THE STORY THUS FAR
Summoned to the C C ranch In central
Nevada, desert-wise Walt Gandy is on
his way to help his old range partner,
BUI Hollister. Riding through unfamiliar
country, Walt is stopped short by a girl—
who holds a rifle In firing position. She
knows him, tells him how to get to the
ranch, and tells him that they will meet
again. Walt is allowed to ride on. Within
a quarter of a mile from his destination,
Walt Is stopped again. This time by a
grotesque, misshapen man who tells him
to get out and then tells him the C C
crew Is In Emigrant, the closest town,
for an Inquest. Someone has been mur
dered. Riding to the Inquest in Emi
grant, Walt leaves his horse at the livery
Stable.
CHAPTER III—Continued
—2—
Walt Gandy flipped the reins over
Sunspot's head. "Hay,” he directed
briefly. "No grain.”
“Yes, sir,” said the attendant. By
the limp gray hat. peaked up Mexi
can fashion, he knew this stranger
was from near the border. His eyes
slid over the tanned poker face,
down the straight hard length of
body, back to the face. Somehow,
though he did not want to, he had
to look at that face and meet its
dark, compelling gaze. Hastily he
said again, "Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be back,” said Gandy. “Keep
him ready. Slip the cinch but leave
the saddle on.” He stepped to the
doorway and glanced along the
street.
Walt crossed the street, moved
quickly on !nto the next block and
reached a press of men that over
flowed from the audience inside
Gospel Hall. The Hall was a store
building with sales counters re
moved, and through the glass front
he could look upon the pack within.
A drifting haze of cigarette smoke
filled the room. There was nothing
definite to be made out over the
heads of those seated upon the gos
pel benches. For a time he stood
shading his face with both hands,
peering in, yet only vaguely saw
the principal figures up front
where, behind a long table, the cor
oner was putting his questions.
He thrust farther in among the
watchers at the doorway; asked as
a ranchman turned to look at him,
“Inquest decided anything yet?”
The man spat down between his
boot toes. "Nothin’ to decide, mis
ter. Cash Cameron has got himself
in a hole!”
Grim satisfaction rang in the
voice, and Walt Gandy shifted his
gaze away, brown eyes narrowing.
What was this now? Cash Cameron
was in a hole. The fellow here was
glad of it!
His mind, flicked over what Bill
' Hollister had written about Camer
on, the cattleman who had made
j himself king of this range not by the
1 old method of gunplay, but by the
j power of the ready dollar. "Cash”
1 was his byword and had become
his name. He avoided credit as if it
might be something that crawled
and had rattles on its tail. Owed
no one; let no one owe him. “Cash
on the barrel-head,” was his expres
sion. "Cash, I’m offering.” “How
much, for cash?”
Banks and bankers he had no use
for. Where he kept his hoard was
a frequent matter of lonely camp
fire speculation. No one knew; but
he had it and many a small ranch
er, pinched for money, had sold cat
tle and land to Cameron because of
dollars ready on the spot. Naturally
they sold cheap, and Cash Cameron
took the profit.
Cameron, wait uanay Knew, was
on the square. At least Bill Hollis
ter had given him no reason to be
lieve otherwise. Yet sooner or later
a man like that made enemies. His
growth would stick in the craws of
those who had been forced by cir
cumstance to sell to him. They
would hold on at the fringes of his
increasing domain, cursing their
own luck and hoping for a day when
his would break.
A stir on the far edge of the crowd
turned him. A ranchman, with two
women in starched white dresses
and a small boy, was pushing into
the outer air from Gospel Hall.
There was a shifting of men to
take their places in the room. It
seemed a chance of forcing an en
trance. Walt stepped back and
walked around.
He had to pass halfway across
the street to skirt the overflow of
men, and there in the open the
constant shift of his eye was sud
denly caught and held farther along
the block.
Unbelieving, he stopped dead still,
for a roan horse stood not fifty
paces from him. There were other
roans in town, sure; roans on any
range were as common as loaded
dice. But this one was unmistaka
ble.
How long it had been standing
there he couldn’t say. Not for very
long, and it had been ridden hard.
It was wet. Its flanks still heaved
from running. Then Gandy’s meas
uring eye fixed upon the stirrup,
and he saw beyond doubt that it
was just long enough for the legs
of a medium-sized girl.
His turn from the horse was
abrupt, and he leaned against the
backs of men, one shoulder edging
in among them.
CHAPTER IV
GOSPEL HALL was a low, shal
low room. Benches without
backs crossed it, leaving a narrow
aisle down the middle. At the far
end a platform was raised about
six inches. Two small windows gave
dim light from the right side. The
left side was solid against the ad
ioining building.
He stretched, turning his head,
and saw Bill Hollister on the wit
ness bench up front. Across less
than 20 feet their eyes met. Faintly
Walt grinned. Hollister’s dark stare
fixed upon him, held, swept on with
out the slightest recognition.
For a deeply puzzled moment
Walt Gandy waited, and then he
said, “Sweet Agnes!”
Walt looked up again toward Bill
Hollister.
His lank border partner sat on
the bench placed against the room’s
left partition, and with him were
five other figures who seemed to
be the main witnesses at this in
quest. One was the girl.
By what headlong riding, and by
what short cut she had reached
here, he could only guess. Every
range has its secret trails. While
he had gone on to the C C ranch,
following her direction and had
talked to the deformed man there,
she had beaten him into Emigrant
by perhaps an hour. Why such rid
ing? And what had she been doing
there at the spring? Those ques
tions would have to be answered.
Even so early, hardly before arriv
ing in this country, he had stum
bled upon something. It came to
Walt Gandy with a quickening beat
of his blood that the easy living of
his past two years was done.
As if drawn by the fixed intensity
of his gaze the girl lifted her head.
It was a slow wondering movement;
she turned, and then her lips part
ed. She wet them with a quick dart
of her tongue, the only visible sign
of some sudden emotion, whether
of surprise or dismay he could not
tell.
The meeting of their eyes lasted
no more than an instant, yet made
a contact that to Walt Gandy was
charged and electric. Next mo
ment she turned her brown head
away and did not look at him again.
The coroner had just called a new
witness, and a young, smooth-faced
cowboy was standing now at the
front of the room. There was no
witness box. A long table had been
pushed out from the rear wall. Be
hind it sat a thin person with a
sour face who plainly wished to
give his verdict and be done. But
on his left, a big man with heavy
jowls tipped his chair back against
the partition, scowled importantly
and rumbled questions in a voice
that came from his stomach. He
wore the badge of sheriff. The cow
boy looked scared. He was less
than twenty, a likeable kid, ill at
ease before the hard glare of the
law.
The sheriff aimed a thick finger
at him. “Now remember, Paul,”
he admonished, “where you are.
Perjury means jail. You tell the
truth, exactly what you seen and
when. The law ain’t asking you to
go against your boss, but the law
wants facts. You understand?”
"Yes, sir.” The boy’s face red
dened. Too many eyes were fo
cused upon him.
“All right, then,” the sheriff rum
bled. “Daggett, go ahead.”
The coroner laid down a cigarette.
He put his questions as a matter of
routine, his thin face impatient.
“Your name is Paul Champion?”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy.
“You work for Cash Cameron?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long?”
“Four, no, five years, ever since
my dad died, and Cash, Mr. Cam
eron took me—”
“Never mind,” Coroner Daggett
cut in. “You were the one who
found the body?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell exactly when.”
“About ...”
me sheriff interrupted, "exact
ly!” he warned, gruff-voiced.
Coroner Daggett faced along the
table to him. "See here, Battle,"
he complained a little angrily,
"we’ve had all this. Let’s finish.”
The sheriff turned ponderously
and stared at the thin man. For a
moment the two county departments
traded scowling looks. Then Sher
iff Battle said, “The law ain’t satis
fied.” He again confronted the boy.
"Paul, you tell exactly what time
you found Chino Drake!"
"My watch,” said the cowboy flat
ly, “was busted."
Snorted laughter broke over the
room. Boots scuffed and there
came a babble of talk as tension
was momentarily relieved.
The law banged his heavy fist on
the table. Silence followed instant
ly.
The young cowboy was talking.
“It was about three o’clock. In
the morning I had turned water into
the vegetable patch, and coming
back to the ranch about three, I
went in to shift the water onto a
com row. Maybe Chino Drake was
going to cook us up some corn for
our supper, because he was there
in the row and an empty flour sack
was near him. But I knew he was
dead because his face was blue, and
I saw the bullet hole.”
"Where?” Sheriff Battle prod
ded, taking the inquest into his own
hands. "Where was that bullet hole,
and which way was Chino Drake
lying?”
"The hole was in his forehead on
the right side, and Chino was lying
up the slope.”
“Uh huh!" Battle emphasized.
‘So the bullet had come from those
pine trees to the right of the garden
patch.”
This was not a question, and as
Battle pushed on, it seemed tc Walt
Gandy, watching narrowly from his
aisle seat, that the sheriff of Emi
grant County was deliberately driv
ing toward some predetermined
point. Said Battle: "Now, Paul,
where had you been, before three
o’clock yesterday, and who had you
seen?"
Until now. Cash Cameron had
rested back against the wall, shad
owed in the thick air and half hid
den by the erect form of Bill Hol
lister. His arms were folded across
a massive chest; his head was bent.
He might have been dozing.
Abruptly he straightened, and all
of this cattleman, who, single-hand
ed, had made himself powerful
enough to be bitterly hated on the
Emigrant range, shifted into view.
He was big-boned and angular. Age
had stooped him a little. His hair
was white, long and unkempt.
Cash Cameron was smiling, an
oddly gentle tolerance in deep blue
eyes that had looked upon this same
grim struggle for seventy years; as
if he had looked upon all this many
times before, the deceit and mean
ness of men, understood it and
blamed no one. But his face was
strong, unyielding, with a stubborn
mouth that moved sparingly under
a white mustache.
He looked up at the cowboy. "It’s
all right, Paul,” he said. “Tell them
what you know.” Then his blue gaze
dropped across the table to Sheriff
Battle. "Seems to me, Ed,” he of
fered, "that you are almighty ribbed
up over the killing of a ranch cook.
You’re sort of pushing this inquest,
aren’t you?”
Ed Battle bristled. “You’re dang
right I am!”
"Sure you know what you’re driv
ing at?” the ranchman asked in his
low quiet voice.
“You think I don’t know what I’m
driving at, Cameron?” Battle coun
tered. “Well, I do! And I’ll state
'mm * «
A stir on the far edge of the
crowd turned him.
right here before this roomful, that
if what I know ain’t brought out
now, I’ll uncover proof of it myself
within twenty-four hours!”
He turned toward his voters to
let that take effect. "A ranch cook
is a human, ain’t he?” he asked
the crowd. “And no human is go
ing to be killed in this county, even
on the C C, without somebody
scorching. Furthermore,” he ac
cused, "someone in this inquest is
lying like hell!”
Cameron was up onto his feet.
“Look here—”
“1 don’t mean you, Cash,” said
thtf sheriff hastily. “You better sit
down and wait till I get through
with this boy.”
Cameron crouched back onto his
bench. Ed Battle hitched his chair
forward. “We’ll get along quicker
if I question, and you answer yes
or no, Paul. We’ve had Cameron's
story; we’ll see if yours checks
Yesterday noon you were riding
Pine Knob and met Cameron there
huh?”
"Yes,” the cowboy answered.
“And Forest Ranger Sam Powell
was with him, that right?”
“Yes.”
Something like the tremor of an
electric current ran through the
packed room at Ed Battle’s sudden
flinging into the inquest the name of
a United States forest ranger. Walt
Gandy felt it, even before the low
buzz of voices rose about him.
“There now!” said a stranger
seated at his side.
Puzzled, Walt stared front, yet he
was beginning to see deeper into
the warfare that these men wanted
to carry against Cash Cameron.
Cheap grazing in the national for
est was an important and touchy
factor almost everywhere. Cameron
must control a big slice here, be
ing allotted forest grass in propor
tion to the number of cattle he
owned. There was a rub. Walt
Gandy drew a full breath, exhaled
slowly, having for the moment a
vision of how very far this thing
might go—or had already gone.
The low buzz died and Ed Battle
continued: "Cameron and Ranger
Powell was arguing about grass
privileges for C C cattle next sum
mer, wasn’t they?”
"I only heard them talking,” said
the boy.
“Cameron himself." Battle stat
ed, "said there was an argument.
Ain’t that right, Cash?"
“I told you that,” Cameron
agreed. "If you wanted to know
the whole of our talk, why didn’t
you bring Powell in here today?”
“Because Powell," said the sher
iff pointedly, "wasn’t to be got hold
of That’s why.” He continued with
the boy. "You left them on Pine
Knob and then what?"
"I rode south looking for steers
that we’re moving to winter in the
sink. Then I swung back clean
around the Knob and got home
about three and found Chino Drake,
like I said."
“And then?” Battle prompted, as
Paul Champion bent his head and
stared at the backs of his brown
hands.
“I yelled and rode to the house."
“Did you see anyone?”
"No one at all till I got around to
where Mr. Cameron's office is and
opened his door. He hadn’t heard
me because he was writing at his
desk.”
“Uh huh!” said Battle. “Writ
in’. Had he been doing anything
else?”
For the second time, the cowboy
turned an imploring gaze to his
boss; and again Cash Cameron told
him quietly: “Give them what you
know, Paul. It’s all right.”
A fighting look crossed the young
face. The boy pivoted to Sheriff
Battle. “He had been cleaning a
gun. I smelled oil, and a rifle was
standing near the desk, and Mr.
Cameron said to me, ‘At last I got
that calf-killing coyote, Paul.’ Then
I told him that Chino Drake was
dead.”
During a minute that seemed to
Walt Gandy as long as an hour,
the room hung in heavy silence. He
could have heard his heart beat,
but every sense was focused up
front, where each figure on the plat
form was caught and fixed as mo
tionless as stone—Sheriff Battle
hunched forward on the edge of his
chair, Coroner Daggett halfway
along the table from him, scowling
impatiently, young Paul Champion
standing at the table end and be
hind him on the witness bench. Cash
Cameron, his brown-haired girl, and
Bill Hollister.
Ponderously Ed Battle rose. He
pointed to the table top near the
C C cowboy. “Is that the gun?”
A creaking of benches sounded in
the room. With others around him,
Walt stretched to look. An assort
ment of objects lay on the table,
evidence in the killing. But largest
among them was a rifle, lever-ac
tion, short-barreled, the kind that
cowmen, the range over, carry in a
scabbard slung beneath the stirrup
of their saddles.
“Is it?” Battle repeated.
“Yes.”
With startling suddenness Coroner
Daggett leaped to his feet. He
swung out a thin arm. "Battle,
you’re wasting the county's time!
I won’t listen to any more! You
told me you had a case worked up,
and you’ve got nothing. You have
a rifle, but this bullet that came
from the body didn’t come from
that gun! We tested it. This hear
ing can be reopened when you have
facts. Now it’s closed.”
Ed Battle swayed. Helplessly he
stood looking down, concentrating
with a hard scowl as if in the
process of his mind, two things that
did not hook up should hook up
anyway. There was the rifle that
Cash Cameron had been cleaning;
there was the rifle bullet that had
killed a man. That bullet ought to
have come from that gun!
Plainly it hadn’t, for Coroner Dag
gett was closing his portfolio.
Battle swung his heavy head.
“Hold on!” he thundered. “The law
ain't satisfied here. You hold on a
minute. I got one party I want to
question again. Paul, you sit down.
Miss Helen, I'd like for you to come
back here on the stand.”
Tht brown-haired girl shifted the
hat from her lap to the floor, and
then in rising, turned her face out
over the crowd. Her head moved
slowly; but her eyes darted. In a
glance they found the aisle seat.
Walt Gandy met them and at once,
for that instant across the fifteen
feet or less that separated him from
this girl, he felt a pull toward her
as strongly as if she had reached
out her hand. Something of the
telegraphic bond that years togeth
er had established between himself
and Bill Hollister, seemed instant
ly alive behind the eyes of Helen
Cameron. That darting look was an
appeal.
Gandy edged forward on his
bench. Helen Cameron reached the
platform. A cough shook her slim
body, and she pressed a handker
chief to her lips, doubled a little,
and supported herself against the
table as if dizzy in the thick, sting
ing air.
Noticeably a change had come
over the room. Hard-faced as these
Emigrant ranchers were, and bit
ter against the power of Cash Cam
eron, they could not hold back the
softening of their looks as they
watched Cameron's daughter. She
did not draw their pity, but she
drew out of them the best of their
respect They admired her, she was
one of their own; and beyond that
she was an unforgettably attractive
girl standing there quietly now,
poised, waiting for the law to begin.
(TO BF. CONTINUEDi
NATIONAL I
AFFAIRS
Rtvitwtd by
CARTER FIELD
An Indianian, in Wash
ington, offers to bet that
the Republicans will beat
Roosevelt... Spread of uar
is seen in Allies' efforts to
buy long-range bombers in
the United States.
(Bell Syndicate—WNU Service.)
WASHINGTON.—An Indiana Re
publican, who has retired from poli
tics and has been practicing law in
Washington for some years, paid an
extended visit to his native state.
He has Just returned, and his con
versations are amazing some of his
friends.
It so happens that among his
friends is Sen. Burton K. Wheeler
of Montana, and
much of his conver- ^
sation was directed |
at persuading the j
senator not to accept |
the vice presidential t
nomination on the |
Democratic ticket j
unless Wheeler could |
be sure that Frank- f.
lin D. Roosevelt |
would head the j
ticket.
The Hoosier of- senator
fered to bet anybody Wheeler
three to one that the
Republicans will defeat any Demo
crat except Roosevelt in November.
He goes further and offers to bet
even money that they can beat
Roosevelt.
It should be admitted at this point
that the Indiana man in question
is a very enthusiastic Republican.
On the other hand, he is eminently
practical, and his Judgment is very
cold. For example, personal ego
tism and blind partisan optimism
were so lacking in him a few years
ago that, when he saw the Demo
cratic tidal wave coming, he did
not run for re-election.
THE INDIANA INFLUENCE
But he still retains all his interest,
and so on his visit back home he
went up and down the state inquir
ing into trends.
His conviction as a result of this
trip is that Indiana is going Repub
lican this fall. His offers to bet
about the presidential election are
based, of course, largely on his find
ings in Indiana.
There is a conviction on the part
of some people who do not live in
Indiana, and were not born there,
that Hoosiers are inclined to ex
aggerate the political importance
of their state, especially the notion
that “as goes Indiana so goes the
nation.”
But the word from Indiana, to
gether with the bitter factional war
of the Democrats in Illinois, and the
Republican trends manifested in
Ohio and Pennsylvania, indicate
that this presidential battle will be
a horse race.
EXPECT SPREAD OF WAR?
Here’s one to try on your atlas—
or globe—with a ruler or tape
measure.
The allies right now are dickering
for release of Uncle Sam’s “flying
fortress” bombers. They intimate
they might buy 50 or 60 of them.
The point is, of course, for what?
Up to now our experts had thought
this particular type of plane would
be useful only in the Western hem
isphere. The so-called medium
bombers are able to take off with a
full load of bombs, fly from 700 to
800 miles to an objective, drop their
bombs, and return with a fair mar
gin of safety as to fuel supply.
The so-called "flying fortress” is
able to extend this radius from 800
miles to more than 1,500. But—ex
cept for this tremendous increase
in range they have no advantage
whatever. For the shorter ranges
the not so huge bombers are infinite
ly superior in speed. Two of them
would carry just as much of an ex
plosive load as the “flying fortress,”
and the two would not only cost
much less than the one big fellow,
but would be able, as a result of
their greater speed, to have a much
better chance both of achieving their
objective and of returning safely.
BOMBERS COMPARED
The speed of the “medium” bomb
er is in excess of 350 miles an hour,
while that of the “flying fortress”
is only about 200 miles an hour.
Obviously, in the element of a sur
prise attack, the faster bombers
would be much more likely to get
through to their objective before de
fense, either of anti-aircraft guns
at the moment of attack, or of fight
ing planes to meet them en route,
could be brought into successful ac
tion.
Then there is the question of get
ting home safely. Obviously again
the “flying fortress” would have to
have a considerable start en route
home to be safe from pursuing fight
ing planes. Whereas the "medium”
bomber would have to have very
little start indeed to prevent its be
ing overtaken by fighting planes.
Nor is there any possibility that
any of these angles of superiority
by the smaller bombers has been
overlooked by the foreign experts.
They know all about the subject. In
fact, they come pretty close to
knowing all the answers. Realizing
this, our experts have been scratch
ing their heads as to why the allies
want the big ones
Farm
Topics [
FARM ACCIDENTS
CAN BE STOPPED
Machinery Rated as Chief
Hazard to Safety.
By J. B. RICHARDSON
Safety on the farm is largely
home-made. One of the reasons
there are so many accidents on the
farm is that farm families operate
largely on their own responsibility.
For city people at work or at home,
there are numerous safety precau
tions, and someone to enforce them.
Machinery should be listed as a
top hazard in farm work, despite
the many improvements made on
machinery in recent years. The
older hazards, such as unruly bulls
and kicking horses, is next.
Surveys show, however, that most
accidents are caused by careless
ness such as haste, the use of make
shift repairs, by taking chances, by
using machinery without guards, or
with guards removed.
Among the reasons why the farm
is a fertile field for accidents are
these: Much farm work is done by
individuals at some distance from
others so that an accident may be
serious because help is not at hand.
On the farm there are frequent
changes in work and machinery
used, which may mean unfamiliar
ity with equipment and less accu
racy of movement. Under the pres
sure of summer work, there are
often long hours in the field, and
chores done in a hurry after dark—
both conducive to accidents.
The suffering, the loss of time,
and the actual cash cost of these
accidents shows the need for avoid
ing them. It has been shown time
and time again that the well
ordered farm, with well-ordered ac
tivities, is good insurance against
accidents.
But still, to a great extent the
farmer must be his own safety en
gineer and almost entirely his own
disciplinarian.
Insect Traps on Plane
Detect Spread of Pests
By trapping insects high in the
air entomologists are able to gather
valuable new information on the
habits, and particularly on the
spread, of some of the destructive
pests of farm crops. Inspection of
the mixed catch of insects taken at
a certain altitude is useful, for ex
ample, in indicating whether a cer
tain type of insect makes most of
its advance by flight under its own
power or goes a long distance at a
time by soaring high and letting
the prevailing wind carry it.
P. A. Glick of the United States
department of agriculture in sys
tematic airplane flights over Louisi
ana and Old Mexico, and covering
all seasons of several years, collect
ed many of the important and
destructive crop pests. He reports
captures of boll weevils at 2,000 feet,
spotted cucumber beetles at 3,000
feet, and leaf-hoppers at altitudes
up to 13,000 feet. Mosquitoes, com
mon in lower layers, also were
found as high as 5,000 feet. The
pink boll worm moth collected,
sometimes more than half a mile
above the surface, showed that it
can spread to our country by nat
ural means. Some small wingless
insects were frequent at very high
altitudes; for example, springtails
and silver fish at from 8,000 to 11,000
feet.
The insects were collected in
traps specially designed for use on
airplanes and controlled from the
cockpit or cabin. In practice it was
the rule to keep a trap section open
for a certain number of minutes
with the plane flying level at that
altitude, then close the section and
mount 500 or 1,000 feet and bag
another sample while holding that
altitude.
During the past 35 years, "cow
testing associations” have advanced
from agencies for testing the butter
fat of milk to full-fledged dairy herd
improvement associations, keeping
track of milk weights, feed records,
and breeding for members, and pro
viding a system of proving sires
automatically through the United
States bureau of dairy industry.
• • •
Top dressing grain fields with
manure is a great help in securing
seedings. Rates of application may
vary from five to eight tons per
acre. Poor land should get first
treatment, and straw spread thinly
can be used when manure is not
available.
• • •
Removing cream from milk takes
out most of the vitamin A content.
If cream is removed from milk
fortified with vitamin D, both A and
D are taken out. In homogenized
milk the fat particles and vitamin
A are distributed throughout the
fluid.
» • •
About 700,000,000 acres in the
United States do not receive enough
rainfall for profitable agriculture, it
is said. About 12,000,000 people live
in this area. Of this area, 20,000,000
acres are irrigated.
_BABY CHICKS
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Enroll Now. Nebraska's Oldest School.
Individual Instruction, graduates placed In
good paying positions. Write Kathryn Wil
son. manager, for FREE BOOKLET. Cali
fornia Beauty School, Omaha, Nebr.
Live Stock Commission
BYERS BROS & CO.
A Real Live Stock Com. Firm
At the Omaha Marhet
CREMATION
I FOREST LAWN CEMETERY I
• OMAHA •
CREMATION
of the most modern type
Write to us for booklet
NURSERIES
CQ HARDY PERENNIALS Cl
'eVljorom 0.14 prawn plant) that par* **» ■
rl.d B to 12 inch lapi last till. B paoh Double
•on bunt Carooptii, Lend Spurrad Columbine,
Castarbury Ball. Mallow Crow. Maryuerlta,
•Stats Daily. Snip* Plnka, Menards, PyrsthreM,
BwMt Wllilamt, ste. Th. antlra BO b.auttrul slants
PMtpnld far II 00. If yaa ardor at anna. Wa will
laslada ehamleala to make I* sal. Mlratle Grow
Nutrlant Selutlon with Vitamin Bt. Iniarw aafaty
In Iraniplnntlna and Inonuai frawtb, aim m
flowan, at*. Satlafaatles Guarantaad.
ClartiBantaar Mura arise. W.B. Sa« Id. Oaag«.h
■—rr- __ .. „
HOUSEHOLD
QUESTIONS 1
To remove cream stains from
garments or lit ^ns rub the stained
area with cold water and soap and
then rinse it thoroughly in cold
water.
• • •
A rubber band, wrapped several
times around a stubborn screw-top
jar lid, provides a non-skid grip.
• • *
Do not keep dates in the refrig
erator. Leave them in the pack
age and keep them on the pantry
shelf or in the kitchen cabinet un
til ready for use.
• • •
Here is an idea if your stove
gets overcrowded with pans. Turn
over the lid of pans and use the
surface as a hotplate for warming
dishes or keeping a smaller pan
simmering.
* • *
Prevent accidents when you are
doing cleaning work on a step
ladder. Nail a piece of emery to
each step and you cannot slip.
Constipation Relief
That Also
Pepsin-izes Stomach
When constipation brings on add indi
Sst ion, bloating, dizzy spells, gas, coated
igue, sour taste, and bad breath, your
stomach is probably loaded up with cer
tain undigested food and vour bowds don't
move. So you need both Pepsin to help
break up fast that rich undigested food in
your stomach, and Laxative Senna to pull
the trigger on those lazy bowels. So be
sure your laxative also contains Pepsin.
Take Dr. Caldwell's Laxative, because its
Syrup Pepsin helps you gain that won
derful stomach com fort, while the Laxative
Senna moves your bowels. Tests prove the
power of Pepsin to dissolve those lumps of
undigested protein food which may linger
In your stomach, to cause belching, gastric
acidity and nausea. This is how pepsin
izing your stomach helps relieve it of such
distress. At the same time this medicine
wakes up lazy nerves and muscles in your
bowels to relieve your constipation. So see
how much better you feel by taking the
laxative that also puts Pepsin to work on
that Btomach discomfort, too. Even fin
icky children love to taste this pleasant
family laxative. Buy Dr. Caldwell’s Lax
ative-Senna with Syrup Pepsin at your
druggist today!
True Work Sacred
All true work is sacred; in all
true work, were it but true hand
labor, there is something of di
vineness.—Carlyle.
WHY SUFFER Functional
FEMALE
COMPLAINTS
Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound
Has Helped Thousands I
Few women today do not hive some sign ol
functional trouble. Maybe you've noticed
YOURSELF getting restless,moody,nervous,
depressed lately—your work too much for you—
Then try Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable
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relieve monthly pain (cramps, backache,
headache) and weak dizzy fainting spells
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dreds of thousands of weak, rundown nsr
vous women. Try it)
—
Bureau of Standards
A BUSINESS organization
which wants to get the
most for the money sets up
! standards by which to judge
what is offered to it, just as in I
S Washington the government
| maintains a Bureau of Standards.
• You can have your own Bureau
of Standards, too. Just consult
the advertising columns of your
I newspaper. They safeguard
your purchasing power every j
day of every year.
