THE DESERT MOON MYSTERY BY KAY CLEAVER STRAHAN ; i I thm***. then, that her •hu alien wax' eomlortable •emparcW famine. If you have Merer bem packed in a box With a fe4 af explosives, as I Hope you have not you can Have no Mutton of what I went through l could have climbed aut. Bni, it yea are an elderly Woman. «ff my size and build, ms I hope you arc not, and If you have* certain reputation for diga®# to live up to, and • certain reputation for •hooping to live down, you cun 4uwr an idea why I didn’t gbcmt springing out of •here, like a Jack-in-the-box, ar like the ttnmoral ladies who •morse from pies—so the papers sty -at bachelor’s parties. I weighed the matter carefully, as I heard, through the tMm boards, Hubert Hand, totting to someone, came into the kitchen. I chose death fcf suffocation or com bustion. “My dew woman,” were the first v/orfo I heard from him, "you ruy act your mind at test. 1 bio mot going to marry •he fill I am not a marrying ■tan, as you know; and, if I were, she wouldn’t have me.” “You Imre her alone, then. Understood me. Leave her alone.” If I teEeved my ears, that was Mrs. Kicker’s voice; that was lira. Kicker, not only talking, tart talking like that to Hubert Hand. “Yua Hatter me,” he said. •Jealous, stUJ, after all these years?" "I despise you. But you leave fiat girl alone. If you think TO aland, silent, and allow you to marry her—” “Hire a hall. I told you I wouldn’t marry her, and that •he wouldn't have me, if I were witting to.” “WoBldnrt she, though? Wouldn't she? She is mad about you. She can’t look at you without love In her eyes, nor speak to you without love In her voice. She tries to hide It; biit aHw can't hide it from me. I tmm. She loves you. 1 am cot cure whether I Bead % m whether I figured It out Sw myself; but I do know ilka fact that no wo man ever acuses another wo man of being In love with a ■ran unless she could Imagine being to love with him herself. as to tnaiv" Huoert H4na •aid. la ffiaf preeny, offhand ananner that men, who will dlscuKK their love affairs at ail, use when discusing them, “what possible difference could at make to you, Ollie?” “Only that I would kill her, and yu*i, too, before I would let her have you.” “Easy on there, iny girl. Tour best attempt at murder —at teas! 1 hope that was your Just attempt—was not, you may recall, very success ful.” “I u’Oflid be successful an other tone.” I clasnped my teeth to keep them iMm. chattering. I wished that I had some way as ency for muffling the sound made t»y the pounding of iny heart, which was thudding away a* fondly as a butter chum In rapid action. Except tor that I kept quiet; very qptet. Sfctrrtnanded, in there by luiet/Aanrsunded, in there by people who talked of murder as cahnty and as comfortably as If they were discussing ■no**nooses, very quiet did not •can faTO quiet enough. They wen* Into the other sooni «f the cabin and stayed there far a iew minutes. 1 could not hear what they were asyics; but I did not budge Bn Inch. After I heard them pa&siiac: the window, and was acre Unit they had left the aabbv I remained, very quiet, •a the chest for about five ailuuf£& longer before climb laf oaf of it'. 1 was progressing' toward home, shivering in every bone, limping, since both my legs had gonn to sleep, when Sam, riding his bad tempered bronco named Wishbone, came up behind roe and dis mounted. “Corns bad Mary?” he questioned. “Must be going to have rain.” “Keep water in the ditches. Both my feet are asleep, troin , the ankles up.” “Upon my soul! First time in history you ever sat still in one place long enough to | have that happen. Well, well. , 'Do the thing that’s nearest.’ Want to climb on Wishbone and have me lead him?” “When I go to meet death,” I told him, “I shan’t go on the back of a nasty tempered bronco.” “Speaking of tempers,” Sam grinned, “a person would think I had sung your feet to sleep, Mary." “Considering,” I replied, “that everyone on the Desert Moon is, right now, at tl\is minut?, in mortal danger C •; close to twc months, it seemed to me that whoever had written them did not write un less he or she had something of Importance to say. I was still puzzling over it, when Gaby came into the room. Sure enough, she snatched it out of my hands, just us she had done with the ether letter, and ran straight up stairs with it. When John and Dany came in, a few minutes later, I went upstairs. Habit stopped me at Gaby’s door for a minute, with my ear to the keyhole. Faintly sounds don’t come plainly through our thick doors, 1 heard the portable typewriter that she had brought with her when she cam- to the ranch, click, clicking away. My first judgement wras that she was not losing any time in answering that letter; but, as I went down the hall, I had a hazy notion that there had been something queer, different, about the way she had been using the machine. Instead of snapping away on it, lickety-split, as she usually did, she had been touching the keys slowly and carefully, picking them out one at a time, the way I have to do when I try to use Sam’s plaguey machine to copy recipes for my card catalog. I was tuckered and tired. So, after telephoning some in structions to Belle and Sadie in the kitchen, I took plenty of time to tidy myself up. I aawcuea m my uuui. aim i | cut my corns, and rubbed hair tonic into my scalp. But, when f on my way downstairs again, I stopped for a second at ! Gaby’s door, the typewriter was still going, with its slow click, click. There was nothing to be made out of it, so I went along. It was fortunate that I did, because, before I had reached the top of the stair way, Gaby’s door flung open and she called to me, with something in her voice that made me shake in my shoes. I turned and looked at her. Her face wore an ?5cpf?iSSi6n that was not human; an ex pression that would have made any decent woman do as I did, and turn her eyes quickly j away. “Tell Danny to come up' here," she said. I hurried off downstairs, and delivered the message to Danny who was with John in the iiving-room. “What’§ the matter, Mary?" John questioned, when Danny had gone upstairs. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.” “I think,” I answered, “that I have—the ghost of Sin.” “Doggone chat girl,” he said. “I wish she were in Jericho ” “Gaby, you mean?” “You’re darn right. She’s causing all the trouble around here.” wnat troume i asked, just for a feeler. “I don’^ knovw-exactij Sne keeps Danny miserable. But that Isn’t it, or not all of it. Don’t you seem to feel trouble around here, all the time? I thought everyone did. I do, Gosh knows.” “I know.” I said. “I feel it, too. I think Sam does, though he won’t altogether admit it. Just the same, John, there isn’t a thing we can put our fingers on, is there?” He walked to the window and looked out at the long range of Garnet Mountains, turning blood-red, now under the sunset. “^suppose not,” he said, at last. ‘‘Sometimes, though, when I see Danny looking as she looked when she went up stairs just now, I feel as if it would be a good thing if some body would put their fingers around that vixen’s throat.” “John,” I spoke sharply to him, “4?n’t say things like that. You don’t mean it. It Is wrong to say it.” I was sure that he did not mean it. I was sure that only the voice of one of his rare ugly moods had spoken, and that the wicked thought had died with the wicked words. But, from that day to this, I have never repeated those words to a livinr soul. Because that was the way that Gaby : was murdered; enoisea c* death, with great brutal ' bruises left on her throat CHAPTER XII An Insight In spite of all mv ef foj ts not to do so. I have, again 1 un on ahead of my story. But, I de clare to Goodness, the horror of it, after ail these months j is still so strong upon me. that ; I know the only way to gel that written Is to write it with no more dilly-dally, and then to go buck and lead up to it properly with the events that immediately preceded it Tha: evening, then, the second of July, the t7/o girls came down, late, together Danny was paler than usual and her face had a drawn, hurt look, which she explained by saying that she had a severe headache. Gaby was gayer than gay. I kept watching hei, cry ing to catch her face in re pose, to see if any trace re mained of that dreadful ex pression I had seen In the afternoon. Her face, nor one bit of her, was in repose for a minute from the time she came downstairs until she went upstairs again, after twelve o’clock that night. She put “La Paloma” on the phonograph, and did a Spanish dance, clicking her heels and snapping her fingers until they sounded like fire crackers. She did an Egyptian dance, slinking about, and contortionmg. it wasn i decent. She got the whole crowd, including the girls from the kitchen (who had stayed to gape through the door at her dancing, instead of going home as they should have gone), and excluding only Danny, with her head ache, Mrs. Ricker and me, to join ir a game of follow the leader, %nd she led them a wild (i ise all over the house from u lar to attic. Laughing, and jiu lping, and screaming, and she uting they went, with the radio shrieking out the jaz2 grehestra in Los Angeles; and me with depression so heavy upon me that it felt real, like indigestion. Mrs. Ricker was doing some tatting. As I watched her, I decided that, ears or no ears, she was pot the woman I had heard talking, that afternoon, up in the cabin. Hubert Hand had said to that woman that She could not have been Mrs. Ricker; not our Ikfrs. Ricker, the thin, silent woman who had lived so decently with us for so long. Those white, bony fingers, darting the shuttle back and forth, making edg ings for handkerchiefs, had never held any murderous weapon. Those tight, wrinkled lips had never said, “I jvQi*ld kill her, and you too.” John had never said—I shivered. It wjs iancnui tnmKing, out it £efrr£d to me th&t for years tne Oesert'Tvioon had ridden in our sky, clean and clear, a lucky, fair weather moon, and that now the shadow of the wicked world was slowly creeping over it, inch by inch with the darkness that was to end Tn its ecTipse. Wicked thoughts and wicked words breed wicked actions, and 1 knew it then as now. Martha came crying to Mrs Ricker. “Gaby hurt Chad," she said. “I wish she would die. We would make her a nice funeral.” Mrs. Ricker’s fingers darted faster, back and forth. Danny spoke, from the davehport. >t‘^fou shouldn’t talk like that, ^Martha, dear. It is wrong.” Her voice sounded as if it 1 ached. She looked, lying in a huddle over there, as miser able as I felt. I was drawn to her. I went and sat beside her. “Could I do anything for your headache?” I asked “Get you some asperin, may be.” “No, thank you, Mary." There was so much gratitude in her big dark eyes for noth ing but common decency on my part, that I felt downright ashamed of myself. (TO B* CONTINUED) ■ ■ » » — - Q What was a person called who played a lute? D. W. A. He was called a lutenist oi lutist. CiKc vortitre ItacR f:oat Kihooia Journal, fk* tMDoluis 1m a murder mys A rntjfll girt was found slain lien* is itttie evidence to guide i their sea rcli for the have, ,er. made and the men taken thoroughly grilled and the process the "lie de Chicago po but no sub was gained by The eTetccior charts recording drum, one the blood pressure respit itian. a.xjrcrs & Vttt* non, unusual nuctuaticns are re- i I corded, the answer is assumed to be untrue. TSie public is a trifle dubious of the device. While almost everyone would be glad to see the girl's I slayers captured and punished, they are somewhat hesitant about ! using a contraption of tills kind to j test men on whom the weight of evidence lies lightly. In the first place the methods employed by Des Moines police were hardly best. The men were "rilled all Saturday night. Ques tions were fired at them hour after hour. At about 2 a. m„ when even an innocent man of but average physical strength would be very | weary, a picture of the murder* girl was flashed upon the sere* before them. No results. Then tl* grilling was continued until tl« Chicago criminologist and his ma chine arrived Sunday morning. This detector was set up and at 10 a. m„ the questioning began again and continued for nine hours. Twenty-four hours almost steady grilling! And toward the end of the session one of the rne i ; was detected ir. a lie. Tnis disco- - ery did not bring out any real in formation. In fact it had litt-/. to do with the case. But D?s Moines police report the test a grra, suc cess. Tfcj American idea has always i been to let a guilty man escape rather than take anv chance on punishing an innocent one. A lie detector will be of great value in criminal work if one is developed i that overcomes public skepticism j 3ut the Des Moines test did not convert many to the belief that such a machine has been perfected -f4 Q What was the fur cap called which was worn by some of the American soldiers in the Revolu tion? It was made of a squirrel 'skin with the tail left on. H. T. M. A. Such a cap was called a squir rel tail and the soldiers wearing such headgear were called snnir rel tails, I I CONSERVING HARNESS The cost of good heavy work har ness has now Decomc an important idcior in the cost of a team, and it Is important that the farmer use good judgment in the selection and upkeep of this part of his equip ment. We can give no practical rules by which the average mar. can tell the difference between good and poor quality harness, and about all ! hn ran do is to buy only from well established and responsible firms, whose advertisements are carried by the better farm papers that guaran tee their advertisers to be reliable, or who sell through responsible dealers who in turn will guarantee the harness. An important point In buying harness is to make sure that it is heavy enough for the work after it has seen three or four years’ service. There are certain relations between the weight of a horse and the weight of the harness he should use and the difference in price be tween harness with 112-inch and 2-inch tugs and 1-inch and l'i-inch lines is Uoiially not more than $a or $0, and the heavier harness usu ally will give enough longer life to more than make up the small dif ference in the lirst cost. The care of the harness has much to do with the service it gives, and whether it will dry out and rot in four or five years or stay strong and flexible for uerhaps 20 years. A new harness irdinarily does not need oiling be fore being put into service. Har ness in constant teaming use will stand a light application every month or so, while all farm harness should be thoroughly cleaned and oiled preferably twice a year. Oil ing not only keeps the leather soft and pliable, but also helps to keep water from soaking in. Every spring before farm work begins, the har ness should be taken apart, loose 1 dirt cleaned off, washed thoroughly with warm water and mild soap, hung up until the surface is bare ly uiy. uiuruugiuy uuca witn gouu harness oil, .allowed to dry in a farm room, and all excess oil wiped off. It should then be gone over carefully and all rips and breaks sewed with good waxed threat, and all worn or broken rings, snaps, buckles, hasps, rivets and so on re paired or replaced. It is then ready to put together for another year’s service. Harness so cared for is I always ready, barring accidents, to * stand up under severe service and I not give, way at a critical time when some unusual strain Is put upon it. I Harness and leather experts gener ally agree that <*nly animal or vege table oils should be used on har ass, and are of the opinion that pe voleum oils are likely to do more nai'm than good. The old standbys were whale oil and ifid oil; but now they usually ree&mmend neat’s-fcot :il or half neat’s-foot oil and tal I low melted together and applied Varm but not hot. A good harness I dil bought from a reliable firm is 1 s&fe ana usually just as cheap. Ex perience seems to indicate that salt sprinkled round ou the barn tim-_ bers near where the harn£S5 is hung is effective jn mice and rate from gnawing the har [ ness, while pine tar smeared on the , ROsts 'close to the tar also seems to I be a good preventive. A good collar is an important part of the harness I and deserves much better care than | it usually receives. It should be farefully selected tg lit the horse’s neck and shoulders without inter fering in any way with his breath ing. should be kept scrupulously flean of any deposits or roughness which might have a tendency to chafe the shoulders, should be oiled even oftener than the rest of the harness, and should be kept well I laced and evenly padded. Many collars are ruined by carelessness in pulling them apart to slip qn more easily. —- -♦ ♦--7—-77 BENEFITS OF DRlfXlNG. Drilling corn offers some distinct advantages over checking the crop, in ease of handling and lowering the cost of production. The only dis advantage. which may be real or apparent, is the added difficulty of controlling weeds in the drilled rows. Under the management we have jieveloped during the past five y£ars, saj s TprogfesSIveia r mV?, “our cornfields come through event wet seasons as well as the checked fields. By drilling, we save much of the planting time, do all the turning during cultivation at the ndrrBtver sides of the fields only and give the mechanical picker a better chance to do good work on account of the regular passage of stalks through the machine. It is, of course, essential to have the seed bed clean of weeds by working the ground imrhe'dlately previous to planting. Then conies a very im portant step. We use on the plant er a_sinip!e disk attachment which makes "a shallow furrow on either side of the planted rows and throws the dirt into a small ridge over the planter wheel tracks. The furrows’ protect the seed from being vJSshed out*. bv a heavy rail} even in hilly » country. Tlie ' haH-dwing jvhich ordinarily follows right be hind the planter to erase the plant er tracks is therefore unnecessary. We delay the first harrowing after planting about a week, usually, and then operate crosswise of the plant er rows. This management rids the field of myriads of seedling weeds of all kinds, especially In the rows, be cause the harrow tears down the ridges made by the disk attach ment as it levels the surface. —---rrr-!' SQUAB ESSENTIALS „ In ,the production of high-class squabs -fhree things are essential from a ^nutritional standpoint grain, grit^md water. Grain is so obviously a feqyirement that it is rarely neglected. .Grit and clean water are less obvious. Besides grindiing the feed, grit supplies cer tain mineral elements necessary to the health of the bird. If crit is lacking the birds will soon gee out if condition and will not even start nesting. Many kinds of satisfactory DON’T FORCE THE PULLETS It is not best to hurry the pullets into heavy production. Allow them to come into production normally without feeding highly stimulating feed. Fewer "blowouts” .will occur wheo production is not forced at the staii. Feed two parts of grain to one part of mash, and the pullets will continue to gain in weight and still receive enough protein to encourage the egg organs to function without interfering with growth. SEGREGATE BREEDING STOCK Good succulent pasture is always beneficial to pigs when weather per mits. Rye is much used for fall hog nasture in the north,'rye and crim j health grit for squab raising aie on \ the market. Grit should proferably j bo kept outdoors in the lly pen in a wooden self feeder cr in a porce lain dish. It shoud nevnr be kept in a metal container. In white? when outdoor conditions are sever* i the grit will hr.ve to be kept in aid* the hcu. e, but this period snould b< as short as possible because grit will absoib cdors and impurities ana wi.l not save so tatisiaeiory an of feet as v hen :t is kept in the fresh air. Keep the grit slightly moist | 'lne birds Lke ii belter that way ■ A pigeon v.ill drink two or thief ! times as much water as will a hen j Squabs are fed entirely by the olo | birds, first they go to the fesfl hopper to get their supply of grain then they fly to the water for a drink, alter which they go to ttv nest, where by an not of ; eguivjita tion the youngsters are fed. Tf wa ter is absent the parents will wail until it is supplied and the squab* go hungry as a consequence. Natur ally the water should not only b* abundant but also clean. If allowed to get foul, canker and kindred troubles will appear. Running wa ter is ideal but if this is net possi ble the water should be supplied in 1 fountain.-, which should be kept ab J sclutcly clean and frequently stt-r I ilized. --♦♦ - - CHOPS AND LIVESTOCK Much has been said about tha factors that influence tha value of the cultivated crops produced on the faims of this country, but lit tle about, toe one lactor that more than all others determines tha total farm value of all crops. Tina one factor is livestock, and as tha prosperity of the livestock producer and finisher flue uates so will tha price of our major iavm crops fluc tuate. For the last lew years the farm value of all the crops pro duced oil the farms of the United States has approximated $8,500,000, 000, and livestock has furnished a market—in other words provid'd an outlet—lor crops representing on the average 52 per cent of this total value. Even a superficial study of the situation will reveal a ready explanation for this fact. Corn ranks first among farm crops, with a value averaging arcund $2,000, 000,000 a year, and 35 to 90 per cent of this crop is feci to livestock. Hay ranks second, with a value around $1,500,000,000, and nearly 100 per cent of-it is fed to livestock. Cotton, with a value approximating $1,250, 000,000, ranks third, but none of it is fed to livestock. However, live stock furnishes a market for $250, 000,000 worth of the by-products of cotton production. Wheat ranks fourth, with an average value ap ptwhjGg $1,000,000,090. Approxi mately 40 per cent of this crop i3 maiketed through livestock in the form of bran, shorts, low-grade and low priced wheat. This is a factor often ov.rl oked in discussions Of i $750,000,000 annually, and 85 per cent of it is marketed through live stock. Here we have five of apnrox imately 200 crops produced On the farms of the United States, repre senting an average annual value of $6,500,000,000 of tile $8,500,000,000 value of all crops harvested, and the portion of these five marketed through livestock amounts to over $4,000,000,000. These facts and fig ures emphasize the tremendous im portance cf livestock as a factor in determining the value of the farm crops produced in this country and the need of giving more attention to the factors that make for greater livestock valuis, — ' r r.::_ zz.** - ~ , A \l. vV aVVEr.T CLOvi.fi. Aipna is the name of a new va riety of sweet clover recently orig i inated. The new clover has the ap pearance of a hybrid between alfal la and sweet clover. It is finer stemmed, leafier and more profuse ly branched from the crown than ordinary sweet clover, in other characteristics such as type of pods, color oi flower and biennial habit of growth Alpha resembles the ordi nary biennial white sweet clover. This new sweet clover originated from several peculiar plants found _ in. a clover field in 1524. 3y inBreed ing aTrn ■SPT&^tTifTL three strains were developed. These strains now are classed as alpha sweet clover, it is of interest to note that alpha sweet clover is resistant to oTseaSS: Qne of the strains is extremely resistant to stem canker, a disease which limits the growth of sweet clover in many sections. Of greater import ance to stockmen is the fact that alpha sweet clover does not have such a pronounced bitter taste as does the common sweet clover In seed production, yield of hay win ter hardiness and ability to pro duce nitrogen the new variety is equal or superior to ordinary sweet clover. * - j ^ ESTIMATING BOARD COST 1 The average feed consumed per cow per year on 354 typical beef cattla farms in the corn belt, ac cording to an official survey was as follows: Grain 122 pounds, hay 1,900 pounds, silage 700 pounds and straw 660 pounds; while, in addition .12 acre of corn fodder, 1.6 acres or corn stalks and ,24 acre of corn stover were required for the winter ieeding period of 5‘j months. The balance of the year was spent on pasture, all of which was during the summer with the exception of four days. sIt was also shown tifai 1 Bushels pf co-n and 1,20q 'pounds of alfalfa .Jiry put a gain of 325 pounds on a two-'Tr.ir-old steer in 130 days, 360 pour. Tin a yearling steer in 160 davs and 400 pounds on a calf in 200 days; and that approx imately 85 per cent of the cost in fattening steers Is for feed, while labor accounts for o'j per cent, in terest 6 per cent, and 4‘j per,cent goes for miscellaneous expenses. son clover farther south, while cow peas and soybeans are used in southern states. Soon after wean ing it is best to separate those ani mals which are to be kept for breeding purposes from the fatten ing stock, as the development for best results with each class re quires a different system of man agement. ’NUTHEB JOB FOR MZZIE Don’t throw away your old flivver engine. Have it repaired (if r needs it; and use it to run'the spray ing machine. -*•— -- 1 .. - Moist mashes still are the open sesame for egg production from the late hatched and Hehtweieht«