big deal on. hey?" “Some big. Ruggs says the boss hed in order fer 15,000.” "Say, that order'll take a year to 111.” “Naw; Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Between 'em they’ll fill or iers bigger’n thet.” “Wondered what Hardin was rustlin' n here fer." Duane could not possibly attend to ill the conversation among the out laws. He endeavored to get the drift if talk nearest to him. "Kid Fuller’s goin' to cash.” said a ?andy whiskered little outlaw. “So Jim was fellin' me. Blood poi son, ain’t it? Thet hole wasn’t bad. But he took the fever,” rejoined a com rade. "Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed nursin'.” “Wal. Kate Bland ain’t nursin’ any phot up boys these days. She hasn’t jo time.” A laugh followed this sally; then rame a penetrating silence. Some of the outlaws glanced good naluredly at Duane. They bore him no ill will. Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation. “Pete, 'pears to me. you’ve said thet before.” “Shore. Wal, it's happened before." This remark drew louder laughter ind more significant glances at Duane. Ho did not choose to ignore them any longer. "Boys, poke all the fun you like at me. but don’t mention any lady's name again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days." He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled, but the good humor in no wise weakened it. Then his latter re mark was significant to a class of men who from inclination and necessity practiced at gun drawing until they wore callous and sore places on their l-hiimhci anrl inmilnntpd in tViA vorv deeps of their nervous organization a habit that made even the simplest and most innocent motion of the hand end at or near the hip. There was some thing remarkable about a gun fighter’s hand, it never seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an awkward position. There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches on their gnn handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held. Duane could not recall any other in stance where he had let fall a familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted of his possi bilities. lie saw Instantly that he could not have done better. "Orful hot, ain't it?” remarked Bill Black, presently. Bill could not keep quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been anything else. He was stoop shouldered and bow legged from much riding: a wiry little man. all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly black from scrubby bear and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast. "Is there any guy in this heali out fit sport enough to go swimmin'?” lie asked. "My Gawd. Bill, you ain't agoin’ to wash!” exclaimed a comrade. This raised a laugh, in which Bill joined. But no one seemed eager to join him in a bath. "Laziest outfit I ever rustled with,” went on Kill, discontentedly. “Noth in' to do! Say, if nobody wants to swim, maybe some of you'll gamble?” He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved them at the motionless crowd. "Bill, vou're too good at cards," re plied a lanky outlaw. "Now, Jasper, you say thet pnwer erful sweet, an’ you look sweet, er I might take it to heart," replied Black, with a sudden change of tone. Here it was again—that upflashing passion. W'liat Jasper saw fit to reply would mollify the outlaw or it would | not. There was an even balance. ' "No offense. Bill," said Jasper placid ly, without moving. Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied. Duane knew him to be an inveterate gambler. And, as Benson s place was out of running order. Black was like a fish on dry land. "Wal, if youall are afraid of the cairds, what will you bet on '.'" he asked, in disgust. "Bill, I’ll play ycu a game of mumbly peg fer two bits,” replied one. Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game obsessed him, not the stakes. He i entered into the mumbly peg contest | with a thoughtful mien and a corded i brow. He won. Other comrades tried their luck with him and lost. Finally, | when Bill had exhausted their supply of two-hit pieces or their desire for tnat particular game, he offered to get on anything. "She the turtle-dove there?” lie said, pointing. "111 bet he'll scare at one stone or he won’t. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when some one chucks a stone. Who'll take me up?” That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws could withstand. "That thet. Easy money,” said one. "Who's goin’ to chuck the stone?” asked another. “Anybody,” replied Bill. "Wal, I'll bet you 1 can scare him with one stone," said the first outlaw. "Were in on thet, Jim to fire the darnlck,” chimed in the others. The money was put up, tne stone thrown. The turtle-dove took flight, to the great joy of all the outlaws except Bill. "I’ll bet you-all ne'll come back to thet tree inside of five minnits,” he of fered, imperturbably. Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to cover Bill’s money as it lay on the grass. Somebody had a watch, and they all sat clown, dividing attention between the timepiece and the tree. The minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular remarks anent a fool and his money. When four and three quarter minutes had passed a turtle dove alighted in the cottonwood. Then ensued an impressive silence while Blil | calmly pocketed the 50 dollars. “But it hain’t the same dove!” ex flaimfirl nilP outlaw <uvr»ito/11ir ••rThi« ' ’n’ Is smaller, dustier, not so purple.” Bill eyed the speaker loftily. "Wal, you'll have to ketch the other one to prove thet. Sabe, paid? Now 1 11 bet any gent heah the 50 I won thet I can scare thet dove with one stone.” No one offered to take his wager. “Wall, then, I’ll bet any of you even money thet you can't scare him with one stone.” Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, in no wise disconcerted bv Bill’s contemptuous al lusions to their banding together. The stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to that bird. Bill was unable to coax or scorn his comrades into any kind of wager. He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then he appeared i at a loss for some unusual and seduc- I tive wager. Presently a little ragged Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particularly starved and poor-look- ■ ing little fellow. Bill called to him and I gave him a handful of silver coins, i Speechless, dazed, he went his way i hugging the money. "I’ll bet he drops some before he gits to the road," declared Bill. "I’ll bet he runs. Hurry, you four-flush gamblers.” Bill failed to interest any of his com panions, and forthwith became sullen and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in spite of the fact that he had won considerable. Duane, watching the disgruntled out law, marveled at him and wondered what was in his mind. These men were more variable than children, as un stable as water, as dangerous as dyna mite. “Bill, I’ll bet you ten you can’t spill whatever’s in the bucket thet peon's packin’,” said the outlaw called Jim. Black’s head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop. Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a half-wdtted Indian who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Duane had met him often. "Jim, I’ll take you up,” replied Black. Something, perhaps a harshness in liis voice, caused Duane to whirl. He caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw’s eye. “Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot.” said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow on his knee and sighted over the long, heavy Colt. The distance to the peon was about 50 paces, too far for even the most expert shot to hit a moving object so small as a bucket. Duane, marvelously keen in the align ment of sights was positive that Black held too high. Another look a; the hard face, now tense and dark wdth blood, confirmed Duane’s suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming at the bucket at all. Duane leaped and struck the leveled gun out of his hand. Another outlaw- picked it up. Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon, he did not seem the same man, or else he was cowed by Duane’s significant and formidable I front. Sullenly he turned away with 1 out even asking for his gun. CHAPTER VIII. j What a contrast, Duane thought, the I evening of that day presented to the | state of his soul! The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexi 1 can mountains; twilight came slowly; | a faint breeze blew from the river cool J and sweet; the late cooing of a dove 1 and the tinkle of a cowbell were the ; only sounds; a serene and tranquil peace lay over the valley. Inside Duane’s body there was strife. This third facing of a despeiate man had thrown him off his balance. It had not been fatal, but It threatened so much. The better side of his nature j seemed to urge him to die rather than ; to go on fighting or opposing ignorant, unfortunate, savage men. But the per i versify of him was so great that it | dwarfed reason, conscience. He could not resist it. He felt something dying | in him. He suffered. Hope semed far away. Despair had seized upon him and was driving him into a reckless mood when he thought of Jennie. He had forgotten her. He h;\d for gotten that he had promised to save her. He had forgotten that he meant to ! snuff out as many lives as might stand between her and freedom. The very re , membrance sheered off his morbid lh ! trospeetion. She made a difference How strange for him to realize that' : He felt grateful to her. He had been forced in-’o outlawry; she had been : stolen from her people and carried into i captivity. They had met in the river ! fastness, ho to instil hope into her des pairing life, she to be ttie means, per ! haps, of keeping him from sinking to ! the level of her captors. He became 1 conscious of a strung and beating desire | to see her, talk with her. | These thoughts had run through his I mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's ; house. He had left Euchre go on ahead I because he wanted more time to com i pose himself. Darkness had about set in I when he reached his destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting {or him on the porch. (.Continued Next Week.' I WHAT THE FRENCH ♦ * X MAID TOLD MARJORY } The Need of Slip Covers. "I know I should have some slip covers for the furniture this summer, but I really don’t know what to get.' remarked Marjorie to Marie one day as she spied the dainty pink coverings in her aunt’s boudoir. "There are many reasons why the summer covering of furniture is advised today, "returned Marie. "First, it does away with the hot and heavy appear ance of the winter year-round house—• a condition unpleasantly noticeable al the first breath of summer. "One shouiu realize that the stuff! ness is largely accountable for th» popular prejudice against spending un. bearable summer in the city and tha| with the proper summer comfort, on* could really settle down to comparative ease. It is true that after one learns to take the proper care of possessions the seemingly perishable things assums more the light of possibilities. "If you can meet these requirements, light slip covers should have no terrors for you—and you will have a mighty cool looking house. The second great advantage to be gained by summer fur niture covers is that of furlture protec tion. Who has not suffered the incon venience of having those blue-white spots appear on their mahogany fur niture-caused by perspiring backs and hands? “A slip cover will eliminate this, as it also will the fading of upholstered stuff and the sifting In of dust from open windows. And the third slip-cover seat, whicii will strongly appeal to many, is the good chance afforded them to indulge that urtsatisfed longing for cretonne furnishings which has hereto fore been denied them, on account of their being possessed of too much ex cellent furniture of another date to have been able to refurnish with the more modern upholstery of cretonne. "It will be plainly recognized that with slip cover of cretonne they will 'oe very ‘modernly’ furnished for fully half a year! First of all. they virtually are made on the furniture. A piece of the material is pinned on the part of the chair one has decided to start with, and after it is carefully fitted, It is cut the shape, leaving plenty of allowance for seams.” Just Jam. “What are you making?” asked Mar porie womleringly. as she found Cano putting up some deliicous strawberries one day. “Just some strawberry jam,” return ed tiie versatile French maid. In this country we do not appreciate or make the use of jam we should. In Franco our jam becomes ‘compote’ and figures in many ways in the household menu. We ear and enjoy these dainty prepara tions without realizing that they aro not only an addition to a meal, but aro in themselves an economy. For as r. rule these compotes or jams are made of left-over fruits. "For example, after breakfast half a saucerful of strawberries remain* in tho dish. Instead of putting these aside and eating them when they are getting, messy, the French housewife puts them into a small preserving kettle with a little sugar and lets them cook ctowly on the back of the stove. It may be that at luncheon some half dozen or so of cherries are left from a dish of fruit. These, carefully stoned, are added to the strawberries and again cooked. “This process goes on until there is enough jam to fill a glass or two, when it begins over again. We have a way of saying that the Italians and French thrive because they can live'on so little. That is true, but we do not add, as we should, that they also have will. This jam from odds and ends is only a case to point. "Let the American housewife get one of these nice little enameled ware pre eerving kettels with its wooden handle and then, by the exercise of a little forethought and ingenuity see how many glasses of rich, delicious jam she can put up for the next winter with very little expenditure of either time, money or effort. “One more hint on jams. They keep so well that they can be put in chipped cups or earthenware bowls, covered witli paraffin paper. It is a good idea to make up a quantity of apple jolly when apples are cheap. Never stir a jelly witli a metal spoon, as its color is easily darkened. The enameled ware skimmer, ladle and spoon will obviate the danger. A glass of jelly should be eaten as soon as it is opened.” Paper Linens For Summer. “Oh, dear," moaned Marjorie, "I am so sick of the everlasting washing of tablescloths and napkins and other things in summer.” , “Why do you use such things in the summer at all?” asked Marie. “You can make the wonderful little paper contrivances on sale in all shops save much work in summer, if you wish to call them in as members of your para phernalia. They are inexpensive, con venient to use, and—there most valued characteristic—they cannot he laund-* ered, either in the dishpan or the wash tub. They can be cheerfully consigned to the fire, in the knowledge that their fate ordained them for such an end. “To begin with, there are paper towels, which can be put to all sorts of uses in the kitchen. A length of the toweling can be used to keep the linnrle from hnrnirifr whpn hnf tints :inrl pans must bo lifted. Bits of the towel ing can be used to grease pans with. Beituce may be wrapped, damp and cl^an, in the toweling and laid on the ice to become crisp. “Then there are paper napkins. These can be brought, if one wishes to pay the price, in heavy quality that is as pleasant to use as damask or linen. Then there are various cheaper sorts and for picnics, for impromptu summer refreshments, the large plain white ones are the best choice. “For the occasional piece of fresh fruit, the smaller napkins, printed with colored flowers borders, can be chosen, although the pure white ones in tho smaller sizes are perhaps even daintier! than the ones with colored borders. Some women v.hv try to make sum mer work easy for servants have a white paper napkin placed on the fruit plate at breakfast, and this is used with the fruit. In this way fruit stains, so difficult to got out are kept from the regular napkins.” Cleveland's bonded debt is $56,317, C1S.60. Her Neighbor’s Child. “He's a terrible youngster!” said Mrs. McBride, While gazing at Mickey O’Flynn; “He's spoiling my boy. for he can't keep a toy, And the way that he swears is a sin. 1 think that my Hinny will be a great man Do ve mind the grand shape of his do me? He'd study and plan, the dear little man. If Mickey O’Flynn would stay home.” “I'm proud of my Mickey," said Mrs. O’ Flynn, "He'll be a great statesman some day; That’s him alongside of young Hinny Mc Bride— They’re always together at play. My Mickey ain't wan of thim wanderin’ lads That's always n-plannin’ to roam; Sure he’d be a tine lad, as smart as his dad, If Hinny McBride wud stay home!" —William F. Kirk,