Ehaffee
ROARING HORSE I
BY ERNEST HAYCOX
m--v A •- ___I—
1
Chaffee indicated the
model. Fancher turned it over ,
and studied it carefully. “This •
is not a cow country boot, Jim. j
Too broad and flat a heel, too
wide at the arch, and also
away too blunt at the toe.” He
looked at the remaining two
models. “This third one doesn’t
'mean anything to me. Curious- ,
shaped foot, though. Keeps
right on widening from instep
to toes. Funny. Now this last
one—" and Fancher fell silent
for a long while. “Regulation
puncher’s boots—and as big
as a house. Took a heavy man
to make a hole in the ground
deep enough to match this
model.” He looked at Chaffee,
seeming to hold a thought he J
was too cautious to openly
express. Chaffee nodded. “I’m
thinkin’ with you on that.”
, “Interesting to know who j
wore the shoe with the flat
heel and bluni toe. We might
discover something of inter
est.”
“I’ll find out,” Chaffee re
plied, grim all of a sudden.
“Don’t worry about that. Keep
all this under your hat for the
time being. And I wish you’d
take charge of these models
until I need ’em. They’ll get
battered if I pack ’em around ;
much.”
r uuuid cigit't’u. v/uaucc
•tarted for the door; Fancher
stopped him on the threshold
with a very casual remark.
“If I were you, Jim I wouldn't
spill ony of this dope to Luis
Locklear.”
“Not in a thousand years,”
6aid Chaffee, and descended
the stairs.
His next point of call was
the hotel. “Miss Thatcher |
here?” he asked the clerk.
That gentleman shook his
head. “She went over to the
Woolfridge ranch around
noon”.
Chaffee departed, somehow
feeling cast dowm. All during
the ride to town he had de
bated seeing her; and he had j
screwed up his courage and
rehearsed what he wanted to
say to her. Going toward the
stable, he tried to erase the
dissatisfaction from his mind. I
“I guess,” he murmured, “I
had better lay that bright
dream aside. I had better for
get it. Her road runs a long
ways from mine. A sixty-dollar
man has mighty poor sense to
be thinking about her kind of
a woman. My life is out here.
She belongs somewhere else.
Why be a kid about it and
nurse Ideas that won’t ever
work?”
He was so engrossed in his
own problem that he almost
ran headlong into Mark Eagle,
the ibank cashier. Mark’s
round moon face was always
grave; now it seemed overcast
with an unwonted solemnity.
Chaffee stopped and forgot
his own affairs. “You look like
a heavy load of grief, Mark.”
The Indian never circled a
subject. He spoke directly al
ways. “My father is very sick
up in Oregon. I’ve got a letter
from him. He ought to go to 1
the city and see a good doctor.”
“Won’t he listen to anybody
but the tribe medicine man,
Mark?”
‘ No, he's civilized, Jim, like
me. He’d go to a doctor. But
that’s a hundred mile trip and
It takes money.” Mark looked
across the building tops, dusky
eyes roaming the distant
peaks. It was always this way
with the man. He went quietly
about his business, obeying
his mind while his heart
seemed to pull him away to a
wilder country. ‘‘My father is
not old. And he is a chief. I
am not a good son to be here
and unable to help him.’
Jim Chaffee’s hand worked
on impulse, reaching down to
the pocket that carried his
last material wealth. “You’re
on the wrong track, Mark.
Celebrate Birth of Virgil.
William Lyon Phelps in Scribners
Magazine.
In this blessed month of Octo
ber we are celebrating the 2.000th
birthday of Virgil. He is still a
best-seller. Long before the days of
Will Carleton, Virgil wrote about
farm life; and although there were
no Ford tractors among the Ro
mans, the Mantuans poet's dlrec
ire still applicable.
1} has been .not only a fer
tilteUK' genius on 2,000 years of lit
erature. he turned fertilizing it
self Into admirable verse. I men
tion this for the benefit of those
wrorthv pools who believe that a
_i_>_i
1
You've got friends, lots of
them. What's a friend for?
Here’s eighty dollars. You get
that to him quick.”
The Indian’s hands were
stiff at his sides, and Chaffee
knowing the danger of pro
longing a scene like this,
lucked the bills Into the other’s
coat. Mark Eagle’s copper
cheeks contracted, "You need
your money, Jim. I’ll be a long
time paying it back.”
"Who said anything about
that? Get it mailed off in a
hurry."
Mark Eagle straightened. A
burst of light came through
the dark eyes. He placed an
arm on Jim’s shoulder and
spoke with a sonorous dignity
that somehow carried him
back to his forebears. "You
are my friend. You will never
regret that. An Indian never
forgets.”
• you ii maybe be doin' me
a favor some of these bays,”
drawled Chaffee.
“Sooner than you think,”
said Mark Eagle. And move4
away, which was also his
manner. Chaffee got his horse
and swung out of town, his
mind dwelling for a moment
on Mark Eagle’s last phase.
Few people made any pretense
at understanding the Indian;
nor did Chaffee try to under
stand him. But he liked Mark,
and since he liked the man he
was instantly ready to help.
There was nothing complex
about Jim Chaffee’s nature.
Outside of town Chaffee left
the main trail and quartered
into the desert; this was a
habit he had been trained to
since boyhood. He had never
forgotten the shrewd maxim
laid down by his father. “The
beaten trails don’t teach you
nothin’, Jim Ride open country
with yore eyes propped apart.
Yuh may never be no World
beater, but if yuh learn to
read the good Lord’s signs yuh
won’t never be a fool.” The
early afternoon’s sun came
out of a cloudless sky, the
breath of winter blew over the
eastern peaks. Chaffe soon
forgot his problems; this land
had the power to completely
absorb him, to mold him to
its own mood. Up and down
the rolling reaches he travel
ed, blue eyes questing the
horizons or dwelling upon the
minute testimony unfolding
along the ground. A jack had
scurried off here; a coyote’s
tracks zigzagged east and west
aimlessly. One clear mark of
a shod horse struck along the
bottom of a minor draw,
traveling fast. He spent more
than a casual glance at this.
Somebody riding from the road
due east to Woolfridge’s ranch.
Rising over a billow of the des
ert, he found a rider about a
quarter mile in front and
going at a sedate pace. His
own rate of speed soon closed
the distance and presently he
recognized Gay Thatcher. She
turned and saw him; reined
in and waited untU he came
abreast.
• Last?” he asked her, rais
ing his Stetson.
“No, I’m exploring. I started
out for the Woolfridge ranch.
But it Is so glorious an after
noon that I Just gave my pony
free head and told him to go
wherever he wished. I think
I’m headed for Roaring Horse
canyon. I want to see it. Can
I make it and get to Wool
fridge’s by sundown?”
“I think so. That’s the way
I'm heading. If you don’t
mind company I’ll trail along.
“That will be fun. They
rode side by side, silent for a
spell. The girl made a wholly
different picture to Chaffee.
The shimmering dress and the
lamplit softness of her fea
tures—these were gone. She
wore a buckskin riding skirt,
stitched boots, and a loose
jersey that seemed to have
| poem lives for its subjects more
than for its style.
The fact is that the “Georgies” of
Virgil were never i^ore needed than
now; if some great American poet
should arise to glorify and idealize
the life and work of the Farmer!
When Tennyson, at the request of
the Mantuans, wrote his tribute on
the occasion of the nineteenth cen
tenary of Virgil’s death, he said:
Thou that singest wheat and wood
land.
Tilth and vineyard, hive and
horse and herd;
All the charm of all the muses
Often flowering in a lonely word
Virgil died when he was rinlv 50:
been long used for just such
excursions as these. She was
still feminine, still graceful
and poised; but the change of
clothing at once fitted her
into the country. A passer-by
would have looked once and
: decided that she had lived
hereabouts all her life. Jim
Chaffee marked the lax sure
ness of her riding. That was
a trick that didn’t come out of
an Eastern riding school.
She turned her head slightly
and looked up at him, her eyes
smiling beneath the brim of
her hat. “What are you think
ing?”
“Asking myself questions.’
“So am I. If you will ask
them out loud perhaps we can
get better acquainted. I’d like
to—and I believe you would.
Or am I taking in too much
territory, Jim Chaffee?”
“You’re not a pilgrim,” said
he.
“No, I’m not," she answered.
I was born and raised in the
West. I went East to school. I
came back and both of my
folks died. I have been doing
many things in many places
since then. There. I am an
swering questions you didn’t
ask. Now it’s my turn. What’s
ahead of you?”
“Sixty dollars a month and
found, I reckon.’ ’
“You’re not fair to yourself,
j my dear man. Nobody looking
at you in the rodeo yesterday
would ever think you were
easily whipped. You’re not
either,” That last sentence
1 rang quite strongly. He turned
to her a little surprised.
“Now what—”
“That’s fair, isn’t it?” she
broke in, her cheeks pink.
“We’re asking questions.”
A tension inside him snap
ped and left him smiling at
the horizons. All at once he
was a slim and lazy and
slightly reckless figure. Fine
j sprays of humor wrinkled his
bronzed temples. “Maybe my
luck is changin’, but I don’t
: think so.”
“I have often found that a
person makes his own luck,”
said she, and gravely folded
her hands on the horn.
“Whose cattle off to the
i right?”
He studied a scattered band
in the distance. “Stirrup S.
Well, a man can make his luck
up to a certain point, but he
can’t change the universe to
look-” Right there he
stopped. This was going pretty
far. But the surprising and
insouciant Gay Thatcher
blandly finished the thought
; for him.
“—Then look at me. all right
Jim Chaffee, just you look at
me. I don’t think you have
seen me yet. Oh, I know—but
I mean you haven’t really seen
me. How far is it to the rim?”
“Just a little piece now. I
can judge men, but not wo
men. I reckon I’ll have to pass
that bet.”
“They told me you were a
man of courage,” said the girl
in a mildly plaintive voice.
And as an apparent after
thought she aded: “They also
told me you knew something
about women.”
He said nothing to that, and
she tucked one sure observa
tion in the back of her head.
“He is a gentleman.” They
worked up along a slight in
cline. Fence posts spread be
fore them. The canyon’s black
and foreboding depths yawned
J absymally beyond the wire.
They got down. Chaffee helped
her through the barbed
strands and took her arm as
they advanced to the preci
pice and looked below. He
didn’t want her to think he
was assuming an undue free
dom, so he explained.
“Some people get dizzy look
ing down there. It ain’t only
the distance, but when the
light hits that moving water
it does funny things to the
eyes.”
She said nothing for several
minutes, but he felt her body
alternately tighten and relax
and sway slightly as she
studied the grim, sheer walls
and the remote river heaving
itself turbulently onward. The
immensity of the picture, the
solemn and inspiring force of
it seemed to grip her as it
\ and as h# had had no opportunity
to give the ,,Aeneid,‘ its final re
vision, he left directions that it
should be destroyed; but fortunate
ly his command was disregarded.
-- ■ ■ ■■ ■ ■■ -♦+
Q. Please give the history of bowl
ing. N. S.
A. Bowling has been plwycd for
centuries in Germany and the Low
I countries, where it is still in high
favor, but attains its greatest pop
ularity in the United States, whence
it was introduced in colonial times
from Holland. The Dutch inhabi
tants of New Amsterdam, now New
York, were much addicted to it,
and from 1623 to 1840 it was ulaved
always gripped him. Steadied
by his arm, she leaned a little
Vorward, her clear face utterly
absorbed, her eyes somehow
puzzled. It reminded Chaffee
at the moment of a child
watching the heart of a fire
and unconsciously captured by
the eternal lure of the mystery
of life. The knov/ledge that
too, was afected by the ele
mental rawness of the canyon
j immeasurely wanned his
; heart.
She raised her face to him.
“When the ground is secure
under our feet we are big, im
portant. It takes this to make
us humble, Jim Chaffe.”
“I don’t know of any better
medicine to reduce the size
of a fellow’s pride,” said he.
“You haven’t any false
pride,” she told him.
“I’ve lived too long in the
nnpr» "
“Why,” she asked, “ do they
call it Roaring Horse canyon?”
He delayed the answer for
some moments. “A horse is a
tough animal. It never makes
much fuss. But there is one
time in its life it makes a
sound that will turn a man ice
cold all over. And that is when
it knowingly goes to death. I
have heard animals squeal;
I’ve heard them bellow and
groan and scream. But there
| isn’t anything so almighty
heartbreaking and pitiful as
to hear that half roar and half
scream of a horse going down.
It’s pretty near human. That’s
why they named it Roaring
Horse. Many a brute has gone
over this rim. And nothing
lives that goes over.”
“I have heard them,” said
she quietly. “Where are the
fords of the river?”
“Lee's Ferry is up five miles
nearer the bench. It’s a stiff
climb down, but that’s about
the only accesible spot near
here, and the only quite water.
Linderman’s Ranch fifteen
miles below is the other. The
canyon drops toward the
desert level there.”
“Has anybody ever navi
gated the gorge?”
“A fellow did it in 1892.
Three different parties have
tried since. All drowned^ One
chance In four. It can be done,
but a man has to be pretty
desperate to try. He’s got to
hit the rough water just right.
The river never lets up from
Lee’s to Linderman’s. I think
we’d better start back. Getting
; late.”
! . They got to their horses and
turned silently south. The
girl, wondered at the pro
longed quietness swung to find
him reading the ground; and
it surprised her to see the
quick change coming over his
lean cheeks. His eyes were
slightly narrowed and his lips
were pressed tightly together
In the grip of such an ex
pression the man’s face was
neither handsome or pleasant.
It was again the face of a
fighter, the same face she had
seen at the rodeo. Wondering
she scanned the foreground
and saw nothing, save here
and there a scuffed trail made
either by cattle or horses. Once
when the western rim began
to blaze with the purple and
gold of a setting sun, he
slackened the pace and bent
to one side of his pony. And
thereafter, until the outline
of the Woolfridge ranch houses
grew plain in the distance, he
looked straight ahead of him,
looked with some kind of a
problem. Seeing the houses, he
broke away from his preoc
. cuoation.
“There’s the end of your
trip. I’ll leave you here.” “It
has been a pleasant trip,”
said she, drawing rein. “Humor
flickered a moment in his deep
eyes. And that humor covered
the profound earnestness gf
his words. “My luck’s gone out.
You will be going back to your
own counrty in a few days. I’ll
not be seeing you again.”
“Whv not?”
—---—
(TO BE CONTINUED)
----
Detroit — Transport airplanes
traveling at a speed of 200 miles an
hour will be developed before 1931
is finished, according to P. R. Beas
lye, president of the Detroit Air
craft corporation. Private planes
will attain between 225 and 250
miles an hour during the year, he
also predicts. Prices will drop con
J siderably, too, he says.
on the green, the principal resort
of the bowlers being the square
just north of the Battery, still
called Bowling Green. The first
covered alleys were made of hard
ened clay or of slate, but the mod
ern alleys are built up of strips of
pine or maple wood, about 1x3
inches in size, set on edge, and
fastened together and to the bed qf
the alley, the surface being care
fully leveled and polished.
- -♦+
Q. Does starching keep textiles
clean longer? R. S. D.
A. It does because it covers and
holds down the tiny surface haiw
that catch dust, and dirt.
Any COLD
That cold may lead to something serious, if neglected.
The time to do something for it is now. Don’t wait
until it develops into bronchitis. Take two or three
tablets of Bayer Aspirin as soon as you feel a cold
coming on. Or as soon as possible after it starts.
Bayer Aspirin will head off or relieve the aching and
feverish feeling—will stop the headache. And if your
throat is affected, dissolve two or three tablets in a
quarter-glassful of warm water, and gargle. This
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and infection. Read proven directions for neuralgia,
for rheumatism and other aches and pains. Genuine
Bayer Aspirin is harmless to the heart.
B AY E II
as Pimm
Aspirin ia the trade mark jI Bayer Manm'-icture of Moaoaceticacidester of Salicylicacid
Automatic Contumeri
“We produce by machines.”
“Well?”
“Xo\v we need some machines t»
lonsume.”
“Haven't we sot motor cnrs?”
There’* a Difference
“Do clock says de same thing all
ile time,” said Uncle Kben, “but It’s
» a heap mo’ useful dan a man dat
does de same way.”—Washington
Star.
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Scot* Remind Iceland
Scot,!: n.1 claims a part in the
;liousan<U!i anniversary of the pailia
ncnt of Ireland. Scottish historians
m» attracting attention to the fact
.hat while Iceland belongs to hen
nark, if it hail not been for Srots
/icn lliere would l>e no celebration.
I’lie Scotsmen were the MacDougais.
if Argyllshire, discoverers of tin*
northern country. The MacDougais
:hon were sea rovers and were sail*
ng through the sea northward on a
•oyage of exploration. They carried
.vlth them several ravens, which were
i heir mascot birds. Seeking laml to
| ihe east they released ravens at dif
| f rent times, but the birds returned
I to tin* ship. A third bird released
lew straight ahead of the ship, and
! In that direction was found the land
which now is known as Iceland.
Dr. Pierre’s Pleasant Pellets are the orig
inal little liver pills put up 60 years ago.
They regulate liver and bowels.—Adv\
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jJlPj K.' Conttntt 15 Fluid Pnc>B
i: f&ffun'lffil
j| 11 n^TT^m’~r"ijjjr'j"T'’!'P«*
Soothes | llSSIIi |jl
Sa AWtuUliHFpP*^”"* MB
.1 i t « W.sga^&sa
rest!ess. wakeful iA'^SBkH
~ ! \\ ChetrfulmsswulRtsLOj.^ 'jHfl
CHILD I fU|
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