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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (May 2, 1935)
Harold Titus, W. N.U CHAPTER XII—Continued —15— He went into his sleeping cham ber and took down a ride from Its rack on a pair of antlers. He threw’ open the chamber but it was empty. He Jerked open a dresser drawer and pawed through it in a fruitless search for cartridges, cursing he cause he found none, nis breath was ragged as he threw the rifle on the bed and rumpled bis hnir wildly. “Bring Klliott out!” “Show us Ben !’’ “Get a rail!” These and oth er terrifying cries stood out above the constant mutter of the mob. Brandon rushed back to the front office and waved his arms for si lence as he stood in the shattered glass of his window, but the sight of him only provoked hoots and Jeers which were forerunners of a great billow’ of savage, snarling rage. The men w’ere having trouble with the sign post. He heard the stair door tried and a voice called: “Hustle with that post!’’ He Could Not Satisfy Them. Coming! They were coming Id to get him! He could not satisfy them! He did not know where Elliott was. Last night Delaney had promised to try again but lie had not come to report, though Brandon had wait ed late. And now the crowd was howling for Elliott; lacking Elliott, they would take him. He covered his face with his hands, tried to stop his ears. In those menacing cries he heard the knell of his reign. For years he had ruled by the force of his will and now that force was not enough. Bit by bit, Ben Elliott had caught the fancy of the country and now, with that group of stout men as a rallying point, the entire town was setting up a demand for the miss ing Elliott They wanted Ben El liott. They would have Ben El liott. “Go home!” he screamed and waved his arms, standing close to a broken window. “Clear out, you! . . , Fair warning, I’m giving!” But his words were drowned in a great yell. Men came lugging that post across the street while Tim Jeffers hastened toward them with gestures of protest. “Hold your heads, now! Give us Hoot Owl boys a chance. We’ll get what we come for or we’ll take Tincup apart. But no destroyin’ of property until everything else fails!” His will prevailed a moment. He lifted his face to Brandon. “We mean business. Will you come out and show us Ben or must we come and get you? We won’t wait much longer.” An opening, there, a chance to delay. “Coming!’ Brandon croaked. "I’m coming!” A gratified mutter went up from - the crowd and burst Into shrill words. Coming? Like the devil, he would go! He was ransacking draw ers, now, dumping their contents on the floor in his frantic search for rifle cartridges that should be there He sought a key for a locked trunk and could not find It. He tried several but his hands shook so that he might have failed to make the proper one operate, eveD had he found it. 4 Again Jeffers’ voice, demanding his presence, came out of a strange silence. “Coming!” he shouted thickly and seized a hammer and attacked the trunk lock. Ammunition must be in there. The crowd milled, now, trampling the new snow, completely out of hand at this delay. Two or three aided Tim In his plea for at least temporary moderation hut others re belled and fought to get the post which would batter down the stair door. And then came a hush, a quick, spreading hush which swept the crowd like a shadow. And then rose a quick popping of excited voices. “Elliott!” “Here he Is!" ‘Tjook!” ''He’s hurt!” Bundled to the ears In a great overcoat, cap drawn low, supported on the one side by John Martin and on the other side by Able Armitage. he came slowly, painfully out of the side street. He scarcely seemed to be nware of that throng; did not look either to the right or the left. All his energy was bent on moving forward. He gained the middle of the street In an Impressive hush. Then he murmured a word to Able and they halted. He looked about at his men and smiled a trifle weakly, but in his look was a quality which clearly indicated that love which strong men have for their kind. “Its all right, boys," he said, and only those In the first rank® could hear, his voice was that light. “They didn't get me . . . hadly. 1 appreciate this . . . but want you to . . . get back to . . . camp.” He panted for breath and lifted his face to the broken windows above. Far back in that room he caught a glimpse of a face watch ing him—cocked as though striving to hear. "It's my fight,” he went on. “Not yours. ... I don’t want any , . . of you hurt. Go back. . . . Will you go . . . back?” The crowd stirred. "You bet we will, Ben!" a man called. "Now that you’re located; If you ask It, we will!” Tim Jeffers worked his way to Ben’s side and put a hand on his shoulder, listening to what Able told him. “Go home, boys I” Tim Jeffers called. “They knifed Ben last night but he’s well took care of. You teamsters, get out your horses; we’ve found what we come for. To camp, every last Hoot Owl hand!" Men relaxed. The post that was to have shattered In Brandon’s door was dropped. The mob was satisfied. Slowly Ben Elliott made his way back to Dawn’s home. As Tim Jeffers took his place beside the sick man, Able Armitage drew Into the post office entry to watch the mob disperse Emory Sweet was standing there. “The king is dead 1” Able mut tered solemnly, staring at those broken windows. “Long live the king!” said Emory. Pause. “Dead men tell no tales.” “No, but sometimes a corpse will kick back!” CHAPTER XIII P'URIOUSLY, Nicholas Brandon * Saw as the days passed the wreck age of his power pile up on a floor of public resentment, of loosened ex pressions of distrust and contempt and hatred which had grown and festered unobserved for years. As he walked along the street he saw faces leering at him from win dows, and men he passed averted their glances In a gleeful sort of embarrassment, or looked at him with surly, defiant glares. In yard and mill he was con scious that his employees were thinking only of his fall. He dis charged one man for loafing and the fellow only laughed at him. . , . Laughed! “There’s plenty of room at Hoot Owl for good hands,” he said and laughed again. That mob had not wrecked the town as they had threatened but the ruin they left was of far more consequence. Their coming had stripped Brandon of everything but his material possessions and now these only mocked him in survival. Back in the office he paced the place like a caged animal. Mail arrived. He took the packet of letters and drank deeply from his bottle again. He thumbed the letters absently, until the script on one caught his eye. The envelope contained a single sheet of note paper and he unfolded it with trembling fingers. On the sheet was written: “I never want to see you again. I know now what the whole country has known and been afraid to ad mit for years. I have thought you were my friend but now I know you are my worst enemy, as you are the sworn enemy of those I love most. “DAWN.” He stood for a time staring at the paragraph; then read It again and drained his whisky bottle. Such a note, now, was to have been expect ed by an ordered mind, of course, but his fevered brain had not fore seen any necessity for abandoning this, the most precious of his hopes. A meticulous office man was Nich olas Brandon, and though he had suffered the severest blow of his ex perience Just now he mechanically went about his habitual procedure. He had received and read a letter. It required no reply. The next step In orderly procedure was to file It. In the great safe to which only he had combination and keys reposed two files side by side. He took both out and placed them on the desk. He opened one and a cruel smile twitched his lips. It contained let ters on paper of varying size, color and quality. He riffled through these, stopping now and again to read a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph. . . . I'leas, these were; a writing beg ging for help . . . and he smiled again. In the other tile were more let ters, some yellowed by age and these older ones had been written In the unformed script of a child. . . . “Dear Uncle Nick," they all began. Always that, though the handwriting grew formed and ma ture until it was Identical with that on tlie single sheet he had just read. These were Duwn McManus’ letters to him, saved since her childhood. He ran through them almost Idly, his senses dulled by whisky and the calamity which had befallen him. A narrow slip of tablet paper fell out. lie looked at the penciled note on one side. “Meet us at Antler Lodge this af ternoon.—Daw n.” Happier memories, that brought; of the time Dawn had brought girls home with her from school for Thanksgiving and had taken them to the hunting camp for a week-end. Brandou had gone with the party and it was there that he had first remarked Dawn’s emerging woman hood, that the desire for her had keen kindled in his blood; there In the camp where her father, as the whole country knew, had been with Sam Faxson on the night when Fax son fled to ids death. But Dawn had never known thnt. She had laughed and been happy at Antler lodge. “Meet us at Antler Lodge this afternoon.—Dawn.” He read it again. It bore no date; It was unsoiled; it betrayed no indication of the time that had passed since its Inscription. The note had been left on his desk for him three years before. . . . He leaned forward sharply and his eyes narrowed. . . . After a mo ment he straightened and smiled oddly. A look like relief, almost like happiness spread over his face. • *•*•*• Fine strength of body healed Ben Elliott’s wound rapidly. By mid week he was dressed and sitting be fore the fire with Dawn, talking of his return to Hoot Owl on the mor row. “And all the time I’ve been won dering, Dawn, why you wouldn’t let me come. . . . You’ve been so kind, so generous, so . . . so friendly. And yet, only a few days ago, you "I Can't Stand It, Ben!” told me 1 must never come again. Why was it, Dawn? Why, when I love you so?” “Don’t!” she begged In a light whisper. “I’lease!” “But it’s beyond any power I have to keep still I love you, Dawn, better than life. Can you believe that, when I’ve seen so little of you? Look at me!”—fiercely. “Don’t you like it, Dawn, being loved?” “Ah . . . Like It? It’s wonder ful, Ben. . . . It’s too wonderfull” She averted her face. “And loved by me?” “Yes, yes! It’s all wonderful. It’s too wonderful lien. Things like it just can’t be!” “Why not? It’s wonderful, you say, and yet . . Can’t you ex plain?” “You can’t understand, perhaps. Sometimes I can’t understand my self. Always I’ve wanted to be loved by . . . by you, Ben Elliott! It’s given me the only true happi ness I’ve ever had. “And then 1 had to remember what 1 am. Can’t you see that a girl who is known ns the daughter of a murderer can’t let any man love her?” “That’s foolish! . . . It’s terrible I know for you to bear. But let me help, dear girl; let me stand by your side and help!” "No, nol I can't bear ltl 1 couldn't take a cloud to you and to your children. , . , And It's all a mistake, all a He! My father was no killer!” Her voice rose in sharp conviction on that. “He was kind and gentle; he never would hurt an other. All these years I’ve known It and others know It, but Just be ing sure In our own minds Isn’t enough. The whole world must know! Something tells me my fa ther Is alive somewhere, waiting, watching, suffering. , . . But until we can prove that or something else comes up to banish this cloud. . . . No, don’t kiss me again! I can’t stand It, I tell you! I can't stand it, Ben!” Sobbing, she fled from the room. He made no further moves to ward love making after that but far Into the night he talked with Dawn of her father. She had not heard all of the story, he realized. She did not know, for Instance, that the tragedy which preceded McManus' disappearance took place In Antler lodge; she did not know how far her father had gone In his attempts to drown sorrow of his wife’s death by drinking. But she did know that Faxson was dead, that her fa ther was blamed and that a dusty warrant for his arrest on a charge of homicide still reposed In the county records. Next day lie declared that he felt fit to drive back to camp and for an hour argued with Dawn, trying to win her promise that he might come again, but she begged him to stay away for a time, at least CHAPTER XIV BBLE told Dawn of Ben’s actlv lty, watching her face narrow ly because he understood the ob stacle that wus between these two. He saw hope come, followed by misgiving and trouble. It was on Frldny that Dawn left Tin cup, striking across country far from the road toward Hoot Owl. She wus going to see.Ben Elliott and tell him that she must see him now, that her heart could have no peace without him; that he must come to her and let her stand be side him while he pried Into the past and attempted to make It give up truth. Martin was alone In the office when she entered and started up so sharply at sight of her that the girl, In turn, was startled. "I’m sorry!" she exclaimed a blf mystified. “Did I frighten you?" "No. Not frightened. . . . My thoughts were ... far from here." “Is Ben about?" “Huven’t seen him since dinner. Don't know where he went.” Tim Jeffers, just down from camp, entered then. “Where’s Ben at?" he asked Mar tin. “I don’t know. Miss McManus, here, was just asking.” Martin moved to the old table Ben used for a desk. “Sometimes he leaves a note for me when he’s going away." He bent over the table, looking at the Ut ter of papers on It. “No, he left no word. . . . Hum. . . . What’s this?" lie picked up a slip of paper, read the single line inscribed on It and looked at Dawn. "I didn’t mean to pry. . . . Probably he’s gone to meet you, though. This is a note for you.” “A note! Why, I . . Frown ing, she took the paper and read: "Meet us at Antler Lodge this afternoon—Dawn.” "Why I” she cried. “I didn’t . . . But I must have!" looking from one to the other. “That’s my writ ing.” "Oh!’’ She let the paper flutter to the floor. "I wrote that! I wrote that years ago!" she cried, struggling to speak distinctly. “I wrote that note for Mr. Brandon. . , . Years ago. . . . How did It get here? Who is calling Ben to the lodge?” "Don’t you see?" Martin cried and hls voice was thick. "Dawn wrote It, all right. But he’s sent it to Ben. . . . It’s a decoy! Tim, the lad’s on hls way to the lodge alone and Brandon's planned it!” No need for more words, then! On went Martin's Jacket. From a corner he snatched snowshoes and a pair for Tim. “We’ll go,” lie said to Dawn. “You tell Buller—" "But I’m going, too!” the girl cried sharply. "I'm going. Oh, hurry, Tim! We may be too late, now!” They crossed the railroad tracks at a run, put on their snowshoes and with Jeffers breaking trail, en tered the timber. Another had gone that way today, a man whose heart burned and sang. Dawn had sent for nlrn: Dawn wanted him! Entering the oflice while Mnrtin was in the mill hls eyes had en countered Dawn’s note. No thought of how It came to be there present ed Itself. The quick conclusion at which he arrived was that Dawn and others had gone to Antler Lodge; that was where the shot had been tired which sent Sam Fax son to Ills death. Perhaps Able had taken Dawn there. Hastily, he took his snowshoes and departed. The distance was a good five miles, however, and part of the go ing was In soft footing. So It was nearly two hoars after hls start that he came In sight of the build ing on the high bank of t'»e Mad Woman. TO BE CONTINUED. _______________ I CONFESSIONS By R. H. WILKINSON ©. Bell Syndicate.—VVNU Service. □UBELLA HAMPSTEAD Is a famous writer. Her name is featured in all the leading magazines of the country. She has three novels to her credit, and it has been announced that a fourth is to be brought out next fall. Rubella cannot attribute her achievements to any mysterious or Inherited gift. Her fume is the result of hard word and study, of constant, tire less plugging, of the triumph of de termination and the will to write over heart-rending discouragement, of a love for her work, grimness, perseverance and a sepse of hu mor. In short, Rubella Is no natural born genius, no worker of miracles; her rewards are Just and well earned. Some few months ago the good people of Rubella's home town held a reception In honor of their distin guished townswoman. Among those present was one Lena Norman, a newcomer to Ma plewood, a woman of some social prominence—and also a writer. Unfortunately, however, Lena Is an “unknown" writer. She has ac quired no fame, has had little suc cess with her literary efforts. And she Is Inclined to be somewhat bit ter about her fate. Despite the recognized fame of the guest of honor, Lena’s regard for Rubella was somewhat skep tical (a skepticism, doubtless, born of envy). She was, in fact, heard to re mark that Rubella had doubtless won her reputation through some sort of drag and was now trading upon the selling power of her name. She even went so far ns to suggest that Rubella's “stuff" wasn't so good, when you eoinpnred it with real literature, and she probably wouldn't know a good story If she saw one. Of course lama In no way be trayed this skepticism when Ru bella was within earshot. In fact she was, on the contrary, quite gushy and complimentary. However, as the evening pro gressed and honor after honor was heaped on the smiling Rubella, one watching Lena’s face would have no ticed that skepticism and bitterness were becoming more and more In evidence. It was toward the end of the eve ning that Lena succeeded In getting ltubella alone In a secluded part of the hall. Said Lena: “My dear, I think your work Is wonderful! Really! Every word of it. And I do believe I’ve read about everything you’ve had published. And now, my dear, would it be asking too much If I re quested a favor?” Rubella, though certain of the na ture of the request, could do naught but smile and nod her head and hope that Lena was about to re quest a favor somewhat different from the usual run of favors re quested of famous authors. But she was doomed to disap pointment. “My dear, I kuow you wouldn t refuse. So sweet of you. The fa vor Is really nothing much. It con cerns a story I have just completed. A short story. It occurs to me that the yarn has some merit, yet I really would appreciate your pro fessional advice before submitting It. Would you mind?" Ordinarily Rubella would have re fused, despite the fact that Lena would doubtlessly have thought her rude and selfish. But the situation was a little dif ferent from ordinary. In the first place, Lena was a fel low-townswoman, her hostess. In a manner of speaking. And In the second place, Rubella saw In Lena’s eyes a look that was slightly baf fling. The look somehow resembled a challenge. And so Rubella agreed to read Lena’s 'script, though she regretted her decision a moment after It was made. However, the word was spoken and there was no alterna tive. The 'script came to Rubella's hand on the day following, neatly typed, with Irena's name on the by line. Rubella glanced over the first few pages with casual indifference. But as she delved Into page No. l she suddenly sat upright In her chair and rend on with renewed in terest. At the conclusion of the story Rubella found herself amazed and so me vv ha t pu zz led. The story was—actually—a well done piece of work. It merited pub Mention. It was. in fact, not the assortment of Jargon that she had expected. Rubella carefully folded the 'script, tucked it in her handbag, caught up a hat and headed for the house of Lena. At least she would be honest about her report. Lena received her guest gracious ly. They sat down together In Lena’s neat little sitting room and looked at each other curiously. Said Rubella: “My dear, I have a confession to make. When I agreed to read your 'script I ex pected to find trash. I—I almost hoped 1 would. Believe me, I was tremendously surprised. It wasn’t the sort of thing I expected to find at all.” Said Lena: “You actually thought the story was good?” "I thought It was fine! Splendid! There is no reason at all why you can't place It with one of the bet ter magazines. In fact, If you are willing, I’ll handle the placing of it for you.” Lena looked thoughtful. She gazed through the window. She studied the floor. And at length her eyes came to dwell upon the kind, smiling and friendly countenance of ltubella. Said Lena: “My dear, you have been honest and fair with me. I, too, have a confession to make. I feel guilty and ashamed. The story that I gave you to rend was not written by me. I don’t know who the author Is. I clipped It haphaz ardly from a magazine and typed it off before coming to the recep tion. You see. heretofore I have misunderstood famous authors. I had made the remnrk that your stuff wasn't so good compared with that of real liternry geniuses, and that you probably wouldn’t know a good story If you saw one—and I wanted to prove that 1 was right.” ltubella smiled a gracious smile. “Thank you for telling me. I'm so glad you decided it was the best thing for you to do. For, you see, I knew all the time that your story was a rewrite, and, I’m ashamed to admit, I led you on, hoping you’d let me try and place It for you. I’m so glad It turned out this way. Now I’m sure we can be the best of friends." lama was frankly aghast. "You knew It all the time! Ilow wonderful I Now I'm positive that I was wrong In remarking that you couldn't tell a good story from a bad one. My dear. I'm thrilled!" “In a way," said Rubella, “I'm thrilled, too. For, you see, the story you clipped haphazardly from the magazine happened to be one of my stories 1" 9 Famous Oregon Ranch Is Now a Waterfowl Refuge Another area, unprofitable for ag riculture, Is being restored to the uses of wildlife In this country. The bureau of biological survey has re cently completed the acquisition of the famous I’-Ranch In Harney county, Oregon. The (1-4,717-acre nreu, now known ns the Blitzen ltlver Migratory Bird refuge, not only will be Important ns a sanc tuary, but will also be of strategic Importance In Insuring a water sup ply for the Lake Malheur Bird ref uge, which adjoins It on the north. Federal acquisition of these lands marks the return to public ownership of an historic area. Bounded on the enst by the Steens mountains, on the west by the slopes rising to the Hart mountain, and on the south also by high land, the valley Is traversed by the Ponner and Blitzen rivers. This strenm rises In the Steen mountains nnd flows west Into the south end of the basin, then north Into Lake Malheur. As the name suggests, the area Is famous for thunder storms, which are In fact the prin cipal source of the rainfall. In subsequent years If has been the scene, not only of the resound ing storms of the atmosphere, but also has known a "Ponner and Blitzen” created by the stormy early settlers. Purlng the years about 1870 amidst gunflghts and constant struggle among various exploiters of the public domain, I’eter French, locally fnmous, established his claims to this valley with Its Teu tonic name nnd established the P-Ranch which he made the cap ital of a vast cattle empire. With all the daring nnd shrewdness that characterized the early land settlers, French not only acquired available public lands, but also consolidated his holdings by taking over those of his rivals. He continued the en largement of his kingdom up until the time of his death, Pecember 26, 1897, when he was shot by a rival land owner along a boundary fence. Since the death of the founder of the empire, the P-Itanch has been owned and managed by live stock corporations. The Blitzen river has been dammed to water the vnst bot tom lands, giant dredges creating ditches for the purpose, and dams being erected at Intervals to con trol the water supply. It has at times constituted one of the great est hay ranches in the region, nnd until the recent long-continued drouth was considered a profit able agricultural enterprise. With the sudden decrease In rainfall, how ever, and with overgrazing, the ag ricultural usefulness of the area has almost disappeared and nt the same time the wild life species depend ent upon the Blitzen river’s flow have been threatened with disaster. The results extended to Lake Mal heur, where this once famous area —now a federal refuge— has been almost completely dried up and ren dered useless for a time. The marshy lands, stretching 35 miles back from Lake Malheur, have always been a favorite breeding ground of migratory waterfowl. Millions of ducks and geese have bred there, and a naturalist of the biological survey counted 120 species of birds nesting on the area. Among these were 100 pairs of the rare sandhill cranes. Wildlife other than birds will also be benefited OLD SUPERSTITION If two tea stalks appear on the surface of a cup of tea they are to l»e placed on the back of the left hand and struck with the back of the right; if they remain unmoved on the left, or adhere to the right, then the loved one will remain true; hut If one adheres and the other not, she will be false. BOYS! GIRLS! Read the Grape Nuts ad in another column of this paper and learn how to Join the Dizzy Dean Winners and win valuable free prizes.—Adv. 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