Harold Titufli W. A4.U ^ leavict SYNOPSIS Ben Elliott — from ‘‘Yonder” — makes his entry Into the lumbering town of Tincup, bringing along an old man, Don Stuart, who had been eager to reach Tincup. Nicholas Brandon, the town’s leading citizen, resents Stuart's presence, trying to force him to leave town and Elliott, resenting the act, knocks him down Elliott is arrested, but finds a friend In Judge Able Armitage. The judge hires him to run the one lumber camp, the Hoot Owl, that Brandon has not been able to grab. This be longs to Dawn McManus, daughter of Brandon's old partner, who has disappeared with a murder charge hanging over his head. Brandon sends his bully, Duval, to beat up Ben, and Ben worsts him in a flat fight and throws him out of camp. Old Don Stuart dies, leaving a let ter for Elliott, “to be used when the going becomes too tough." Ben refuses to open the letter at this time, believing he can win the fight by his own efforts. Fire breaks out In the mill. When the flames are extinguished Ben discovers that the fire was started with gasoline. The Hoot Owl gets an offer of spot casn ■for timber, that will provide money to tide it aver. But there in a defi nite time limit on the offer. Ben meets I>nwn McManus, and discov ers sis not a child, as he had supposed, but a beautiful young woman. CHAPTER VI—Continued —9— Holbrook limped out and Bran don, alone, puffed for a time on his cigar. Next, he opened a lower -drawer and drew out a bottle of whisky. Only one drink remained In It. He frowned. A year ago he had procured that liquor; for near ly twelve months It had been scarce ly touched. But since the night that old Don Stuart died Its con tents had been drawn upon fre quently. His hands shook a bit as he lifted the bottle to his Ups, now, but after drinking new strength be gan to surge through his body and he smiled. He looked at his watch after a time and then out Into the street. After a time lie rose and walked to the wall telephone. “Give me Miss Coburn’s house, will you?” he asked the operator. “Hello! Miss Co— Ah, Dawn! It’s Uncle Nick talking. Want to go to the movie tonight?” She seemed to hesitate and he tilted his head sharply, lips parted. Then her voice came. “It’s nice of you to think of me, Mr. Brandon. But I don’t think I care to go with you tonight.” “Oh; sorry,” he said genially enough hut his brows gathered. “An other time, then.” “Perhaps.” Her receiver clicked up and he turned away from the instrument scowling thoughtfully. “Mister Brandon, eh?” he said softly. "And ... No excuse. . . . Well 1” The last word was spoken with a snap, as though a chapter was closed. He paced the floor slowly. He ■was brooding, planning, and by the look on his face it was evident that he planned good for no man . , . except, possibly Nicholas Brandon. Perhaps he was thinking of the matter that was to confront Ben Elliott within twenty-four hours. That young man was in high feather as the crew came in to sup per. Ilis locomotive had shunted the standard cars up from Hoot Owl before daylight and the veneer logs scattered along the steel had commenced going up at once. Able had come driving out from town in mid-afternoon, Dawn be side him, and with an added thrill because of her presence Ben direct ed the loading of the last car, con scious that the girl’s eyes were often on him with an expression which belied her apparent indiffer ence when he tried to engage her In conversation. It was dark when the Jammer man swung the last log into place and toggles were made fast. Able and Dawn rode with Ben in the locomotive as they trundled down the track to camn. “You boys have had a long day,” Ben said to the engineer and fire man. “It won’t get any darker. You eat your suppers here and we'll run ’em in this evening." lie turned to Able. "Our contract calls for delivery In time to meet the local. She's been coming through a little before eight in the morning. Want to take no chance of having this stuff held up now. That would be a tough break!’’ The engine crew had been fuss ing with a suspected draw bar and did not enter the cook shanty until most of the others had left. Soon afterward the door opened again and Blackmore came In. “How near are you ready to de liver?’’ he asked Elliott with a wor ried frown. soon as the boys, there, stoke j their own hollers!” Ben replied ! lightly. "Sure you can make it?" "As sure as a man can he.” "I sure hope so. Ben. Guess you know hy now that I'm pulling for j you in this scrap. But I’ve got to hold you to your contract. To the , hour and letter of it. Your friend ■ Brandon has wired Into the house, it seems, offering nny quantity of veneer stulf up to seventy thousand at ten dollars less than your con tract calls for. Here's a wire"— shaking a telegram—"ordering me to hold you to your agreement and If you’re late or short on scale to have Brandon load tomorrow. It’s out of my hands, you see." Ben’s mouth tightened. “Well, It happens, we’ve ducked from under our genial friend Bran don again. Yenh. We'll whip-saw Mr. Nick Brandon!” Blnckmore grinned and unbut toned his coat. He chuckled. He was glad. He was on Ben's side for certain, and as he lit ids pipe and commenced to talk, with an easing in his manner, a triumphant sort of pence descended on the shanty. But even as they visited, a slen der figure, moving through the dark ness with a slight limp, followed the Hoot Owl steel up the long grade that climbed from the siding. On the trestle this figure stood still In the cold quiet. Then he dropped down the bank of the stream to where the crib work of the trestle stood, stoutly footed be neath the muck and water. For many minutes he was there, grunt ing occasionally, and when he climbed the bank ngain he trailed something carefully behind. . , . across the bridge, now, he went, after more listening, and down again beneath the north end of the trestle. More grunting; pawings In the snow, hard prodding with a short steel bar. . . . And up again, trailing something carefully once more. Next, the man lighted a cigarette, shielded the flame of the match In cupped hands and nfter the tobac co was burning applied the fire to a pair of other objects held tightly between thumb and forefinger. . . . He let them go and a pair of green ish sputters began crawling across the trestle . . . and the man was limping swiftly up the hill, over the crest, while the green sputters drew apart, one crossing the trestle to ward its northerly end, the other moving in the opposite direction. It was twenty minutes later. Ben Elliott was pulling on his mackinaw, preparatory to going out with the first three cars of logs, when he stopped suddenly, one arm In its sleeve, as a jolt shook the building, rattling dishes and causing the door of the range oven to drop open with a hang. None in the place spoke; they looked at each other, faces set in puzzlement. Again came a heavy jolt; a loud detona tion. and a pan fell from its shelf with a crazy clatter. No word, still. Without speaking they leaped for the doorway and emerged to see the crew spilling from the men’s shanty to look and listen. "It’s dinnymite!' Bird-Eye Blaine croaked hoarsely as he ran out. ‘‘Dinnymite fer sure! Where. Ben ny b’y?"—looking earnestly Into Elliott’s face. “That’s for us to find out,” Ken answered grimly and they followed him as he ran with long strides to ward the direction from which the sound had come. Minutes later they came up to him, the fastest of them, as he stood motionless on the bank of the Hoot Owl, looking at the mass of twisted railroad steel and of ties that dangled from the swinging rails in ragged fringe; at the scat tered remnants of crib work, at the piling standing splintered and awry and useless in the stream bed. Ben Elliott’s bridge was gone. His way to the siding with his veneer logs, on the delivery of which hung the fate of the operation was blocked. No time remained to team them out. there was no other way to get them out except by steel. And ids steel was broken twisted, useless. He turned to lace them as they rowded up, swearing and exclaim ing In excited voices. “You, Houston!" lie ^napped ro the camp’s boss. "Oet those stand ards off the main line. Bird-Eye, start a fire here. You men—you three there—get a fire going on the other bank. You teamsters, back to camp and dress your donkeys. Bring axes, peaveys, skidding equipment. Lively, now, everybody! A job of work coming up!” Blackmore, whose wind was short, elbowed through the crowd, pant ing heavily. "Good G—d, Elliott; They’re scotched you 1” Ben gave him a fleeting, scorch ing glance. "Scotched, h—1! They’ve only got me good and mad!’’ And now began a scene the like of which had never been recorded in the Tlncup country. Men were there in numbers where huge bonfires, constantly tended that the light should be steady, flared on the banks of the Hoot Owl. Sawyers, cant-hook men, teamsters, tolled to reduce the wreckage of the trestle, snaking It out of the way, working hastily, noisily, excitement evident In their movements nnd shouts. Others cut brush until the sloping river banks showed bare and dark. Back In the woods oil flares burned ns the steam loader puffed and snorted and rattled, swung Its boom, lifted logs from their banks, tossed them through the nlr nnd dropped them Into plnce on a flat car. Once loaded, the car of logs and the Jammer were trundled down the mile of track to the stream. Slow and slower the car moved un til the boom of the loader over hung the gap where a trestle had been. Then blocks went into place to secure the wheels, Elliott gave the signal, the hoom swung a half circle, hook men adjusted their tackle to a log on the single car; up It went, around and out over the river bank and then down. Rlliott was below there with his cant-hook men. They grnbbed the first stick, wrestled It Into place parallel with the current and oth ers, with mauls and stnkes, gave it a firm resting place on the bank . . . Another log , . . another and still more, until a crude foundation for trestle abutment had been made Ben encouraged, he flattered, he cajoled and he drove those men ns they never had been driven before. They moved on a run when going from place to place; they seemed to try to outdo one another when strength became essential. They were Infected with Klllott’s Are. Standing on the bank within the circle of firelight Dawn McManus seemed to snuggle close to Ahle Armltage, face pallid even under the ruddy glow of flames. Her eyes followed Just one figure; that of Her Eyes Followed Just One Flfl ure; That of Ben Elliott. Ben Elliott. Commanding, resource ful, a human dynamo, he was. Shortly after midnight the sup ply team drove up from camp, the cook drew back blankets which had covered its burden, commenced put ting generous pieces of steaming steak between slices of bread an.1 the cook poured coffee from huge pots for the men who swarmed around the sleigh. Hack to the decks in the woods went the locomotive; down it came again, bearing more logs. These were let down to a pile which rose almost to the track level. When it was three feet higher nearly half the work would be finished. Workers staggered through the snow bearing a steel rail. It went into place; fish plates clattered; wrenches set nuts and spikes put the rail secure on ties. So when the locomotive, leaking steam from its old joints, lumbered down with Its next burden, the load er was set out on this length of new track and began the task of filling In the far side of the ravine, leaving a sluiceway through which the waters of the stream gurgled and surged. Blackmore Joined Able and Dawn on the hank where the firelight struck topaz lights from the snow. The old justice turned an inquiring gaze on him and the buyer shrugged. “Two o’clock.” he muttered. “He’s got less than six hours left to turn the trick.” “It doesn’t seem humanly pos sible,” Able said slowly. “I’i. beginning to thing.” Black more replied, “that the man Isn’t human This thing would’ve stopped most men I know without a try Hut not Elliott!” Daybreak found them throwing the last load of logs Into place and the pallid light of the early day re vealed Elliott’s face, drawn and gaunt and colorless; his eyeB burned brightly, strangely dark. “Ills only chance is that me local’ll be late," Iilackmore moaned to Able. Six o clock, and broad axes shnped the logs on which the ties would rest, and up from the siding came a team at a trot, and behind it another. These were men from Tlncup who had heard of the work going on. They left their sleighs and looked at the emergency trestle and then stnred at one another and shook their heads In amazement Things like that just didn't happen, they seemed to be thinking. Then came a battered cutter, wi‘h old Tltu Jeffers driving alone, to see what wns to be seen. •‘Heard the shots In town last night," he told Able. "Come morn In’ I drove this way." The old Justice nodded grimly. “You guessed, then." Tim spit angrily. “The lad was gettln’ too close to his mark to suit some folks, It seems." Seven o'clock, and men staggered up the embankment bearing a rail. Five minutes Inter It rang and sang as the spike went home, and anoth er, the last, was brought up. The gap wns bridged, the last spikes were going In; the particu lar Job was done, but tension screwed up and up, ns a fiddle string Is tightened. . . . It wns seven-thirty, and far off a locomotive screamed. "The local!" Hlackmore gasped. “She’s at Dixon. ... In a half hour. now. H—1, the boy’s licked!" A half hour! A half hour In which to move six standard cars laden with a heavy scale of saw logs over that grade! Two trips. Hen Elliott had estimated It would take. Two trips for the leaking old locomotive to drag them the three miles to the siding and puff its way hack and trundle the other three over the hill aud down the slope. It was a half mile climb from river to summit with a better than four per cent grade. A good locomotive of even small tonnage might take them over at once; hut not the old ruin that stood sending its plume of smoke Into the morning air up the track yonder. And If those logs were not put down for the train even now screaming its way toward the siding, Hen Elliott was beaten. He straightened, flinging away his maul, saw the last nut tightened on the final flsh plate and then, holding up both hands, face fixed toward the locomotive with its string of cars wnlting around the bend and up the hill to the north ward, he began to run. Ilolding them there? When the trestle was ready? Men wondered why, audibly, excitedly, stirred from their weariness by this strange move. Instead of high-balling them on, Elliott was holding them back! CHAPTER VII THE cnrs of veneer logs were coupled, their nlr hoses dan gling. because the Hoot Owl never boasted air brakes for Its trains. The locomotive panted asthmati cally and leaking steam trailed off Into the forest. Mclver, the engi neer, stood beside his cnr, wiping his hands slowly on a hall of waste nnd his fireman hung out the gang way ns Hen came running up. ‘‘You’ll have to take ’em ... all over at once,” Elliott pnnted. "Local’ll be there In . . . fifteen minutes! If they’re not at the sid ing In time for the local, we lose! You've got to run for It. Mac, nnd pick up enough speed going down to carry you over." Mclver rolled the waste nnd eyed his employer. Then he shook his head slowly. "Tough luck for you 1" he said. "But with that rotten steel on a cold mornln’, nnd no telling what that trestle’ll do when weight hits It . . .” Me shook his head again nnd looked Elliott In the eye. "I got kids," he said simply. "So’s the fireman.” Some of the Irate glare which had been In Hen’s face dwindled. He, too, stared briefly down the track. "Kids, yes,” he said softly. "I can’t ask a man with kids to try It, Mac. No hard feelings. I’ll take a shot myself.” Tenms clinked up, then, horses frost covered. Ben surveyed the crowd that pressed about the en gine and swung up to the step. "I’m going to take her over my self,” he said "If I get across that hump, with this load pushing me, I’ll need a hrakemnn. I’m not go ing t* ask anyone of you to ride. Maybe we'll pile up. But If we do get to the top, I can’t stop her alone at the mill Without air. with frost on the steel we’ll go Into the pond. There’s fifty dollars In It for the man who'll ride with me!” They looked hard at him, and then, almost In unison, their fnces turned down the track. To watch was to know what was In their minds: the dangers of that curve, with rusty steel so cold, the prob lematical strength of the trestle they had built through the night. "Fifty dollars . . against a broken neck.” Ben said and Ids voice trembled a hit. He drew his watch. “We’ve got eleven or twelve minutes to catch the local. . . , I’ll urge no man. . Fifty dollars . . . and a long chance. Any takers?” No man moveu for u moment. Then, quite simply, without a word, Tim Jeffers peeled his heavy sheep skin coat, took a peave.v from a man beside him and advanced. “Never mind the fifty, Elliott. . . . It s my neck" Ben smiled, then. It seemed as though he were so weary from ef fort and strain that he must have cracked and cried had he not smiled. He said no word. He swung up to the cab as the safety valve popped and steam commenced blowing off. .000 a year pays $1,000 toward the sup port of government. Some men with hlgger Incomes, busy Just now borrowing money with which to pay taxes, could tell a more Inter esting story. When watches were first made a Frenchman said It was strange that man, with genius nnd intelligence enough to make a watch, should he superstitious enough to believe in ghosts. It’s more strange that the human race with sufficient In tellect and will to fly, travel under neuth the ocean, nnd talk around the world, without wires, should be feeble and foolish enough to be lieve In permanent depression. The belief In ghosts Is slowly disappear lug. Let’s hope and believe the de pression will disappear more rap idly. The national ladies’ hairdressers’ convention, gathered In Toronto, is Informed that platinum blonds are on the wane and red-hnlred women, politely called "tltlan," are rising In favor. The platinum blond Is a modern Invention, a passing thing, whereas the woman with red hair antedates all the governments and civilization that we know, and maj outlast them. G. Kin* Feature* Syndicate, 1m. VVNU Service. BRAIDED “STAR" RUG PRACTICAL By GRANDMOTHER CLARK A slur rug with points on the out er edge Is not practical, because the points are easily turned up when the rug is in use. This has been overcome In the braided rug shown here, and a round rug can be used lu many places. This model Is made In six shades of blue but many other color schemes can be used to set off the pattern. Size Is :i:i Inches and re quires about three pounds of mate rial. Three strips are used In braid lug. The six diamonds to form it are 4 Inches wide. 7 Inches long I'll! In space between points ol stat to make round. Sew about 20 row» around In colors desired. This Is one of the 20 braided and crocheted rugs shown In rug hook No. 26. 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