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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (May 2, 1935)
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
“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
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
“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
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
“Coming!’ Brandon croaked. "I’m
A gratified mutter went up from
- the crowd and burst Into shrill
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
“Coming!” he shouted thickly and
seized a hammer and attacked the
trunk lock. Ammunition must be
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
And then came a hush, a quick,
spreading hush which swept the
crowd like a shadow. And then
rose a quick popping of excited
“Elliott!” “Here he Is!" ‘Tjook!”
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
He gained the middle of the
street In an Impressive hush. Then
he murmured a word to Able and
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
"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
“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
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
“Long live the king!” said Emory.
“Dead men tell no tales.”
“No, but sometimes a corpse will
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. . , .
“There’s plenty of room at Hoot
Owl for good hands,” he said and
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.
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
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
“Meet us at Antler Lodge this af
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
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
“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
“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
“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
“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
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
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
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
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
“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
"Why I” she cried. “I didn’t . . .
But I must have!" looking from
one to the other. “That’s my writ
"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,
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
TO BE CONTINUED.
By R. H. WILKINSON
©. Bell Syndicate.—VVNU Service.
□UBELLA HAMPSTEAD Is a
Her name is featured in
all the leading magazines of the
She has three novels to her credit,
and it has been announced that
a fourth is to be brought out next
Rubella cannot attribute her
achievements to any mysterious or
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
In short, Rubella Is no natural
born genius, no worker of miracles;
her rewards are Just and well
Some few months ago the good
people of Rubella's home town held
a reception In honor of their distin
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
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
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
It was toward the end of the eve
ning that Lena succeeded In getting
ltubella alone In a secluded part of
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
“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
The look somehow resembled a
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
The 'script came to Rubella's
hand on the day following, neatly
typed, with Irena's name on the by
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
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
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
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
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
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"
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
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
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.
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.
Giant Japanese Apples
Apples weighing eight pounds each
have been grown by Ichitaro Mat
suda, of Nagano, Japan. Although
sour, they have a good flavor. Their
size Is the result of tunny experi
Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription makes
weak women strong. No alcohol. Sold
by druggists in tablets or liquid.—Adv.
"The ‘untouched problem’ of hu
man life is—human nature."—Le
oner F. Loree, financier.
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The Ferry Seed Display
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headaches. I used Dr.
Pierce's Golden Medical
Iliacovery for a few weeks and I (famed
strength and had no more headaches.'
New size, tablets SO eta., liquid $1.00.
IF your kidneys function badly
and you havo a lame, aching
back, with attacks of dizziness,
burning, scanty or too frequent
urination, getting up at night,
swollen feet and ankles, rheumatic
pains . . . use Doan’s Pills.
Doan's are especially for poorly
functioning kidneys. Millions of
boxes are used every year. They
are recommended the country over.
Ash your neighbor!
— by chewing one or
more Milnesia Wafers
Send tor one week’s liberal supply—FREE
SELECT PRODUCTS, Inc., 4402 23rd
Street, Long Island City, New York
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