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<! their If les, all your light
L.JUrted JjstUty/ sjuafi pretty
i much out of place.”
I told him, then, about the
packages of explosives hiddec
under the shelf. I had not
told him about my climbing
in with them; so I was in no
! way prepared for his actions.
He stopped. He dropped
Wishbone’s bridle. He put
both his hands on his stomach
and leaned over and burst
| into uproarious laughter.
] “Ho-ho-ho,” it rolled out
seeming to fill the entire
valley. He leaned to one side;
he leaned to the other side,
and kept on laughing to
deafen the far distant deserts.
“Fii^vork^” he gasped. “I
i got them for Martha. Going
i to surprise her on the fourth
j Sent for them months ago.
Hid them up there. Ho-ho-ho!
I told you to stop pussy-foot
ing around, Mary Ho-ho-ho!
, Do not look for wrong and
j evil, you will find them if vou
do—’ ”
With as much dignity as a
heavy woman, with both of
her legs asleep, could muster,
I turned and left him. His
words and his actions had
certainly given me one de
cision. From this time on, I
would tell Sam Stanley noth
ing.
CHAPTER XI
Aiir .ucitcr
When I got back to the
house, John was driving. up
the road in the sedan. He had'
been to Rattail for supplies,
and for the^ mail. He tossed
the mailbag out to me, and
^ drove around to the kitchen
j door to unload.
As a rule the Desert Moon
mail is uninteresting, being
made up, almost ^entirely, of
bills and advertising matter.
Since the girls had come, a
few sleazy, foreign looking
letters had livened it up a bit.
To a person who had never
been farther east than Salt
Lake City, a letter from Eng
land, or from France, does
carry quite a thrill with it.
There was a letter for Gaby
to-day, postmarked France.
About a month before this,
Gaby had received another
letter that was a cuiplicate of
1 this one; the same gray paper,
the same sprawling hand
writing. Instead of taking it
indifferently, as she did other
letters, and reading it where
ever she .happened to be, she
had snatched it out of my
hand and had run off to her
room. All that evening she had
seemed to be preoccupied, and
worried. The writing looked
like a man’s writing; but, like
a lot of other things, including
cigarette smoke, hip pockets
and hair cuts, it is not as easy
as it used to be to distinguish
between male and female in
handwriting, at a distance.
1 Sending onjy two letters in
—-■> •;
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«
