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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (April 4, 1935)
1 Ml / '>v^< Harold Titu& W.M.U navies SYNOPSIS m Ben Elliott — from "Yonder” — makes his entry into the lumbering town of Tincup, bringing an old man, Don Stuart, who had been eager to reach Tincup, Nicholas Brandon, the town's leading cltisen, resents Stuart's presence, trying to force him to leave town and Elliott, resenting the act, knocks him down. Judge Able Armitage hires Ben to run the one lumber camp, the Hoot Owl, that Brandon has not been able to grab. This belongs to Dawn Mc Manus, daughter of Brandon's old partner, who has disappeared with a murder charge hanging over his head. Brandon sends his bully, Du val, to beat up Ben, and Ben throws him out of camp. Old Don Stuart dies, leaving a letter for Elliott, "to be used when the going becomes too tough.” Ben refuses to read it at this time, believing he can win the fight by his own efforts. Fire, sub dued, Is found to have been started with gasoline. The Hoot Owl gets an offer of spot cash for timber, that will provide money to tide it over. But there is a definite time limit on the ofTer. Ben discovers Dawn McManus is not a child, as he had supposed, but a beautiful young woman. The railroad bridge over which the Hoot Owl lumber must pass, is blown up. By superhuman efforts Ben builds a new bridge overnight. CHAPTER VII—Continued —11 IIer face lighted. "Mind! I’d love It!” she said and the honest en thusiasm In her voice caused Nich olas Brandon to look at her sharply. “Saturday night, then. Good-by, Mr. Brandon,”—with that challeng ing smile. He turned to the woman «. in th. morway. “Good-by. I guess I’ll have to cafl you Aunt Em. That’s the only name I know you by!” As Ben passed out beneath the hemlocks and turned Into the street, amazed at Brandon’s manner, he brushed against a man who, he thought afterwards, must have been standing there. In the twilight he could not be certain but he believed f that he had never seen that heavily bearded face before. He looked over his shoulder later to see the man, who had started on In the opposite direction, return and pass slowly before Dawn McManus’ home again. CHAPTER VIII Nicholas brandon was a man of forty-five. He was rich, he was powerful, he had achieved much of what he held to be desir able. But hls experience had b^n emp ty of things that most men crave above all else. He had not seen Dawn McManus in three years un til she came back to Tlncup that November. He had known her al ways. He had watched her grow i from Infant to child; from child to a wistful, shy girl, living under the cloud of her father’s tragic disap pearance; but the transition from girlhood to womanhood had been made during her longest absence from the town that had been her only home. And so when he saw her, after her arrival, instead of the young girl he remembered, toward whom he had always been gentle and kind while he sought to pilfer her heritage, he encountered a love ly, compelling young woman. She charmed him, stirred in his heart long neglected and now twisted and distorted wants which, given liberty In his youth, might have been fine and open and clean. He wanted Dawn McManus ns he never had wanted anything before. He saw her frequently, dropping in to visit briefly in passing, taking her in his cutter on a drive to a camp once, casually asking her to do this or that with him. But he could not interest her despite ids persistent efforts, and now another element was injected into the situa tion. When he encountered Ben Elli ott that afternoon in friendly con versation with Dawrn it required all his resourcefulness to retain a show fcf self-control. Inwardly he seethed * ith a hatred which now had the element of jealousy for an embit tering ally. He hated Ben Elliott with all his soul and mingled with his passion for Dawn McManus was a species of hate as well. He hated her for her clennliness, for her sweetness, for her power to attract young men to her. A double motive impelled him. thereafter, to plot and scheme and strive to possess the Hoot Owl. Kvithout timber and the tidy for tune it might some day represent Dawn would be without resources. And a girl without property, he be lieved, would be easy prey. But complications rose to stir his 1re and chagrin And so this night —it was very late—he sat in his of fice, with Lydia on the other side of his flat-topped desk. Vydia. Just that She needed no other name for Identification in Tin cup. The women who, with her, oc cupied that short and bleak and Iso lated row of houses across the tracks—Section Thirty-Seven, it was called by the town—needed none but a given name. He had sum moned her and she had come ac cording to Instructions, furtively and alone, long after the rest of the town slept She sat, a bit tight-lipped, her button eyes on Brandon's face, and listened to him talk, crisply and In cisively. But after he had stopped the woman leaned just a bit fur ther forward. “It’s a rotten deal 1” she said In a quick, nervous manner. “Why. she’s only a girl, Brandon; and the boy, lie’s as clean as a hound’s tooth. It’s rotten!’’ Brandon shrugged and looked away. “1 don’t care to be mixed up In this,’’ she went on. “1 don't fancy playing any such game.” Defiance was there, and It struck the man's temper. His dark eyes swung back to focus on her face and about his lips was the begin ning of a malicious smile. “You refuse?” “If I do, what?” He leaned quickly against the desk edge. “One word to the Immigration people and you go back to Canada. Do you think they forget . . . the Canadians?” Lydia blinked rapidly and bit her lips. “You wouldn’t turn me up!” she said sharply. Brandon leaned back, laughing comfortably. “Wouldn’t I, though! Wouldn’t I? If you refuse . . . Try it, my friend, and then try Canada’s mem ory. You’ve been safe from their law for three years. In twelve hours I could and would toss yon to them and have the satisfaction of a duty done.” For a moment they sat In silence. Then Lydia spoke with a bitter shake of her head. “I know when I’m licked,” she said crisply. “It's rotten; a foul blow . . . but I’ll have to go through with it, It seems!” She rose, and her breath was somewhat quick. “But some day, Nick Brandon, you’ll slip! For years, as I get It, you’ve had others carry your dirt for you. Remember, the time will come when this power you feel so sure about will crumble! The time will come when you’ll have no one to turn to, no one to threaten Into fighting your fights for you! I wonder . . . what’ll you do then?" “That,” he said easily, “is dis tinctly my own affair.” * CHAPTER IX was saiurany mgni ana lin eup was dancing. In the Odd Fellows' hall a violin, a cornet and a piano made music for the scores who had paid their fee and danced in the glaring, barren room. And among them, a cynosure for all eyes, went Ben Elliott and Dawn McManus. It was the first time many of the townspeople had had a real good look at Dawn since her return; it was Ben Elliott’s Initial encounter with a social function In Tincup; it was their first appearance in public together. Curiosity prompt ed much of the neck craning be cause Dawn, the daughter of Den ny McManus, always had been n conspicuous figure, but now her loveliness was heightened by a flush and both men and women for got that she was known chiefly as the daughter of a murderer. The two were apparently having the time of their lives. Ben talked. How he talked 1 He talked of this, that, the other thing constantly. He felt he must talk and keep talk ing of impersonal matters or he would find himself blurting words of love into Dawn’s ear, there In a public dance hall. He felt that un less lie kept talking of trivial things he would find himself shout ing; “You are the most lovely thing that ever breathed and 1 love you, love you, love you 1” So he seized upon every subject that came into his head eagerly, almost desperately. Now he was telling her of the new bookkeeper he had hired the day before. "Queer fellow, in a way. Seems to be capable of a much better job than keeping books for the Hoot Owl. At first I was a little leary of letting him Into the office and had him in the mill a couple of days but, gee, you can't let a man who’s certainly a high grade office hand do work like that 1 "I brought him In and told him 1 needed a bookkeeper but had just had one experience with a man that made me a little Jumpy. I had a boy out there who was a little light fingered. He didn’t get away with anj^hing, luckily. “But I told Martin—John Martin, his name is—that I was going to put him on the books if he'd take the Job with the understanding that I was going to suspect him of a lot of things for a long time. He gave me one of the funniest looks I’ve ever seen and said he wasn’t afraid to be suspected. “So there he Is. We’re In the new office, now. He and I each have a little room Just big enough for a bed and I like him a lot." The dance ended and they walked toward vacant chairs and were so occupied with one another that they did not notice the hush thnt had fallen over the place, nor the wom an who had entered, until she had crossed the floor and stopped be fore them. Lydia stopped Just within the threshold and shook the light snow from her fur coat and that gesture was enough to cause words to die In the throats of those who saw. Lydia, here! Lydia, from Thirty Seven, Invading this place where decent people, where good men and women and little children, were as sembled. The woman did not hesitate. Head up, Intently, she crossed the floor straight toward Ben Elliott who, eyes fnst on Dawn to miss no change In her mobile fnce, still talked with animation, unaware of tlie hush about them. He did not stop talking until the woman’s shadow fell upon him. Then lie looked up, saw her, and rose. He rose, because a woman wns standing there, evidently waiting to speak to him. lie did not know her; had never seen her before. He had no time to observe and Judge. He would have risen, anyhow, be cause he wns naturally courteous to women. He did more than rise. He even bowed Just a trifle when he saw that her eyes were so fast on him. He did not notice that Dawn started, thnt one hand lifted i quickly to her cheek. Lydia's voice sounded sharp and hard and rasping in the silence. ‘‘I thould think you’d be ashnmed of yourself!” she said. Ben had started to smile, but this changed to a frown of perplexity. “I Should Think You’d Be Ashamed of Yourself 1” "Ashamed, ma’am?” he asked. "Why, I—” “Yes; ashamed! There’s that poor girl in my house, sick and crying for days! You brought her here, didn’t you? You’re the one who got her to come to Tincup. And now, when she needs you, you won’t come near her!” Ben looked at Dawn, who was shrinking back in her chair; at other people, whose faces reflected Incredulity, or vicarious guilt or fright. “Ma’am, I . . . That Is, I don’t understand you.” he stammered. His eyes were taking her in, now, from tier costly fur coat to the emerald earrings, and the hardness of her eyes; and, ns in a daze, he classified her, put her In the shame ful niche which wns hers. A great flush of bewilderment swept into his face. "Don’t understand! Maybe you think you can abuse a girl like that and get away with it in this town, but not while she’s in my housea, you cnn’t!” A wave of humiliation over whelmed Ben, What could a man do in a situation like this? What could he say? He was fouled, out matched. Nothing In his experience stood him in stead to meet sucn an emergency ns this one. "Why . . Why, this is an out rage,” he began weakly. Bflt his fighting spirit surged upward, steadied him. "I’ve never seen you in my life! I don't even know what you’re talking about! This is either a mistake or—” "Mistake!” the woman crieu shrilly. ‘Don’t try to get away with that! I suppose It does surprise you to have me find you here! But you’ve kept out of sight, dodging me and—’’ “Stop!’’ he thundered. "Stop it, I say!” For an Instant h!s conviction checked her. Movement was going on about them, people shifting to see and hear better, one man mounting a chair. The crowd by the doorway had turned back to him after watching Dawn McManus, scurry down the stair*. But Elliott was unaware of all this. “There’s no stopping me now, Elliott 1 I’ve come to *how yon up—" "You come to mu' > trouble on a foundation of lies!” he sold and stepped closer to her. Ills face was drawn and pale, now, jaws set. and his eyes flared dangerously. “This Is some outrageous plot,” he said evenly, and so low that only those nearest him could hear. “Thl* Is done deliberately to give me a black eye before these people here! You’re a party to a filthy scheme, whoever you are!*' “Fine words. Elliott! Fine words! But this girl's tears and misery are on your head and If you won’t help her, I will. She goes back where she came from tomorrow!” With that, she turned and, self composed, almost proud In her bear ing, crossed the floor. Ben watched her go until she had disappeared down the stairway. Then he faced about, wondering what he could say to Dawn McManus, but she was not there. I His face went blank with amaze ment, bewilderment “She ducked out,” a man whis pered, and the sound carried through the room. Gone! Fled because she believed this woman? Ills heart went cold, but he gathered himself and stalked out of the hall. Brandon, alone In his office, drank deeply from a whisky bottle. Then, on a telegraph pad scrawled an On tario address. The message Itself contained but two words: “Send Bed.” He signed his name and sat back, brows drawn and after a time nod ded vindictively. Out at the Hoot Owl Ben Elliott went through a week of unbroken dismay. It was a situation such ai he hnd never dreamed of fnclng. Dawn had heard and seen and . .. believed 1 Site hnd fled the hall, convincing him of her belief in Lydia’s accusation. Days had passed and he hnd heard nothing from her. He was impelled to go to l.er, but under such circumstances, a young mnn does not do that. There are some affairs so embarrassing that words fall flat He was walking, wondering grim ly wlmt Dawn was thinking then, what she was doing; he was hear ing once ngnin the biting voice of Lydia; hearing, in memory, the hush fall over that dance hall. He was wholly alone. Far behind him loggers worked In the timber; down yonder the mill sent up Its plume of smoke and he could hear the distant putting of the exhaust in the stillness. No wind blew; nothing stirred .. . that he could see. He could not ob serve that slight, cautious move ment to his left, that figure which watched him some and edged out through young hemlocks to a point from which his view was unob scured but where he still had good cover. The mnn up there stood still. Slowly he shook off his mittens and with a bare thumb released the safety on the rifle he carried, set tled slowly to one knee, placing it on the tail of the other snowshoe. His breath was not just steady ns he snuggled his cheek against the rifle butt No man’s would be, shoot ing from ambush that way. Nor were his hands Just steady. He sighted carefully, trying to still the tremor of his arms. He let his breath slip out slowly, he squeezed. The crack of the rifle echoed and re-echoed across the chopping. Ben Elliott lay still, as he had pitched on his face. One of his hands was outstretched, the other pinned be neath him. His face, one cheek In , the snow, was turned toward the man who had fired but It was far away. For many minutes the man In the timber remained kneeling. Elliott did not stir. Then, cautiously, the killer groped for the ejected shell, slipped It Into his pocket, raised to his feet and, backing cautiously, struck Into the deep timber. CHAPTER X THE rifle bullet had passed so close above Ben's head that he hnd felt Its breath even before he was aware of Its whine. A bullet . . . here .... for him! A hunter? But what would a hunt er be shooting at here? That bul let was designed for hlin and had missed by Inches. And he wns pitch ing forward, simulating a fall, let ting himself go limp. It was the only protection he could conjure. He saw nothing, no movement, even; heard nothing, lie was n-tln gle, scalp creeping with an odd sen sation as he waited for another bul let from these heights to the east wa rd. But no other come. Ben lay there until deep dusk had fallen. Then he rose to his hands and knees, watching, listening. After a moment he stood still. Then, reso lutely, he left the road, wallowed through the deep snow, crossed the railroad track and toiled up the heights. He went on, through the snow to the first fringe of trees. Then he spoke. In a light hall: "HI!"—and immediately dropjted behind a stump. (TO B® CONTINUED.) Many Spring* in Ozark* The Ozark region of Missouri con tain more than 10,000 springs. WHY SHOP-TALK IS SO POPULAR Makes for Forgetfulness of One's Self. One of the last arts to mature In a young society Is the art of con versation. At its best, conversation Is a kind of impromptu orchestra, each plnyer Improvising In perfect harmony, time and tune, tossing the theme from Instrument to lnstru mont, the themes developing and changing, discarded or resumed at the cnprlce of the players This of course presupposes that the subject of the conversation he Impersonal, that it be free to range pretty much over the whole field of human expe rience. Such conversation Is first met with In the form of shop-talk and the reason shop-talk among pen pie of the same Interests or profes slon (In which is Included school studios) Is so popular may be that here, perhaps for the first time, wo learn how delightful It can be to ex erclse our minds In company with others to the totnl exclusion nnd for getfulness of our tiresome selves. That Is why students talk so eagerly about their school tasks, why busi ness and professional people so mad den Innocent by-sitters with tech nical discussions of the minutiae of their trades; why artists, musicians and scholars persecute the public with their passionate dissertations. But there Is a stage beyond this, where human Interests are broad enough and deep enough to embrace everybody, where the whole of ex perience Is the subject. “Clever but undiscrimlnatlng,” "un discriminating because the past is not alive to them." “Fllghbrow? Anything rather than thatl”—this is a good-nntured apprnlsal of how our sophisticated New Yorkers make It appear to Europeans. The objection to them Is that they do not know enough, either nhout the past or their own country. But the condi tion is temporary. 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