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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (July 16, 1942)
®r ARTHUR STRINGER ...nm THE STORY SO FAR: Just when it looks as though Norland Airways is through, Cruger finds a “scientist” named Frayne, who offers to pay well to be flown to the Anawotto, a river in Canada’s barren North Country, where be hopes to find the breeding ground of the trumpeter swan. This good news belps to soften the blow when Cruger has to tell his partner and ace flyer, Alan Slade, that his application for overseas service with the army air corps has been turned down. Slade explains that he signed up because he thought they would lose the business. Cruger says he has bought a new Lockheed that will keep them going for a while. He and Alan are discussing their new client, who is apparently not inexperienced, having re cently returned from an expedition to the Himalayas. Now continue with the story. CHAPTER II “What was this man Frayne after In the Himalayas?” Slade asked. “The Great Tibetan Sheep. Kar nell, he explained, was his shikari on both occasions. But Karnell doesn’t count. All he does, appar ently, is supply the brawn. It’s our man of science who supplies the brain in that outfit.” “Wasn’t your nature-lover shoot ing wide of the mark when he went looking for sheep in winter? It’s in spring and summer sheep come down, anywhere. Every hunter knows that” Cruger’s chair-shift was one of impatience. “Don’t worry about your passen gers. Your business, Lindy, is fly ing. And if you feel that dreamy eyed ornithologist is after gold, like all the rest of them, you’ll think along another line when you’ve seen him. He’s different. And before summer’s over, you may be sure, he’ll be calling for supplies.” “Should he go in there to starve?” questioned Slade. “He won’t starve,” retorted the other. “He’s well heeled,“his pa- ' pers are in order, and the Royal Mounted have okayed his excursion. He’s carrying a lot of equipment." Cruger’s glance went to the win dow. “They’ll be bringing over their stuff from the terminal any time now.” “Themselves?” Cruger nodded. “It’s too precious, apparently, for our port boys to handle. Before sun down they’ll be stowing it aboard your ship, and when they do you’d better stand by and check up on their kit.” “Why?” Cruger shrugged. “Well, let’s say it’s to make sure he doesn’t give you an over-load.” Slade rebuttoned his flyer’s coat. “I’ll be back from McMurray in two hours,” he proclaimed. “And I’ll check and double-check on that swan-stalker.” Cruger glanced up at the route map on the wall. “An early start tomorrow should give you light for landing. It won't be easy flying, remember." “I’ll fly baby elephants to the Pole,” Slade announced, “if it’s go ing to keep this outfit on its feet.” Cruger’s quiet smile was that of a man with a trump card still in his hand. * “But the important point,” he pur sued, “is that you’re not the only one who didn’t get to the Front this throw.” He paused for a moment as though to give timing to a mes sage too important to be lightly ut tered. “I thought you’d like to know that Doctor Morlock’s daughter didn’t swing in with that Red Cross unit. Slade turned away and looked at the wall map. It was taking time, apparently, for information so un expected to be absorbed. “How do you know that?” Slade demanded with just a trace of a tremor in his voice. The older man’s half-smile was quickly smothered. “It came from Morlock himself. He’d the offer of a chair in medi cine at the University of Manitoba and that girl of his was set on him getting out of frontier-life flying. I guess she felt he’d weaken if she stepped out and went over-seas. But the old boy stuck to his guns. He said he was needed in the North and would die with his boots on. And that meant only one thing for a girl like that. It meant she had to stick to her dad." Even Cruger could smile a little at the newer light that crept into the Viking eyes. “So she’s not going to England,” Slade repeated. "No, she’s flying to Coronation with her father tomorrow,” Cruger said, as he picked up the envelope. Slade’s glance remained preoccu pied. He had the look of a tired swimmer who had unexpectedly found solid ground under his feet Even the sunlight outside, when he swung open the door, seemed a lit tle brighter. For there wasn’t, after all, to be a wide Atlantic between him and Lynn Morlock. He drew a deep breath and turned back to Cruger. “You’re right about this outfit,” he said. “We’re going to keep her going.” He swung the door shut on Cru ger’s smile. Alan Slade, jolting over the three mile trail between McMurray and Waterways, sat back in Cassie Olin’s taxi and let the road and Cas sie do their worst. But Cassie, he saw. knew how to handle her dust - 21— “Buyin* diamonds for your girl friend down the Basin?” covered old jallopy, probably the most northerly taxicab, omitting Alaska, on the continent. For Cas sie, who had driven an Arctic dog team in her time, was both stal wart of body and resolute of spirit. “Where’ll I be droppin’ you?” asked Cassie, as they rolled into the town’s wooden-fronted main street. “At Dillon, the jeweler’s,” Slade told her. “Buyin’ diamonds for your girl friend down the Basin?” Slade laughed. “There’s no such animal,” he said, as he waved her good-by. But he was wondering, at the moment, if Lynn Morlock would be paying her customary visit to St. Gabriel’s. She’d be wanting supplies, before heading north. For the North was empty of much that was needed there. His present mission was evi dence enough of that. It involved, he remembered, a wedding ring for a love-lorn mine-worker at El Do rado, a mine-worker impatient to travel in double-harness with a full bosomed Swede waitress who an swered to the name of Atlin Olga. For five years now, Slade also remembered, he had been an un attached shopping agent for the ex iles along the new frontier. He had taken in Christmas turkeys and ra dio sets, dancing slippers and to bacco, compasses and clock-keys. He had swapped their beaver and muskrat pelts for layettes and cot ton-flannel, and exchanged white foxskins for baby food and safety pins. He had matched yarn and learned how to spot service-weight silk stockings and select slips of the right tea-rose tint. He had sleuthed out needed machine parts and bought cough medicine and kidney pills. So the purchase of a wedding ring, and even a wedding ring of the mas siveness and diameter designated by the impatient groom, seemed merely an incident in the day’s work. He laughed a little as he in spected the big ring in its velvet box. His smile faded as he looked at his watch. His plane, he remem bered, was awaiting his attention. He turned and looked about for Cas sie’s taxi. He was still diffidently searching the dusty street ends when he heard his name called. “Alan!" It quickened his pulse. For he knew that calling voice belonged to Lynn Morlock, even before he caught sight of her between the loungers fringing the shop fronts. She was, he saw, almost running along the none too even sidewalk. Her hair, close-clipped and boy-like, shone mahogany-brown in the sun light and she carried her familiar first-aid bag. There was neither alarm nor excitement on her face. But there was resolution in her stride. “Alan, come with me, quick,’’ she called over her shoulder, without slackening her pace. “What’s happened?” Alan asked as he swung in beside her. “There’s been a fight,” she said, between breaths. “There’s a man bleeding to death. At least that’s the word they sent.” “Where is he?” asked Slade. They turned up a side street, where the idlers, both Indian and white, could no longer gape after them. “At the Blue Goose,” was Lynn’s answer. “It sounds like a severed artery.” Slade knew enough of frontier town gambling joints and gin mills disguised as dance halls to realize what they might have to face. “That’s no place for a girl,” he contended. “I’ve been in worse,” was Lynn’s quick reply. “And you may have to help me.” “Why isn’t the Padre attending to this?” he asked as he hurried on beside her. A shadow crossed the girl’s face. “You know how Father feels about drinking.” “But even a drunken man can die,” protested Slade. “I’m afraid Father would let him," was the girl’s answer to that. “He’s no longer a doctor, where al coholics are concerned. He’s washed his hands of them. And nothing will ever change him.” Slade remembered something about that. It tied up, he recalled, with the hazy story of the Flying Padre’s abrupt migration from a once-opulent city practice to the out posts of the Mackenzie Basin. Law rence Morlock, he remembered, had his reasons for hating drunkenness. For as Slade was able to piece the story together, Lynn’s father had been one of New York’s most suc cessful surgeons. He had flown high and flown fast, until the tragic death of his wife brought him up short. The enemy he was fighting on a well-fortifled front line dropped like a parachutist in his own home. Be wildered and stunned, but refusing to give ground, he had sought relief in over-work and alcohol. But one night when called from a night club for an emergency operation his hand had failed him and his patient, a pillar of Wall Street, had died on the table. That death, the surgeon always felt, was due to his own drunkenness. It rang the curtain down on all his earlier feverish scramble for wealth. He cabled his daughter Lynn, then in Switzer land, that he was giving up his prac tice and selling his city home. He quietly dropped out of his old life and, a year later, reappeared as a relief-worker when a flu epidemic was decimating the northern camps of Canada. His field broadened as he learned the need for medical service along the outer fringes of the New Frontier, and he equipped himself with a plane which was used in many a mercy flight. His daughter Lynn was proving herself a chip of the old block. For when she realized her father was somberly happy in that work and definitely committed to what she accepted as a life of expiation, she quietly went in training as a nurse, equipped herself as a co-worker with the Padre, and joined him in his silent yet stoic campaign of re demption. She had stuck to him with a tender loyalty. “If this is going to be a murder case,” he contended, “why not noti fy the police?” “It mustn’t be murder," cried Lynn. To the man following her she looked reassuringly fearless in the slanting northern sunlight. They must have been waiting for her in the Blue Goose. The door opened, expectantly, even before she reached it. “Where is he?” the girl asked of the pock-marked man in his shirt sleeves. He closed and locked the door before answering. “In here,” he said with a side glance of hostility as Slade pushed in after the girl. The sound of a phonograph blaring out dance music in some outer room suddenly came to a stop. A bold-eyed woman, heav ily rouged, backed away at the per emptory hand wave of the proprie tor, who opened a second door and pointed inside, without advancing. His first impression of the room, as he entered, was one of blood. There was blood on the cover of an overturned table, on the floor and on the summer parka worn by a figure half-lying and half-crouching along a stained wicker couch splashed with red. Slade couldn’t tell whether the man in the parka was being held up or held down by an aproned and yellow-faced bartender who sat with one arm about the wounded man and looked up at them with the round eyes of a bewildered rabbit as the girl with the bag ran to his side. It wasn’t until she pushed the aproned man away that Slade recognized the face above the parka. It was the parka that he recog nized first. He promptly identified it as the garment that had been given to Slim Tumstead by Air-Command er Rollins-Benson on the occasion of a bush-fire flight in which Slim had proved both his flying ability and his fearlessness. It was Slim Tumstead looking up at him with a one-sided and slightly sardonic smile. “I’m all right,” he stubbornly protested. But his voice was thin with weakness. “Let’s see,” challenged Lynn, with her bag already open. Each movement was quick and decisive as she examined her patient. “Get me water,” she commanded, with out turning her head, “water that’* been boiled.” (TO BE CONTINlEDi Smartly Styled Washables Are Made to Wear Long and Often By CHERIE NICHOLAS THERE is a great to-do being made about the "soap and water” look for summer. Because we want to look Immaculate and feel cool, because we’ve found that only wash ables can give us that wonderful, fresh-from-the-laundry cleanness, we are growing more and more to ap preciate how completely washables attain to our ideals of perfect ma terials for perfect summer days. This summer we’ll wear washables all day, every day and for late in the night. This season, more than ever be fore, we are discovering that there can be and is true aristocracy and a wealth of possibilities in sterling quality-kind linens, piques and oth er of the myriads of lovely weaves we’ve hitherto taken for granted. And now that the women of Amer ica have been led by designers and style creators to look upon washables as fabrics of beauty and a joy forever we are yielding utter ly to their lure this season. Women who insist on being beau tifully dressed no matter how busy their lives may be will appreciate at first glance the appeal of fine artistry and deft workmanship re flected in the three dresses illus trated above. They live up to the tradition of the designer who cre ated them and who is noted for ex quisitely simple styling and unusual detail. Among fine wash weaves Moy gashel linen has ever been noted for its superior look, feel and wear. Happily this linen is still being im ported from the North of Ireland. The demure little suit dress shown to the left in the above picture is just about as pretty and -ool for a sum mer afternoon as ever a dress j might be. This beautifully cut origi nal has a brief peplumed jacket and a graceful unpressed pleated skirt. Exquisite Venise lace borders the jacket and cuffs. Three flower but tons clear almost to transparency blossom down the front. It’s lovely and feminine as any one could wish, charming and choice enough for any young woman of faultless taste to wear in the most select environs. Practical, too, for it washes like the proverbial “hanky.” Simple line is the important de tail which makes the adorable dress centered in the picture. It’s one of those classics of sophisticated sim plicity to live in and love all sum mer long. Of soft rayon shantung, with tiers of hand-turned scallops on the pockets and pearl-buttoned bod ice, it has all the high class styling of the best in washable summertime fabric manipulation. Worn with a shady-brimmed hat, nothing could be cooler looking or feeling. Stop, look, listen! In the dress to the right in the above group you are receiving advance notice of a fash ion you'll see more of this fall and winter, that is, the use of richr em broidery on the slim-lined dress. It’s of cool Moygashel linen. Made very simply, with a deep-throated neckline and soft front fullness its restrained simplicity the more keenly highlights the chalk-white embroidery on collar and pockets. Wear it proudly and often, for it washes well and is easy to keep fresh. One of the favored washables is pique, birdseye pique, eyeleted pique, printed pique, or embroidered pique. With this immaculate looking washable designers are per forming wonders in the way of sports apparel, daytime costumes, jacket dresses and party frocks which are most intriguing. Pique takes beautifully to trimmings of Irish crochet lace, which is being used very effectively. Printed pique combined with plain injects a splurge of color attuned to this summer’s mood. Released by Western Newspaper Union. Fringe-Printed rn , ..I. Smoothly cool, shape-holding and comfortable, rayon jersey is a popu lar summertime fabric. This strik ing and most charming New York creation is of deep green and white fringe-printed jersey. This season’s prints are noted for versatility and originality in design, but of all prints brought out nothing more un usual in a print has been shown than the fringe effect as here il lustrated. Smartly simple and style right for informal town and country daytime functions is this gown, and it is a forerunner of a new move ment in prints. Herald Lavish Use Of Embroideries All signs point to a lavish use of embroidery on fashions now on the way for fall. One of the present season’s highlights is the trick of trimming a black frock with con trasting embroidery in chalk white. There is intriguing originality ex pressed in the embroidery technique employed in advance modes, such as the flower motif placed at the waistline of a slim frock which simulates a huge corsage. The new one-piece wrapover dresses invite ; ingenious introduction of embroid ery used variously in border effects I or in splashes of bright hand j stitching in effective placement of flower clusters. Materials for exotic looking tur bans are also embroidered, and 'tis said that belts, bags and gloves will be cunningly needle-worked with yarns and chenilles. Milliners Do Wonders With a Little Organdy While there is big news in hand some white straws bordered with flanges of white ribbon and in cun ning little flower turbans and pique types both broad of brim and brim less, it is in the exquisite hats mil liners are making of organdy and other diaphanous materials that the thrill of thrills is found. On the head they look as airy and lovely as drifts of snowy clouds on a summer day. Favorite types have pleatings of the organdy encircling transparent white brims. Other white chapeaux are styled of gleaming white cello phane straw made with the inten tion of stressing their transparency. Released by Western Newspaper Union. Kentucky’s 150th Birthday 13 ECENTLY the post office depart ment issued this new three* cent commemorative postage stamp UNITED iTATESX POSTAO \ V ii it»i -ja—__—p i to honor the 150th anniversary of Kentucky’s admission to the Union. It was quite appropriate that there should be reproduced on it the Thomas Gilbert White mural in the state capitol at Frankfort, which shows Daniel Boone, long rifle in hand, standing on a promontory high above the Kentucky river looking out over the beautiful valley where the capital of the future state was to be located. For if ever two names have be come synonymous in the minds of Americans those names are "Ken tucky” and "Dan iel Boone.” Dan’l Boone was the pioneer par ex cellence, the trail blazer who led his people to the Promised Land beyond the Al leghenies and there laid the foundations for Daniel Boone the first truly "Western” state. He is a romantic figure in American history and Ken tucky, perhaps more than any other in the sisterhood of states, has been a land of romance from its begin nings down to the present time. Before ever the white man came, the Indians who roamed its forests, its canebrakes and its fertile val leys gave it the name of Kan-tuck hee, which means “the dark and bloody ground,” because it was the scene of interminable warfare be tween half a dozen tribes of fierce red men. It was a "dark and bloody ground” indeed during the period of early settlement, but when it was over there came another ro mantic period—the era of the ante bellum South, of "My Old Kentucky Home.” And even today the mem ory of that era still lingers, con jured up whenever Kentucky’s nick name is mentioned. For blooded racehorses, beautiful women, gra cious hospitality — all these are epitomized in the name “the Blue grass state.” If you would capture the essence of this commonwealth, with whom the whole nation is joining in cele brating its 130th birthday this year, you can do no better than to read "The Kentucky,” the latest volume in the "Rivers of America” se ries, published by Farrar and Rine hart. In the preface, the author, Thomas D. Clark of the faculty of the University of Kentucky, writes: The Kentucky is not alone a river or a drainage system, it Is a way of life. In fact before it injects its merry flood deep into the aide of the Ohio at Carrollton, it becomes several ways of life. It would be an extremely Imaginative person in deed who could stand down at its mouth and conjure up the story of the river and its numberless tributaries. How much humanity this story contains is difficult to explain. The pattern is both varied and complex. Other rivers, much more pretentious in length and certainly so in girth, go drift ing nonchalantly past large Industrial cities. Or they dally along through wide and pleasant bottom lands. They can boast loudly of romantic days when men raced proud steamboats to the sea, or of the grand parts played as rich pawns in both national and International poli tics. No unusually proud paddle wheels have churned the waters of the Kentucky, nor have any proud steamers been humil iated in the ceremony of having their horns stripped from them, because they were defeated. No momentous interna tional decisions have Interrupted the course of its history. Yet, the Ken tucky is not a humble stream: rather, it is bold in its course. Like its buck skinned pioneers of another era. it wears no silver buckles at shoe tongue or knee, but it is American along every inch of it, and It personifies the American dream of rugged Independence and self determination. Steep palisades and deep rock-lined gorges are vigorous testi monials of a rugged determined current. In its race to the Ohio it has cut a deep swath before it. The proud Bluegrass is pierced deeply through its heart, and as the river enters its last lap it rushes like a seasoned thoroughbred with a final burst of magnificent force past tho finish line. The story of the land along tne Ken tucky river Is made up of all these things which have served as marks of re gional distinction, but there are many more. The history of the Kentucky In comparison with that of other rivers might lose some of its major signifi cance, but even this would only be a relative matter. The story of this river Is completely American, and Its people have both preserved and created at least three distinct aspects of American cul ture. Other rivers have stretched their history over larger patterns, but none has exceeded It tn the intensity of In teresting native background. Any comparison between It and other rivers would again call for a verse from Samuel Woodworth's famous song which euloslzed the old huntsmen who stood guard with their long squirrel rifles atop the ramparts of Jackson's famous line across the Plains of Chalmette; THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY We are a hardy, free-born race, Each man to fear a stranger; Whate'er the game we join In chase, Despising time and danger; And If a daring foe annoys. Whate'er his strength and forces, We ll show him that Kentucky boys Are alligator horses. O. Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky 1 O. Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky I Set of Straw Yarn Quickly Crocheted Pattern No. 7308 T'HE hat's a darling in two col ors and there’s a big roomy purse, too—all crocheted in plia ble straw yarn! Turn these out in a twinkling! • • • Pattern 7308 contains directions for hat and purse; illustrations of them and stitches; materials needed. To obtain this pattern send your order to: Sewing Circle Needlecraft Dept. 82 Eighth Ave. New York Enclose 15 cents (plus one cent to cover cost of mailing) for Pattern No. Name... Address.. The new steel helmet just adopt ed by the Army is no longer called a "tin hat.” It’s a "head bucket” and when you see one you’ll know why. Our soldiers have changed much of their slang since the last war, but not their preference for Camel Cigarettes. Now—as then —Camels are the favorite. They're the favorite cigarette with men in the Navy, Marines and Coast Guard as well, according to actual sales records from service men’s stores. If you want to be sure of your gift to friends or relatives in the service being well received, stop in at your local dealer’s and send a carton of Camels.—Adv. CALLOUSES To ralisTe painful callouses, burn ing or tenderness on bottom of feat and remove callouses—gat these thin, soothing, cushioning pads. Knowledge Requires Use It is not enough to know; we must turn what we know to ac count.—Goethe. ✓-To Relieve MONTHLY-V FEMALE FAIN If you suffer monthly cramps, back ache, nervousness, distress of "irregularities”—due to functional monthly disturbances—try Lydia K. Plnkham's Vegetable Compound at oncel Plnkham's Compound Is one medicine you can buy today made especially for women. ] Taken regularly thruout the month — Plnkham’s Compound \ helps build up resistance against such symptoms. Follow label direc tions. Worth tryingt 5 LYDIA E. PINKHAM'S Don’t Neglect Them! Nature designed the kidneys to do • marvelous job. Their task is to keep tha flowing blood stream free of an excess of toxic impurities. The act of living—lift ilttlj—is constantly producing waste matter the kidneys must remove from the blood It good heath is to endure. When the kidneys fail to function as Nature intended, there Is retention of waste that may cause body-wide dis tress. One may suffer nagging backache, 1 persistent headache, attacks of dizziness, getting up nights, swelling, puffineas under the eyes—feel tired, nervous, all worn out. Frequent, scanty or burning passages are sometimes further evidence of kid ney or bladder disturbance. The recognized and proper treatment Is a diuretic medicine to help the kidneya get rid of excess poisonous body waste, i Use Doan't Pillt. They have bad more than forty years of public approval. Are endorsed the country over. Insist oo >! Doan't. Sold at all drug stores. WNU—U 28—42 i -——■ I NEW IDEAS I HDVERTISEMENTS ire your guide i to modern living. They bring you today's NEWS about toe food you eat and the clothes you wear. And the place to find out about these new things is right in this newspaper. ---■ ■-m