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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 16, 1913)
Sable HORACE LORCHA , HA'ZELTINE CO°Y7?/C//7; 75/2, /J C Yf('C27//5G U CO. J SYNOPSIS. Robert Cameron, capitalist, consults Philip Clyde, newspaper publisher, re garding anonymous threatening letters he lias received. The first promises a sample of the writer’s power on a certain day. On that day the head is mysteriously cut from a portrait of Cameron while the lat ter is in the room. Clyde has a theory that the portrait was mutilated while the room was unoccupied and the head later removed by means of a string, unnoticed hv Cameron. Evelyn Grayson. Cameron’s nier^. with whom Clyde is in love, finds the head of Cameron's portrait nailed to a tree, where it was had been used as a target. CHAPTER III—(Continued). “There are two ways of looking at If.” I replied, my eyes fixed on the canvas and its perforations. "At first glance it does seem spiteful; but then there is a chance that it is not icono clasm, after all. It may be, you know, just the reverse. I have not infre quently seen portraits that were so unjust to the originals that they fair ly cried out for destruction.” “But this is not one like that,” she retorted. “This seems to me a very good portrait. I am sure Uncle Rob ert must have looked exactly like it, ten years ago.” “Alas, we do not all see with the utne eyes," I assured her, smiling. "The destroyer may have looked on it as a caricature, not having your cul tured taste in art.” I held it off at arm's length, and after regarding it critically for a moment between half rlosed lids, I continued, "Do you think you could point out the identical tree to which it was nailed?" “I could try,” was her answer. “Is it far?” “Not very. A mile, from here, pos sibly Over the ridge.” “Near anything in particular?” “Near the trail which leads up from the trout stream to the entrance drive not far from the Lodge.” “When will you take me there?” I »ked. For just an instant she hesitated. “We might go now,” she replied, “if It weren't that I am expecting Celia Ainslee for luncheon. Suppose we say five o'clock. You can meet me at the Lodge. It's a short walk from there.” “Fine!” I approved, thrusting the portrait head beneath my arm and faking possession of both her white gloved hands. Slender and shapely j hands, yet wonderfully capable. “Good-by!” she cried, laughing. ; "Take care of my uncle!” with a j glance towards her punctured find. “Good-by!” 1 returned, releasing | tier. “Your uncle shall have my most faithful concern." The real significance of the words she, of course, did not comprehend. But as 1 stood watching her until a turn in. the path enfolded her from , 3iy sight, their echo, ringing in my ;ars, impressed me with their preg nancy. Her uncle was evidently the 'ocal point of a .crafty and vengeful conspiracy, the seriousness of which I had been foolishly endeavoring to ' Minimize; and as such he was in t need, not only of my concern, but of i til the loyal, energetic, and efficient j »id of which I was capable. CHAPTER IV. The Chinese Servant. Four o’clock found me rapping at 'he door of £ragholt Lodge. Consid jring that it was built thirty-live pears ago by one of the Townsbury lamily who probably read English jovels but had never been nearer to England than Coney Island, it pos sessed a surprising picturesqueness: iue in large part to its covering of lark English ivy. I had anticipated my appointment with Evelyn by a full hour; for 1 wished to question old Romney, the odge keeper; and the questions were jot for milady's ear. He opened to me promptly, in per son. this odd, rugged old man, with ais seamed brow and great shock of ron-gray hair and beard. He was in lis shirt sleeves, but on seeing me ae reached for his coat, which hung >n a peg beside the door. ■ “Never mind the coat, Romney,” I said, “don’t make yourself uncom-1 lorrable on my account. It’s a warm ifternoon.” “It is warmish, sir,” he assented; j jut despite my protest he was thrust- ! dig his arm into the coat sleeves. 1 ‘It s been an uncommon hot Septem jer. Won’t you step inside, sir?” 1 He knew his place too well to indi- j «te any surprise at my visit: yet I J h;lt he must be curious over an event i )o unusual. i nave an inquiry or two to maKe. ionmey," 1 told him, as, accepting I als suggestion, I stepped into his , :osy. old-fashioned sitting room. ‘‘I ; aeard some shooting over this way j ‘•his morning, and I've been wonder- 1 ng whether the game laws weren't jeiug broken.” He placed a cushioned rocking thair for me, and I sat down. "Now did you hear that, too, Mr i Hyde?” he asked, brightening, as he j ■caned against the low sill of one of the daintily curtained windows. ; 4 'Twas about ten o’clock, sir; a little ifter, maybe, I was doin’ a bit of cimmin’ on the hr^’ge outside, sir, when them same shots set me i-thinkin’ that very thing. An’ right away, sir, I says to myself, says I, It's that Chink what just went up to ;he house to borrow a rifle.’ ’’ “That Chink?’’ I repeated, puzzled. "Yes, sir. Yellow Chinese boy, sir. He works for Mr. Murphy, the artist, what has the bungalow, down on the shore near Cos Cob. About half an hour before that he comes by here on bU way up to the house. ’What's wantin’?’ I asks. ‘Mistle Mulfy,’ he says, 'wantee hollow lifle, shootee weasel, stealee chickee.’ ‘All right,’ I tells him, and ».waj be goes. So, you see. sir. when I hears the shots I thinks right away that Mr. Murphy's Chink is tryin' his 'hollowed lifle’ on some of Mr. Cameron’s pheasants, maybe. But 15 minutes later, along comes John again, with an innocent grin on his face, the rifle over his shoulder, and his hands empty as air. Well, to be sure. I stops him. sir. ‘You been shootin’ in the woods?’ 1 asks. ‘No shootee,’ he grins back. ‘Me no shootee.’ Then, sir, I swears at hjm. good and hearty, and calls him what he is. But all he can say is, ‘No lie; me no shootee.’ Then I asks him if he didn’t hear a gun go off. ‘Gun?’ he says, as if he didn’t know what gun meant. ‘Lifle,’ I ex plains. ‘Yes, yes,’ says he, ‘me hear lifle shootee. Not my lifle.’ ‘Whose lifle?’ I asks him. ‘Man with lifle, up load,' he says, pointing back. An’ that was all I could get out of him, sir." 1 should have been amused, I sup pose, by old Romney’s recital. It was certainly very graphic, and his imitation of the Chinaman was his trionically artistic—I fear the stage missed a comedian of merit when Romney took to lodge-keeping—but at the first mention of the oriental, I had pricked my ears, and throughout the narration my mind was busy with those strangely worded letters of Cameron's and those still stranger blots which looked one way like a Chinese junk and tli* other way like a coolie in a straw helmet. The pos sibility of a connection, especially in view of the rifle and the perforated painting, seemed to me the reverse of remote. And yet I could hardly rec oncile the notion of this apparently ignorant Mongolian being in any wise interested in bringing disaster upon a person so far removed from him in every way as was Cameron; much iess in evolving or taking part in such a crafty plot as everything we had thus far learned of it indicated this to be. My questioning of Romney shed very little new light on the subject. He had seen the Chinaman pass the Lodge on several occasions; he had rarely entered the grounds, however. I tried to ascertain what his "rarely” meant, and finally got him to say that in the past six months, "John,” as he called him, had visited Cragholt, on one pretext or another, possibly three or four times. But Romney's memory for dates was exceedingly feeble. He could not recollect whether one of those times was on or about the twenty-first of August. He was equal ly at a loss concerning the fourteenth of August and the fourteenth of Sep tember. “What do you know of this artist, Murphy, who employs John?” I asked. "Not much, sir,” was his answer. “They do say as he is rather eccen tric, sir. He and the Chink lives alone there in the bungalow, summer and winter. He’s a big red-headed and bearded fellow, sir. I did hear a story as to him gettin’ into a fight up at Garrison’s hotel in Greenwich village, and nearly killin’ three young water men near as big as himself.” “Has he lived here long?” ’’Coin’ on two years, now, sir.” “He paints and sells pictures, I sup pose?” “Maybe, sir. I never sees any, though. But they calls him an artist, sir.” I determined to visit Murphy on the pretext of purchasing some of his work, and in this manner learn, if possible, something more of nis ce lestial servitor. “Of course you didn’t see any one else with a rifle, today?” I asked, in conclusion. “The ’man with lifle up load’ didn’t materialize?” “No, sir. Not another soul, sir. I asked some of the boys—them as has charge of the deer in the preserve, over the way the shootin’ sounded. But they hadn’t seen no one, either, sir. Though they did hear the shots.” I thanked Romney for his interest —he knew I was one of the state game wardens—and admonished him to keep his own counsel as to my visit, leaving the impression with him that I wished to round up the culprit, and feared if my activity in the mat ter were scented my prey would be put on his guard and thus escape me. It still lacked twenty minutes or the hour of my appointment with Evelyn when I issued from the Lodge, and to occupy the time I entered the wide gateway between the great stone pillars with their heraldic shields, and sauntered leisurely along the smooth macadam drive, bordered by sentinel elms. My thoughts were busy with the new line of conjecture which Romney had unconsciously opened up for me I wondered whether by any possibil ity this eccentric painter, Murphy, could be personally involved. Was Cameron acquainted with him? Had they ever quarrelled? From what Romney had told me of the affair at Garrison's the artist was evidently of a bellicose disposition. He had come here two years ago. Cameron had owned Cragholt less than a year. Perhaps at the time he was preparing the mansion for occupancy he had offended the too sensitive Murphy, who—I was letting my imagination run free—may have wished to take a hand at the new decoration. It would probably be well for me to see Cameron before seeing the artist. The involutions of my hypothetical train led me, I fear, into many monstrous ly preposterous conceits; yet, as sub sequent events proved, the cogitation In which I indulged on that afternoon walk was not wholly idle. Although the working out was along lines which I was then far from foresee ing, it was curious, in looking back, to observe how very closely, collater ally, even at that stage, I came to the truth. In the midst of my revery, the rhythm of horse's hoofs on the drive awoke me to time and place. And as I raised my eyes, I saw, still some distance away, but bearing down upon me at a swift single-foot, the girlish figure of Evelyn Grayson, in white waist and gray habit, mounted on Prince Charley, a buckskin cayuse. which for saddle purposes she pre ferred to all the thoroughbreds in the Cameron stables. “Am I late?” she cried, reining the wiry little animal to a stand beside me. "Celia Ainslee just left. She was expecting the Lentilhons to stop for her in their motor boat, but they broke down and were delayed, and instead of coming at three o’clock, it was half-past four before they land ed.” “I fancy you are Just on the min ute,” was my response, as I consult ed my timepiece. “But I'm still a mile from the Lodge," she argued. “And all the nearer to the trail,” I condoned. “It must be somewhere about here, isn't it?" "You've passed it. It's Just beyond that next bend.” And she pointed over my shoulder. “Why didn’t you bring a groom with you to hold your steed?” I asked, smiling. “You don't expect to ride Prince Charley into the forest fast nesses, do you?” “I could,” she answered, promptly. “I will, if you dare me. He can pick his way like a cat. But it isn't nec essary. He'll stand forever, the dear thing, if I drop the bridle rein over his head.” My preference was to have her on foot at my side, and so I did not dare ( her. And thus it chanced that we left the homely little animal standing with drooping head and dangling rein on the shadowed side of the drive way, and went off together down the narrow, slow-descending trail, the girl in the lead. The slanting sunlight, shooting its golden arrows in intermittent volleys through the tree tops, made target of her hair, as we passed, scoring bril liant flashes of burnished bronze. Her hat, a broad-brimmed sailor of coarse straw, was but a poor shield for that shimmering, tawny coil which lay low on her neck, and the darting rays | had their will with it. I have never before or since seen hair just like, Evelyn Grayson's. There was such a wealth of it. and its color was so elu sive. Under dim lights it seemed a prosaic brown, but with small encour agement it changed to a light fawn, streaked with lustrous topaz strands; which in the sun’s blaze became a dazzling bronze glory. “I'm pretty sure I can find the tree)” she asserted, as she swung along with that free, lissome stride which I loved. “It is an old, dead chestnut, a great giant of the woods, imposing even in death; and it stands only a half-dozen yards off the trail. I was looking for ferns, or 1 never j in the world should have come upon it. How do you imagine that thing ever got away off here? And who could have stuck it up on that dead tiee trunk?" “That is precisely what I should like to find out," was my reply. “It j seems very mysterious to me. About j what time was it, when you discov- j ered it?” “Just before I met you." “Had you heard any shooting in the wood3, before that?" "Shooting?” she queried, apparent- ; ly surprised. “No. Was some one I shooting?" “I understood so. Poaching, I j imagine. After some of Cameron's fat pheasants.” "But it's out of season." she de clared. promptly. “That makes small difference with a poachen” ner Dener in ner aDihty to lead , to the tree of which we were in quest j was not unfounded. Twice she paused j and peered in between the gray j trunks which grew close to our path; ] once she took a step off the trail, | bending in keen-eyed search of cer- . tain familiar landmarks. These were the only interruptions to what was otherwise a straight march to the j goal. When, at length, we reached it, she ! identified it beyond question, and I 1 had little difficulty in finding the nail ! from which the piece of canvas had 1 been suspended. It was one of thin j wire, with very small head, driven j into the tree at a distance of about four and a half feet from the ground. Just beneath it I found four scatter ing bullet holes, with the bullets too deeply embedded to be extracted with j so poor a tool as a pocket knife. From this it was evident that the j shots had been fired at comparative- j ly short range, as indeed they must have been, seeipg that the trees here grew so thickly as to make impossi ble any very extended line of sight upon the target. Somewhat to Evelyn’s perplexity I began making a careful inspection ot the ground, not only about the tree, but as far away from it as the range of vision extended. ‘‘What are you looking for?” she demanded, with a show of concern, and, I thought, a little peevishly. “Footprints,” I answered laughing "Behold the American Sherlock!” “Have you found any?” "Only Cinderella’s.” and that put her In good humor. But I found something of much more importance* than the indenta tions of shoe soles. I found It very near the foot of the tree, just below where the painting had hung. It was half bidden by underbrush, and at first I mistook it for a stone. Unob served by Evelyn, I slipped it into my pocket. “After all,” I said to her. “there's not very much to be learned here. Is there?" CHAPTER V. Found Dead. My motor boat, which had been running swiftly and smoothly, with the least possible clamor from the ex haust, suddenly missed a stroke and then, after a succession of choking sobs, ceased all effort, and gradually losing headway, drifted idly with the tide. "Well done, Jerry,” I whispered from my seat in the stern to the cap able young Irishman who was bend ing over the motor—whispered, be cause, as all the world knows, the water is a sounding board, and I had no intention of permitting any one on shore to hear my words of ap proval. To all appearances the motor had broken down, and tve were voyagers in distress. "The tide's settin’ in," murmured Jerry. “Unless I miss me guess, it'll land us on bis beach inside o' five minutes, sir.” The slender scallop of a new moon had set an hour before, but the night was luminously clear, and the stars blazed with an almost southern efful gence. There was very little breeze and the waters of the Mianus were scarcely rippled. The air was chill, however, though now and then there came to us a warm breath from the fields which all day long had lain bak ing in the fervent sunshine. Along the shore to our left w'e caught the glint of lights from the summer cot tages. To Jerry Rooney every inch of the little bay and river was familiar. Each light was for him a landmark; and so, as much by intuition as care ful calculation, he had clogged the engine at a point whence, taking tide and current into consideration, we might count upon drifting to the water end of Artist Murphy’s lawn. As we drew nearer and he stealth ily pointed out to me the location, I was able to descry a little grove of trees, black in the starlight, making a horizontal barrier across the limit ed enclosure, and hiding, like a rope portiere, the bungalow from the riv er. Through this no lights penetrated, and I began to doubt that, after all my pains, I should find at home the object of their taking. A catboat, witn sail wrinkling in the uncertain breeze, glided by us, al most too near for comfort, and we caught a sentence, two sentences, in fact, from the conversation of the occupants: “Nobody knows him,” In clear, ring ing masculine tones; and, "He's handsome, if he is surly,” in a wom an’s voice. I wondered if they were speaking of Murphy. My telephone inquiry of Cameron and subsequent questioning of the men about my place had proved to me that both observations would apply. No one seemed to know very much of this brawny, sandy giant, in spite of his two year's resi fcnce in the neighborhood. ”Now the shore's shadow was en gulfing us, and the next moment, with a gentle swish of waters, we felt the boat's bottom grate on the pebbly beach. There was a landing a short distance further up—a spindling wooden pier—and to this Jerry, knee deep in the black water, turned the boat and made it fast. The prospect which confronted us as we walked shoreward over the creaking planks was about as hos pitable as the grim walls of a prison. The tree barrier rose stark and for bidding a dozen yards away. Be tween it and the river was a com bination of pebbles, sand, high g*0£>. and ragged overgrown lawn, faintly visible in the starlight. On nearer approach, however, we found an open ing In the curtain of trees, a veritable valley of shadow, through which we passed to a strip of neglected sward and a squat, unpainted weather-beat en cottage of a single story, with vine-screened verandah. And in what 6eemed to us the very center of the house front, there 6hone a tiny glowing point of red fire. We had not come altogether In vain. By all the odds of chance, it was a safe conclusion that Murphy, In propria persona, was behind that lighted end of a cigar. Then we saw the point move, describing a half circle, and si multaneously a voice rang out—a deep, sonorous voice, but of churlish intonation: “What do you want here?” I suppose he expected me to com* to a sudden halt, but I was then onlj a few steps distant from the veran dah, and as I answered him, 1 cov ered that distance. "My motor boat ran out of gaso lene,” I said, “and drifted to youi beach. I was in hopes we might bor row enough to get us home.” I saw him now, dimly, in the shad owed recess. He was seated facing me, a creature of great hulk, writt huge head and ponderous shoulders “I don't keep gasolene,” was hli gruff response. “I thought—” I began, but his nex' utterance drowned my words. “I say I don’t keep It,” he relter ated, in louder tones. “Isn't tha' plain?” “Oh, quite. You have neither gaso lene nor good manners.” I saw him rise, a massive tower dwarfing his surroundings, and taki a step forward to the edge of hli porch. “This Is my house and my castle,’ he flung at me, savagely, “and I won’' stand for trespassers. If you tw< don’t want to be flung off my proper ty. It would be advisable for you ti make haste In going.” My laugh was not calculated tc salve his ill humor, yet I think hi must have gathered from itthatlwai not to be terrorized by either hli size or his threats. “Your name’s Murphy, I think.” ventured, calmly, not moving an inch But he made no response. “Mine is Clyde,” 1 went on; ’’I an one of the state game wardens.” “I’m not Interested In who yoi are.” he growled. “But I’m interested in learning what your Chinaman was shooting thi3 morning, over on the Cameror place.” "Then find out,” was his courteoui retort. “I’m sure I shan’t tell you.” “Maybe the Chinaman will be mon obliging.” 1 suggested, and turning t< Jerry, who had stood in silence, al the while, a few steps behind me. said: “Look around at the back, m’ lad, and if you can find Mr. Murphy’i man fetch him here.” But before I had quite finished, thi big man In the shadow of the veran dah was storming: “He'll stop just where he Is. If hi dares to come another step nearei this house. I'll throw the pair of yoi over the hedge, neck and crop. Dc you hear me?” "And if you dare to interfere witt an officer or his deputy in the dis charge of his duty, the authoritiei will settle with you,” was my calm re joinder. “Trot ahead, Jerry! Hi.1 bark's worse than his bite.” Jerry, quick to obey, disappeared on the Instant around the corner ot the bungalow, and Murphy, after t pretended dash forward, halted or the lower porch step. "See here!” he demanded, cum btously. “What’s all this, anyhow’ You come here after gasolene, os tensiblv, and then declare you’n game wardens after a law-defying Chinese poacher." (TO BE CONTINUED.) Bones of Ancient Giant Amazing Discovery in Oregon Is of Great Interest to Anthro pologists. The discovery of the bones of a hu man giant at Ellensburg is one of the most interesting anthropological finds made in the northwest, according to L. L. Sharp, chief of the general land office. "I just returned from Ellens burg,'' said he, "where 1 had opportu nlty'to view the bones unearthed. The skull, jawbone, thigh and other parts ol the largest skeleton indicated a man to my mind of at least eight feet high A man of his stature and massive frame would weigh fully 300 pounds at least. The head is one of the most remarkable 1 ever have studied among prehistoric skulls. It is massive, with enormous brain space. While the fore head slopes down somewhat, not av eraging the abrupt eminence of our present race, the width between the ears and the deep, well-rounded space at the back of the head are convinc ing testimony of high intelligence for a primitive man. The cheekbones are QOt high, like those of the In dian. nor has the head any resem blance to the Indian skull. I am con vinced that this skull is of a prehis toric man who was one of a remark able race of people who inhabited this part of America some time prior to the Indian control. “The bones were uncovered fully 20 feet beneath the surface. There is the usual gravel formation on top, then the conglomerate, a stratum of shale, and in a bed of concrete gravel beneath the shale were the bones of the giant and of a smaller person. The shale would indicate tremendous age, perhaps more than 1,000,000 years, for the deposit In which the skeleton was found. But thi3 I deem ’ Impossiblep, and presume that the I bones were put beneath the shale by I means of a tunnel perhaps, or some other system of interment. I cannot think it possible that a human being of the advanced stage Indicated by this great skull could have existed at the period when the shale was formed.’’—Portlaud (Ore.) Telegram. World's Largest Index. On Beacon Hill in Boston, under the golden dome of the state house, is one of the largest indexes in the world. In fact, the Russian public index is the only one known to be larger. More than nine million names, giving births, marriages and deaths in Mas sachasetts from 1843, make a complete record, showing not only where peo pie were born and wrhere they died, but also statistics which are vita! in making up calculations. Before this time the records were kept in the dif ferent towns, but now they are all con centrated in the state house in Boston In a relatively small space ail these records are preserved, and as birihs marriages and deaths come in, different forms of cards are used, and a great variety of names, Grecian, Assyrian, Italian, and others now mingle with good old New England names that have been on the records since the landing of the Mayflower. Gas Engines in High Altitudes. A gas engine was erected several thousand feet above sea level. The engine did not give the power ex pected and It was concluded that the loss was due to the altitude of the station. Upon investigation of the theoretical and practical considers tions involved it was found that there is a loss of about 1 per cent, of the indicated horse-power for each 1,000 feet of increase in elevation. The ef fect with a low ratio of compression is slightly less than with a high de gree of compression.—Science Con sjuactua. OF COURSE NOT. “Well, it's impossible to please I everybody in this world, isn't it?” "Can't say; I never tried it.” RASH ALMOST COVERED FACE Warrenville, O.—“I have felt the effects of blood poisoning for eighteen j years. I was never without some erup tions on my body. The terrible itch ing caused me much suffering and dis comfort, while the rubbing and scratching made it worse. Last spring I had a terrible breaking out of blis tery sores on my arms and limbs. My face and arms were almost covered with rash. I could not sleep and lost nineteen pounds in five weeks. My face was terribly red and sore, and felt as if my skin was on fire. At last I tried a sample of Cuticura Soap and Cuticura Ointment and I found them so cool, soothing and healing, that I got some Cuticura Soap, Cuticura Ointment, and Resolvent. I bathed with hot water and Cuticura Soap, i then I applied the Cuticura Ointment every night for two months, and I am cured of all skin eruptions.” (Signed) Mrs. Kathryn Krafft, Nov. 28. 1911. Cuticura Soap and Ointment sold throughout the world. Sample of each free, with 32-p. Skin Book. Address poet-card “Cuticura, Dept. L, Boston.” Adv. In Style. “I want a light fruit lunch.” “How would some electric currents do?" Fully two-thrds of what the average ■man says is of no consequence. - ■' - — - ' ' - —-■ I The Right Lead. Fond Mamma (praising absent daughter)—And I’ve always affirmed that Sylvia’s arms are fo well shaped because I have made her do a great deal of sweeping. 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I had a growth which the doctor said was a tumor and I never would get well unless I had an operation. A friend advised me to take Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegeta ble Compound, and I gladly say that I am now enjoying fine health and am the mother of a nice baby girL You can use this letter to help other suffering women.”—Mrs. Rosa Sims, 16 Wyona St., Charlotte, N. C. Now answer this question if you can. Why should a wo man submit to a surgical operation without first giving Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound a trial ? You know that it has saved many others—why should it fail in your case? For 30 years Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable , Compound lias been tlie standard remedy for fe male ills. No one siek with woman’s ailments / does justice to herself if she does not try this fa- * mous medicine made from roots and herbs, it has restored so many suffering women to health. Write to LYDIA E.PIN KH AM MEDICINE CO. ( (CONFIDENTIAL) LYNN, MASS., for advice. ' Your letter will be opened, read and answered ( by a woman and held in strict conlidence. ' Great Western Commission Go. One of the largest and best equipped live stock commission firms at ANY market. EACH department HIGHLY specialized. FOUR cattle salesmen in two splendidly located divisions. Special care and attention given to buying of STOCKERS and FEEDERS. TWO hog sales men and a fully equipped sheep department If you wish to buy or sell any kind of live stock mite or wire them. J. OCIE ALS WORTH SECRETARY A-ND HEAD HOG jAlESMAN They Will Do It Right South Omaha or Denver not producing as much good milk as she should is not well All cows need careful attention to keep them healthy and little disorders can be kept from becoming big by the use of Kow Kure. This famous remedy is a sure cure and preventive of most cow ills—such as Lost Appetite, Milk Fever. Bunches, Red Water, Scouring, Abortion, Barrenness, and Retained Afterbirth. Get a package of Kow Kure from your dealer and keep it on hand constantly SO cent and $1.00 sizes. Ask for copy of "The Cow Book." BAIRT ASSOCIATION CO.. IFBS. lyitaville, Vt. FOR BEST RESULTS SHIP YOUR CATTLE, HOGS AND SHEEP TO ' OMAHA LIVE STOCK COMMISSION COMPANY SOUTH OMAHA, NEBRASKA ¥ R. E. Rogers N. R. Bryson A. K. Rogers T. H. Bryson B. C. Roger*