Indianapolis Times, Volume 34, Number 38, Indianapolis, Marion County, 25 June 1921 — Page 6

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JtiMana gattu Emm INDIA NAPOLIS, INDIANA. Dally Except Sunday, 25-29 South Meridian Street. Telephones—Main 3500, New 28-351 MEMBERS OF AUDIT BUREAU OF CIRCULATIONS. , . f Chicago, Detroit, St. Louis, G. Logan Payne Cos. Advertising offices J New York. Boston, Payne. Burns A Smith. Inc. WHEN IN DOUBT blame it on Russia, seems to be the idea of those “vanished ship" investigators. * JUST WHERE is the line to be drawn between “food administration regulation" and a combination in restraint of trade? THE FACT that the king and queen of England returned to London safely must have been a sore disappointment to certain individuals in this country'. DOES the State administration mean to say that Colgate & Cos. turned -over that $105,000 to the treasury without an agreement as to what it was to receive in return? HOW is that Boston utility expert going to explain his statement that street car rate increases do not cut revenues in the light of actual experience in Indianapolis? The Entire Universe On account of conflicting opinions, or independent views, a mere citizen, whose horizon is limited to a few miles around the Indianapolis Monument, and that’s the hub of Indiana, and that State is the literary center of the United States, often ponders his location and his sphere. A young astronomer just from Mt. Wilson observatory, joins Harvard faculty and reports that the universe is a thousand times larger than scientists have supposed. The observatory is in California and Harvard, as every one knows, graces Boston, Mass. Probably the star gazer had to pay his own carfare and war tax and this opened his eyes a3 to distances and largenesses. Professor Einstein seems to take a more sensible view of things. He is older and possibly knows best; at least the general opinion in several Congressional districts of Indiana is with his viewpoint, as both practical and almost demonstrated. Every one recognizes that a ray of light travels 185,000 miles a second and it is almost conceded, as Einstein says, that It will require only a billion years for the ray, to make a complete circuit of the outer limits of the universe. In other words, to express what scientists are accustomed to aey in terms not generally understood and often said in a way to confuse the layman. Professor Einstein says the universe may be limited like a baseball field, with a fence around it. r If a Babe Ruth should function on a ray of light, assuming the ray was like a ball and radiated like radium, then the ball would keep going a billion years. Scientists used to think the ball would get lost in Infinity and only one score be made. Now, if any one lives long enough, nine innings are possible, or/ even more. The relativity factor enters. Upon the hypothesis that the ray travels as scientists claim it always does, so far a second, if It goes slower it would take longer, or if faster shorter time may be used. This determines the uselessness of a universe any larger. It is more pleasant to think with Einsteyn, that by looking forward long enough the back of the head will be seen, rather than get lost in a limitless infinity a thousand times bigger than heretofore thought. Why Not? Just at this time when there is such a demand for 'swimming pools and when seven lives have been lost by young people seeking to cool themselves in water, it might be that the pools at the Monument could be of some use. They could be utilized as swimming pools for children, properly clad, and if necessary dressing rodlns could be made of Government tents and located on the grass plot adjoining the Monument. The basement is now a museum, but there is no real reason, when people suffer, why the Monument should stand alone in its austerity, as is now decreed by its custodians. The Soldiers and Sailors' Monument at Indianapolis is perhaps the only work of art in the world that has a distinction of being so jealously guarded and having its grounds so administered that there is no place to L sit down and enjoy its beauty. If any one sits at this Monument, immediately he is ordered off, and it keeps one man busy all the time chasing children and grown-ups away from the comfortable enjoyment of this Immense work. The city is far behind Its schedule on swimming pools. The two pools at the cascade could be used to a decided advantage. They might not only prevent young people from going into dangerous places, but they might also be, the means of cooling the blood and saving the lives of numerous bathers. These could be restricted in age and they could enjoy this during the intensely hot weather. The Monument is for the enjoyment of the public. The public is now permitted to look at it at a distance and only during certain hours are they supposed to do that, because the cascade is only running during certain hours. Effort after effort has been made to have seats placed where it can be enjoyed, without avail. Why, during the emergency of hot weather and the lack of swimming pools, should the pools not properly be used?

Boundary Lines In the light of science it develops that there is no wonder so many people have quarreled in the past over divisiog lines and property lines, or do even now nurse a grudge against their neighbors for a supposed encroachment on the property of another. It really develops that the island of Greenland, almost a continent, Is actually moving westward at the rate of ten yards a year—has traveled 875 miles in the last 100,000 years, and is now securely smuggled under the protection of the Monroe doctrine, in the western hemisphere. Once It was a part of Europe. Nearer home a law suit is brewing between the States of Michigan, Illinois and Wisconsin over a disputed boundary line. When commenced It will be in the Supreme Court of the United States, where one State may sue another, and the cause alleged will be a mapmaker’a error in the year 1755. It is said that a map, which erroneously chartered the foot of Lake Michigan, is accountable for the trouble, for thereby several boundaries were not properly placed, and every one has made the error since 1755. It used to be that the public looked askance on these disputes. They were useless and vexatious, but when it is realized that mountains and near-continents move and that even States dispute boundaries, then it is not surprising that individuals sometimes differ. Surveyors make mistakes, mapmakers can deviate from facts and the memory of man is treacherous. Generally, however, there Is not sufficient Yalue involved to justify any legal action. Some One Went to Market When it becomes too hot to eat, as the approaching dog days will soon signify, then the question of menu will become acute, for men cannot live without food and that properly prepared, too. Bachelors boarding about do not live and men whose wives cannot prepare a meal are usually dyspeptic or absent a considerable time. Now comes a doctor, James Martin Peebles, from Los Angeles, and in the ninety-ninth year of his life writes a book on how to live a century and grow old gracefully. He ascribes his long life to abstinence from eating animal flesh. His case disproves the old theory that one takes on the attributes of what he eats, otherwise surely an ancient cabbage head would be producing a literary effort on longivity. The fact remains, however, that people do eat less animal food than in years gone by. Dealers in meat also report that there are more demands for the cheaper cuts of meat than formerly, and it is now more than ever in evidence that, in spite of the unparalled prosperity of the United States, the chuck, brisket and plate from the forequarter are here to stay. It is found, too, that three billion oyttters were consumed by the people of {he United States last year. This is two dozen for each man, woman and child, and when it is considered that many inland never eat oysters, it means that a few do consume them in abundance. But in the months which do not contain the letter “R” tt.e little bivalve is not in season and should' not be served. \ It seems that cereals are about the most stable food obtainable, but fvea they get tiresome, with or without genuine cream. \

The Higher Abdication *- /~\ T TT>\TTV' , ir Copyright, 1020, by Doubleday, Page r\V I I H H K Y & Cos., Published by apeclal arrungeV-/ • X M.X-JX * JLV A ment with the Wheeler Syndicate, Inc.

had found the tip partly a good one. There was hospitality In plenty of a careless, liberal, irregular sort. But the town Itself was a weight upon his spirits after his experience with the rustling, business-like, systematized cities of the North and East. Here be was often flung a dollar, but too frequently a good-nat-ured kick would follow it. Once a bond of hilarious cowboys bad roped him on Military Plaza and dragged him across the black soli until no respectable ragbag would have stood sponsor for his clothes. The winding, doubling streets, leading nowhere, bewildered him. And then there was a little river, crooked as a pot-book, that crowded through the middle of the town, crossed by a hundred little bridges so nearly alike that they got on Curly’s nerves. And the last bartender wore a number nine shoe. The saloon stood on a corner. The hour was 8 o’clock, Homefarers and outgoers Jostled Curley on the narrowstone sidewalk. Between the building to his left he looked down a cleft that proclaimed Itself another thoroughfare. The alley was dark except for one patch of light. Where there was light there were sure to be human beings. Where there were human beings after night fall in San Antonio there might be food, and there was sure to be drink. So Curly headed for the light. The illumination came-from Schwegel* case. On the sidewalk in front of It Curly picked up an old envelope. It might have contained a check for a million. It was empty, but the wanderer read the address, ‘-Mr. Otto Schwegel,” and the name of the town and State. The postmark was Detroit. Curly entered the saloon. And now In the light it could be perceived that he bore thfe stamp of many yeurs of vagabondage. He nad none of the tidiness of the calculating and shrewd professional tramp. H.s wardrobe represented the cast-off specimens of half a dozen fashions and eras. Two factories had combined their efforts in providing shoes for his feet. As you gazed at him there passed through mind vague Impressions of mummies, wax figures, Russian exiles, and men lost on desert Islands. Hit face was covered almost to his eyes with a curly brovvu beard that be kept trimmed short with a pocketkuife, and that had furnished him with his num de route. Light-blue eyes, full of sullenness, fear, cunning, Impudence, and fawning, witnessed the stress that had been laid upon his soul. The saloon was small, and In Its atmosphere the odours of meat and drink struggled for the ascendency. The pig and the cabbage wrestled with hydrogen and oxygen. Behind the bar Schwegel laboured with an assistant whose epidermal pores showed no signs of being obstructed. Hot welnerwurst and sauerkraut were being served to purchasers of beer. Curly shuffled to the end of the bar, coughed hollowly, and told Schwegel that he was a Detroit cabinet-maker out of a job. It followed as the night the day that he got his schooner and lunch. "Was you acquainted maybe mlt Heinrich Strauas In Detroit?’ asked Schwegel. "Did I know Heinrich Strausa?” repeated Curly affectionately- "Why. eay, 'Bo, I wish I had a dollar for every game of pinocle me and Heine has played on Sunday afternoons." More beer and a second plate of steaming food was set before the diplomat. And then Curly, knowing to a fluiddrachm how far a "con” game would go. shuffled out Into the unpromising street. And now he began tc preceive the inconveniences of this stony Southern town. There was none of the outdoor gaiety and brilliancy and music that rvovided distraction even to the poorest u the cities of the North. Here, even ao early, the gloomy, pock-walled houses were closed and barred against the murky dampness of the night. The streets were mere Assures through wh'.cb flowed grey wreaths of river mist. As he walked he beard laughter and the chink of coin and chips bodilnd darkened windows, and innate coming from every chink of wood and atone. But the diversions were selfish; the day of popular pastime had not yet come to San Antonio. But at length Curly, as he strayed, turned the sharp angle of another lost street and came upon a rollicking band of stockmen from the outlying ranches

Ye TOWNE GOSSIP Copyright, 1921. by Star Company. By K. C. B

"One morning I called up a big coal company to give them tho mischief about not having delivered r>me coal us promised. Just as soon as the connection waa made a must pleasing voles said. ‘Good morning! This is the Smith Coal Company speaking.’ The musical voice and happy 'good morning' of the operator took all the fight out of me and I was willing to agree the delay way excusable. The moral Is, one of the most Important workers In your office is your telephone operator."—From “Take It From Me," by Coleman Cox, Monadnock building, San Francisco. AND THE other day. • • • ON A busy corner. • 4 4 I’D STOPPED a moment. * • TO ASK the policeman. ABOCT AN address* * 4 4 4 I WANTED to find. 4 4 4 AND WHAT with me. 4 4 4 AND THE automobile*. 4 4 4 AND BLOWING his whistle • • • AND WAVING his arms. ... HE WAS very busy. 4 4# AND HE started to tell me. 4 4 4 WHERE I wnated to go. 4 4 4 AND AN automobile. 9 4 4 IGNORED HIS signal. 4 4 4 OR DIDN’T see it. • 9 # AND STARTED to cross. 4 4 4 WHEN IT should have stood still. 4 4# AND HE got angry. • # • AND I didn’t blame him. • # # BECAUSE AFTER all. - ♦ • # HE’S ONLY human. • # # AND HE blew his whistle. # # # THB.EE VERY sharp blasts. 4 4 4 AND THE auto stopped. 4 4 4 JUST WHERE we stood. # # # AND THE man Inside. 4 4# HELD UP his hands. 4 4 4 AND SHOOK his head. # # # AND SAID to the officer. • # # "I’M VERT aorry 4 4 9 “IF I’VE disobeyed. 4 # 4 “BUT I really thought. see “YOU’D GIVEN the signal. 4 4 4 “TO GO ahead. 4 4# “BUT IF you hadn’t. . * * “I ASK your pardon." 4 4 4 AND THE officer turned. ♦ # • AND LET him go. 4 # 4 AND SAID to me 4 4 4 “SOME OF these guys. • • * “ARE SO darned nice. -** 4 4 4 “THEBE AIN’T a thing. 4 4 4 “THAT A cop can do.” ♦ # • X THANK you. \ -■ .

INDIANA DAILY TIMES, SATURDAY, JUNE 25, 1921.

(Continued From Page One.)

celebrating In the open in front of an ancient wooden hotel. One great roisterer from the sheep country who had Just instigated a movement toward the bar, ew-ept Curly in like a stray goat w-ith the rest of his flock. The princes of klne and wool hailed him as anew zoological discovery, and uproariously strove to preserve him in the diluted aliohol of their compliments and regards. An hour afterward Curly staggered from the hotel barroom dismissed by his fickle friends, whose Interest in him subsided as quickly as It had risen. Fullstoked with alcoholic fuel and cargoed wRb food, the only question remaining to disturb him was that of shelter anu bed. A drizzling, cold Texas rain had begun to full— an endless, lazy, unlntermlttend downfall that lowered the spirits of men and ratted a reluctant steam from the warm stoneg of the streets end houses. Thus come* the “norther” dousing gentle spring and amiable autumn with the chilling salutes and adieux of coming and departing winter. Curly followed his nose down the first tortuous street Into which his Irresponsible feet conducted him. At the lewer end of It, on the bank of the serpeLtine stream, he perceived an open gate In a cemented rock wall. Inside he saw camp fires acd a row of low wooden sheds built against three sides of the enclosing wall. He entered the enclosure. tender the sheds many horses were champing at their oats and corn. Many wagons and buckboardß stood about with their teams' harness thrown careletsly upon the shafts snd doubletrees. Curly recognized the place as a wagon-yard, such as Is provided by merchants for thetr out-of-town friends and customers. No one was In tight. No doubt the drivers of those wagons were scattered about the town "seeing the elephant and hearing the owl.” Tn their haste to become putrona of the town's dispensaries of mirth snd good cheer the last ones to depart must have left the great wooden gate swinging open. Curly had satisfied the hunger of an anaconda and the thirst of a camel, so ho was neither In the mood nor the condition of ar. explorer. He zigzagged his way to the first wagon that his eyesight distinguished In the semidarkuess under the shed. It was a two-horse wagon with a top of white canvass. The wagon was half (tiled with loose piles of wool sacks, two or three great bundles of grey blankets, and a number of bales, bundles, snd boxes. A rensoutng eye would have estimated the load at once as ranch supplies, bound on the morrow for some outlying hacienda. But to the drowsy intelligence of Curly they represented on’y warmth and softness nud protection agulnst the cold humidity of the night. After several unlucky efforts, at last be conquered gravity so far as to Climb over a wheel ana pitch forward upon the best and whrmest bed he had fallen upon In many a day. Then he became Instinctively n burrowing animal and dug Ills wav like a prairie-doc down among the sacks and blankets, hiding himself from the cold nlr as snug and safe a a bear In bis den. For three nights sleep bad visited Curly only in broken snd shivering dose*. Ro now, when Morpheus con de/cended to pay him a call. Curly g'-t such a strangle hold on the mythological old gentleman that It was a wonder that anyone else In the whole world got a wink of sleep that night. Six cowpunchers of the Clbolo Ranch were waiting around the door of the ranch store. Their ponies cropped grass near by. lied In the Texas fashion—which le not tied at all. Their bridle reins had been dropped to the earth, which Is a more effectual way of securing them (such Is the power of habit and Imagination) than you could devise out of a half-inch rope and a liveoak tree. , ' , These guardians of the cow lounged about, each with a brown cigarette paper lu his hand, and gently but unceasingly cursed Sam He veil, the storekeeper. Sam stood In the door, snapping the red elastic bands on his pink madras shirtsleeves and looking down affectionately at tho only pair of tan shoes within a forty-mile radius. Ills offense had been serlolis. and he was divided between humble apology and admiration for the beauty of his raiment. He had allowed the ranh stock of ‘smoking” to become exhausted. ”1 thought sure .there was another case of It under the counter, boys," he explained "But it happened to be catterdgps." . i •■y, u've sure got a case of happendleitis," said Poky Rodgers, fence rider of the Largo Verde potrero. “Somebody <,ught to happen to give you a knock on the head with the butt end of a quirt. I've rode iii nine miles for some tobacco; and it don’t appear natural and seemly that you ought to be allowed to live.” 'The boys was smokin’ cut plug and dried meaqulte leaves mixed when I left." sighed Mustang Taylor, horse wrangler of the Three Elm camp. "They'll be lookin' for me by nine They’ll be aettln’ un with their papers ready to roll a wblff of the real thing before bedtime. And

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I've got to tell ’em that this pink eyed, sheep-headed, sulphur footed, shirt-wnist-ed son of a calico broncho, Sam Revell, hasn't goL no tobacco on hand.'' Gregorio Falcon, Mexican vaquero and best thrower of the rope oil the Clbolo, pushed his heavy, silver-embroidered straw sombrero back upon his thicket of Jet black curls, and scraped the bottoms of his pockets for a few crumbs of the precious weed. “Ah, Don Samuel,” he said, reproachfully, but with his touch of Castilian manner, “escuse tne. Dthey say d'the jaekrabbeet and dthe most leetle sesos—how you call dthem —bralu-es? Ah don’ believe dthat, Don Samuel—escuse me. Ah dthink people w’at don’ keep esmokin’ tabaoco, dthey—bot you weel escuse me, Don Samuel.” "Now, what’s the use of chewin’ the rag. boys,’’ said the untroubled Sam, stooping over to rub the toes of his shoes with a red-and-yellow handd kerchief. “Kanse took the order for some more smokin’ to Sam Antone with him Tuesday. Panch rode Ranse’s hoss back himself. There wa n't much of a load—just some woolsacks and blankets and nails and canned peaches and a few thing we was out of. i look for Kanse to roll In to-day sure. He's an early starter and a hell-to-split driver, and he ought to be here not far from sundown.” "What plugs Is he drivin - ?” asked Mustang Taylor, with a smack of hope in his tones. "The buckboard greys,” said Sam. “I’ll wait a spell then," said the wrangler. “Them plugs eat up a trail like a road-runner swallowin’ a whip snake. And you may bust me open a can of green gage plums, Sam, while j'm waitin' for somethin’ better.” "Open me some yellow clings,” ordered Poky Rodgers. “111 wait, too.” '1 ue tobaccoless punchers arranged themselves comfortably on the steps of the store. Inside Sam chopped open with a hatchet the tops of the cans of fruit. | The store, a big, white wooden bnlldI lng like a born, stood fifty yards from the raueh-hou.se. Beyond It were the [horse corrals: and stfll farther the wool sheds and the brush-topped shearirg pens—for the Rancho Clbolo raised both

j cattle, and sheep. Behind the store, at t a little distance, were the grass-thatched I jacals of the Mexicans who bestowed their allegiance upon the Clbolo. i The ranch-house was composed of four I large rooms, with plastered adobe walls, and a two-room wooden ell. A twenty j feet-wide “gallery” circumvented the I structure. It was set In a grove of immense live-oaks and water-elms near a lake—a long, not very wide, and tremendously deep lake In which at nightfall great gars leaped to the-surface and plunged with the noise of hippopotamuses frolicking at their bath. From the trees hung garlands and massive pendants of the melancholy grey moss or the South. Indeed, the Cljiolo ranch-house seemed more of the So-uth than of the West. It looked as If old “Kiowa” Truesdell might have brought It with him from the lowland# of Mississippi when be came to Texas with his rifle in the hollow of his arm in '95. But, though he did not bring the family mauslon, Truesdell did bring something In the way of a family inheritance, that was more lasting than brick or stone. He brought or.e end of the Trues-dell-Curtls family fend. And when a Cur'is bought the Uuncho de los Olmos. sixteen miles from Clbolo. there were lively times on the pear flats and In the chaparral thickets oft the Southwest. In those days Trace dell cleaned the brash of many a wolf and tiger cat and Mexican Hon; and one or two Curtises fell heirs to notches on bis rifle stock. Also he burled a brother with a Curtis bullet In him on the bank -of the lake at Clbolo. And then the Kiowa Indians made their last raid upon the ranches between the Frio and the Rio Grande, and Truesucll at the head of his rangers rid the earth at them to the la*t brave, earning his sobriquet. Then came prosperity in the form of waxing herds ana broadening lands. And then old age and bitterness, when he sat, with his great mane of holr as white as the Spanish-dagger blossoms and bis fierce, pale-blue eyes, on the shadded gallery at Clbolo, growing like the numas that he had slain. He snapped his fingers at old age; the bitter taste to life did not come from that. The cup that stuck at his lips was that his only son Ransom wanted to marry a Curtis, the last youthful aurvlvor of the other end of the feud. For a while the only Bounds to be heard at the store were the rattling of the tin spoon* and the gurgling Intake of the Juicy fruits by the cow-punchers, the stamping of the grazing ponies, and the singing of a doleful song by Sam •is he routentedly brushed his stiff auburn hair for she twentieth time that day before a crinkly mirror. From tbe door of the store could be seen the irregular, sloping stretch of prairie to the south, with Its reaches of light green billowy mesquite flats In the lower places, and Its rises crowned with nearly black masses of short shaparral Through the mesquite flat wound the ranch road that, five mlXps away, flowed Into the old government trail to San Antonio. The sun was so low that the gentlest elevation cast its gray shadow miles iuto the greeu-gold sea of sunshine. That evening ears were quicker than eyes. The Mexican held np a tawny finger to still the scraping of the tin against tin. “One wggeen,” said he. “crossd the Arroyo Hondo. Ah heard the wheel. Verree rockee placed, the Hondo. “You've got good ears, Gregorio.” said Mustang Taylor. “I never beard nothin' but the slug-bird bush and the zephyr skallyhootln’ across the peaceful dell." In ten minutes Taylor remarked: “1 see the dust of a wagon rlslu’ right above the fur end. of the flat.” “You have verree good eyes, senor,’ said Gregorio, smiling Two miles away they saw a faint cloud dimming the green ripples of the me* qultes. In twenty minutes they heard the clatter of the horses' hoofs; In five minutes more the gray plugs dashed out of the thicket, whickering for oats and drawing the light wagon behind them like a boy. From the jacals came a cry of: “VH Amo! El Amo!” Four Mexican youths raced to uuharness the grey*. The cowpunchers gave a yell of greeting and deaght. Ranae Truesdell. driving, threw the reins to tbe ground and lsngbed. “It's under the wagon sheet, boys." he said. If Ham lets It ran out again we 11 use them yellow shoes of his for a target There # two cases. Pull ’em out and light up. I know you all want a smoke.” After striking dry country Rause had removed the wagon sheet from the bows and thrown It over the goods In the wagon. Six pair of hasty hands dragged it off and grabbed beneath tbe sacks and blankets for tbe cases of tobacco. Long Collins, tobacco messenger from the Ban Gabriel outfit, who rode with the longest stirrups west of the Missis aippl, delved with an arm like the tongue of a wagon. He caught something harder than a blanket and prilled ont a fearful thing—-a shapeless, muddy bunch of leather tied together with wire and twine. From Its ragged end. like the head and claws of a disturbed turtle. Jjrotraded human toes. “Who-ee!" yelled Long Collins. “Ranse. are you a-pa'kin' around of corpuses? Here’s a —how'in’ grass hoppers:'* T’p from *ils long slumber popped Curly, like some vile worm from tts burrow. He clawed his way out and sat blinking Ilk- a disreputable drunken owl. Ills face wns as bluish-red and puffed and semed and cross-lined as the cheapest rounu steak of the butcher. His eyes wee- swollen slits; his face a pickled beet; his liair would have made the wildest thatch of a Jack-in-the-box [ look like the satin poll of a Cleo de :

Right Here in Indiana

View from the top of Mt. Airie, Orange County.

Merode. The rest of him wag sfiarecrow done to the life. Unnse Jumped down from his seat and looked at his strange canfeo with wideopen eyes. “Here, yon maverick, what are you doing ln my wagon? How did you get in there?” Tlie punchers gathered around in delight. For the time they had forgotten tobacco. Curly look'd aronnd him slowly ln every direction. He snarled like a Scotch tender through his ragged beard. “Where is this?” he rasped through his parched throat. “It's a damn farm ln an old field. What'd you bring me here for—say? Did I say I wanted to come here? What are you Reubs rubberin’ at —hey? G'wan or I'll punch some of yer faces.” “Drag him out. Collins.” said Ranse. Curly took a slide and felt the ground rise up and collide with his shoulder blades. He got np and sat on the steps of the store shivering from outraged nerves, hugging his knees and sneering. Taylor lifted out a case of tobacco and wrenched off Its top. Six cigarettes begin to glow, bringing peace and forgiveness to Ram. “How'd vou come ln my wagon?” repeated Ranse, this time in a voice that drew a reply. Curly recognized the tone. He had beard it used by freight brakemen and large persons ln blue carrying clubs. “Me?” he growled. “Oh. wns you talkin’ to me? Why, I was on my way to the Menger, but my valet had forgot to pack inv pajamas. So I crawled 4Mo that wagon in tRe wagon-yard—see ? I never told you to bring me out to this bloomin’ farm—see?” “What is it. Mustang?" asked Poky Rodgers, almost forgetting to smoke in his ecstacy. “What do it live ou?” “It's a gilliwampus, Poky,” said Mustang. “It's the thing that hollers ‘williwallo' up in the ellum trees in the low grounds of nights. I don't know if it bites.” “No, It ain’t. Mustang.” volunteered Long Collins. "Them galliwampuses has fins on their backß. and eighteen toes. This here Is a hlcklesnlfter. It lives unaer the ground and eats cherries.

Do You Know Indianapolis?

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This picture was taken in your home city. Are you familiar enough with it to locate the scene? Yesterday’s picture was taken at New York street and Massachusetts avenue, looking up the avenue.

Don't stand so close to It. It wipes out villages with one stroke of Its prehensible tall." Ham, the cosmopolite, who called bartenders In San Antone by their first name, stood In the door. He was a better zoologist. “Well, ain’t that x Willie for yonr whiskers?” be commented. “Where’d you dig up the hobo, Ranse? “Goln' to make an auditorium for lnbreriates out of the ranch?” . i “Hay,” said Curly, from whose panoplied breast all shafts of wit fell blunted, "Any of yon klddln' guys got a drink on you ? Have your fun. Say, I’ve been hlttln’ the stuff till I don’t know straight up.” He turned to Ranse. “Say you shanghaied me on jour d—d old prairie schooner—did I tell you to drive me to a farm? I want a drink. I'm goin’ all to pieces. What's doin’?” Ranse saw that the tramp's nerves were racking him. He dispatched one of the Mexican boys to tbe ranchhouse for a glass of whisky, Curly gulped It down; and into his eyes came a brief grateful gU>w—as human as the expression In the eye of a faithful setter dog. •’ThanVy, boss,” he said, quietly. “Yoo’ve thirty miles from a railroad, and lost; miles from jp*uloon," said Haase. Curly fell back weekly against the *tei *• ‘Mince you are here." continued the ranchman, “come along with me. We can't turn you out on the prairie. A ! rabbit might tear you to pieces.” He conducted Curly to a large shed where the rahch vehicles were kept. There he spread out a canvass cot and brought blankets. “I don't suppose you can sleep,” said Ranse, “since you've been pounding your ear for twenty-four hoars. Bat yon/ can camp here dll morutug. I’ll have Fedro (etch you up some grub.” “Sleep !“ said Curly. “I can sleep a week Say, sport, have you got a coffin nail on you?’ _ , ~ Fiftv miles had Ransom Truesdell driven that day. And yet this is what he did. , fUd “Kiowa” Truesdell sat lu his great wicker chair reading by the light o( an Immense oil lamp. Rause laid a bundle of newspapers fresh from town at hi# elbow. "Back, Ranse?” said the old man, looking up. "Ron.” old “Kiowa” continued, “I’ve been thinking all day about a certain matter that we have talked about. 1 want you to tell me again. I’ve lived for you. I've fongbt wolves and Indlaus and worse white meu to protect yon. You had any mother that tou can remember. I’ve taught yon to shoot straight, ride hard, and live clean. Later on Ive worked to pile up dollars that’ll be yours. You'll be a rich man. Ranse, when my chunk goes out. I've made you. I've licked you Into shape like a leone rd cat licks its cub*. You don’t belong to yourself—you're got to be a Truesdell first. Now, It there to be ay more' nonsense about this Curtis girl? ••I’ll tell you once more,” said Ranse, slowly. “As I am a Truesdell and as you are my father. I’ll never marry a Curtis.” „ ~ "Good boy." said old “Kiowa." ‘loud better go get some supper." Unnse went to tbe kitchen at the rear o* the house Pedro, the Mexican cook, sprang up to bring the food he was keeping w'arxn lu th* stove. “Just a cup of coffee. Pedro,” he Bald, nnd drank It standing. Aud then; “There's a tramp on a cot In the wagon shed. Take him something f to eat. Better make It enough for two. Ranse walked out toward the Jacals. A bov came running. “Manuel, can you catch \aminos, in the little pasture, for me?” “Why not, senor? 1 saw him near the pnerta but two hours past. He bears a drag-rope.” . , . “Get him and saddle him as quick as you can.

I“Prontito, senor.” Soon, mounted on Yemlnos, Ranse leaned In the saddle, pressed with his j j knees, and galloped eastward past the | store, where eat Sam trying his guitar , in the moonlight. A’aminos shall have 8 word —Vaminos j the good dun horse. The Mexicans, who | have a hundred names for the colors of i a horse, called hitn “gruyo.” He was a mouse-colored, slate-colored, flea-bitten roan dun, if you can conceive it. Down his bacg from his mane to bis tall went a line of black. He would live forever; ! and surveyors have not laid off as many mites in tjie world as he could travel In a day. Eight miles east of the Cibolo ranchhouse Ranse loosened the pressure of his knees, and Vaminog stopped under a big ratarna tree. The yellow ratavna blossoms showered fragrance that would have undone the roses of France. The moon made the earth a great concave bowl with a crystal sky for a lid Tn a glade five jack rabbits leaped and played together like kittens. Eight miles farther east shone a faint star that appeared to have dropped below the horizon. Night riders, who often steered their course bv it, knew it to be the light in the Rancho de los Olmos. In ten minutes Y’enna Curtis galloped to the tree on her sorrel pony Dancer. The two leaned and clasped hands heartily. "1 ought to have ridden nearer your home," said Ranse. “But you never will | let me." Yenna laughed. And in the soft light ; you could see her strong white teeth and fearless eyes. No sentimentality there, I in spite of the moonlight, the odor of I the ratamas, and the admirable figure of Ranse Truesdell, the lover. But she vas there, eight mile* from her home to him. “How often have I told you, Ranse,” she said, “that I am your half-way girl? Always half-way." I “Well!” said Ranse, with a question In his tones. “I did,” said Yenna, with almost a sigh. “1 told him after dinner when I thought be would be ln a good humour. Did you ever wake up a 1100. Ranse,

with the mistaken idea that tie would be a kitten? He almost tore the ranch to pieces. It’s all np. I lov* ray daddy, Ranse, and I’m afraid—l'm afraid of him, too. He ordered me to promise that I'd never marry a Truesde.il, I promised. That’s all. What luck did you have?" “The same,” said Ranse, slowly. “I promised him that his son would never Jaarry a Curtis. Somehow I couldn’t go against him. He’s mighty old. I’m sorry, Yenna.” - The girl leaned in her saddle and laid one hand On Haase’s, on tbe horn of his saddle. “I never thought I’d like you better for giving me up,” she said ardently, “but 1 do. I must ride back now. Range. I slipped out of the borne ana saddled Dancer myself. Goodnight, l neighbor.” i ’Good-night,” said .Ranse. “Ride tareI fully over them badger holes.*’ j They wheeled and rode away lu rpi posite directions. Yenna turned in her saddle and called clearly: “Don’t forget I’m your half-way girl, Ranse.” “Damn all family feuds snd Inherited scraps,” muttered Ranse Vindtcitlvely to the breeze as he rode back to the Cibolo. pasture and went to his own room. He opened the lowest drawer of an old [ bureau to get out tbe packet of letters j that Yenna had written blrm. one sura- | raer when she had gone to Mhwissipp! ! for a visit. The drawer stuck, and lot i yanked at it savagely—as a man will. ! It came ont of the bureau, and braised both his shin*—as a drawer will. An old, folded yellow letter without an 'envelope fell from somewhere—probably from whereat had lodged lu one of the upper drawers. Ranse took It to the lamp and read It curiously. Then he took hla hat and walked to one of the Mexican Jacals. “Tia Juana,” he said, “I would, like to talk with you a while.” An old, old Mexican woman, whitehaired and wonderfully jvrinfcled, rose from a stool. “Hit down,” said Ranse, removing Ms hat and taking the one chair In the Jacal. “Who am I, Tia Jauua?” he asked, speaking Spanish. “Don Ransom, our good friend and employer. Why do you ask?” answered the old woman wonderingly. “Tia Juana, who am i?” he repeated, with hti stem eyes looking Into hers. A frightened look came In the old woman's face. She fumbled with her black shawl. „ „ “Who am I, Tia Joans?” said Ranse once more. . “Thirty-two years I have lived on the Rancho Cibolo,” said Tia Juana. “I thought to be burled under the coma mott beyond the garden before these things should be known. Close tne door, Don Ransom, and I will speak. 1 see In your (ace that you know.” An hour Hanso spent behind Tia j Juana's closed door. As he was on his way back to the house Curly called to Mm from the wagon-shed. The tramp bat on his cot, swinging Ms feet and smoking. “Say, sport,” he grumbled. ins is no wav to treat a man after kdntppln him. I went up to the store and borrowed a razor from a fresh guy and had a shave. But that ain’t all a man needs. g a y can't you loosen up for about three finger* more of that booze? “I never ask-d you to bring me to your d—d farm.” “Stand up out here In the light,” said Rause, looking at Mm closely. Curly got up sullenly and took a step or two. His fnee, now shaven smooth, seemed transformed. His hr.tr had been combed. ; and It fell back from the right side! o, j his forehead with a peculiar wave. The moonlight charitably softened the ravages it drink; and his aquiline.well•halved Done and ima 11. BQuare cleft ch.*u almost gave distinction to his looks. Ranse sat on the foot of the cot and looked at him curiously. “Where did you come from—have yon got any home or folks anywhere?" ■'Me? Why, I'm a dock." said Curly. j “I’m Sir Reginald lob, cheese it. No; I don't know anything about my ancestors. I've been a tramp ever since I ran remember. Say, old pal. are you going to set 'em up again tonight or not?" , “You answer my questions and maybe I will. How did you come to be a "Me?” answered Curly. “Why I adopted that profession when I was an infant. Case of had to. First thl lg I caa remember, I belonged to a big. lazy hobo called Beefsteak Charley. He sent me around to houses to beg. I wasn’t hardly big enough to reach the latch of a gate.” . . . “Did he ever tell you how he got you . asked Ran^ • Once wffen he was sober he said he bought me for an old six-shooter and six bits from a baud of drunken Mexican slieep-sbfcurprs. But what, e tho ulii : That's all I know.” "All right," said Ranse. “I reckon you're a maverick for certain. I’m going to put the Rancho Cibolo brand on you. 11l start you to work in oue of the camps tomorrow." “Work!” sniffed Curly, disdainfully “What do you take me for? Do you think I'd chase cows, and hop-skip-and-jump around after crazy sheep like that pink and yellow guy at the store says these Keubs do? Forget it.” ■•Oh you’ll like it when you get used to it "'said Rause. “Yes. I’ll send you up one more drluk by Pedro. 1 think you’ll make u first-class cowpuneher before I get through with you.” “Me?” said Curly. “I pity the cows you set me to chaperon. They can go chase themselves. Don’t forget my nightcap, please, boss.” Ranse paid a visit to the store before going to the house. Sam Revell was taking off his tan shoes regretfaUy and preuaring for bed. “Any of the boys from the San Gabriel camp riding in early in the morning?” asked Ranse. . „ • Long Collins,” said Sam brl<fly, “for the mail.” “Tell him,” said Ransa, ‘to take that tramp out to camp with him nnd keep him till I get there.” Curly was sitting on his blankets in the Sam Gabriel camp cursing talentedly when Ranse Truesdell rode up aud dismounted on the next afternoon. The cowpunchers were ignoring the stray. He was grimy with dust and black dirt. His clothos were making their last stand Ln favour of the conventton. Ranse went up to Buck Dabb, the camp boss, aud spoke briefly. “He’s a plumb buzzard." said Buck. “He won’t work, and he's the lowdownest passel of inhumanity I ever see. I didn’t know what you wanted done With him, Ranse, so 1 just let him set. That seems to suit him. He's been condemned to death by the boys a doaen times, but I told 'em maybe you was savin’ him for torture.” Ranse took of h!s coat. “I’ve got a hard job before me, Buck, I reckon,, but it has to be done, I've got to make a man out of that thing. That's what I’ve come to camp for.” He went up to Curly. "Brother,” he said, “don't you think if you had a bath it would allow you to take a seat in the company of your fal-low-man with less injustice to the atmosphere.” “Run away, farmer.” said Curly, sardonically. “Willie will send for nursey when he feels dike having his tub.”

The charco, of water hole, was twelve yards away. Ranse took one of Curly's ankles snd dragged him like a sack of potatoes to the brink. Then with the strength and sleight of a hammer-thrower he hurled the offending member of society far lfito the lake. Curley crawied out and up tho bank spluttering like a porpoise. Ranse met him with a piece of soap and a coarse towel ln his hands. “Go to tho end of the lake and use this,” he said “Buck will give you soma dry clothes at the wagon.” '""w The tramp obeyed without protest. BJ 1 ' the time supper was ready he had returned to camp. He was hardly to bn recognized in his new blue shirt and brown duck clothes. Ranse observed him ont of the corner of his eye, “Lordy, I hope ha ain’t a coward, - he was 6aylng to himself, "I hope ha won’t turn out to be a coward,” His doubts were soon allayed. Curly walked straight to where ho stood. His light-blue eyes were blazing. “Now I’m dean,” he said meaningly, “maybe you’ll talk to me. Think you've got a picnic here, do you? You Clodhoppers think you can run over a man because you know he can’t get away. fh U t?” ght ' * f ° W ’ d ° Curly planted a stinging alap against Hanses left cheek. The print of hit hand stood out a dull red against tbe tan, Ranse smiled happily. The cowpunchers talk to this day of tho battle that followed. Somewhere In his restless tour of the •dtlea Cufly had acquired the art of self-defense. The ranchman was equipped only with the splendid strength and equilibrium of perfect health and tha endurance conferred by docent, living. Tho two attributes nearly matched, Tticrs were no formal rounds. At last the fiber of the clean liver prevailed. T.W last time Curly went down from one of tbs ranchman’s awkward bnt powerful blows he remained on the grass, but looking np with an unqnsnehed era. Reuse went to tha water barrel and washed the red from a cut on his chin la the stream from the faucet. Ou his face was a grin of satisfaction. Much benefit might accrue to educators and moralists, if they could know the details of the curriculum of reclamation through which Banco put hi* waif during the month that he spent in the San Gabriel camp. The ranchman had no fine theories to work out—perhaps his whole stock of pedagogy embraced only a knowledge of horse-break-ing and a belief in heredity. The cowpnnchers saw that their bow was trying to make a man out of tbe strange animal that he had sent among them: and they tueity organized themselves'lnto a faculty of assistant*. But their system was thetr own. Curley’s first lesson stuck. He became on fritDdly and then on intlmato term* with soap and water. And the thing that pleased Rause moat wa* that hi* •'subject" held his ground at each successive higher step. Bnt the step* were sometimes far apart. One* he got at the quart bottl* of whisky kept sacredly in tbs grub tout for rattlesnake bites, and spent sfcrt*en hours on tbe gras*, magnificently diunk. But when he staggered to his feet his first move wss to find hfs soap and towel and start for tbs charco. And once when a treat came from the ranch in the form of a basket of fresh tomatoes and young onions, Curly devon rod the entire eonsigiMnent before the punchers reached the camp at supper time. And then the puncheTS punished him In their own way. For three days they did not speak to him, except to reply to his own questions or remarks. And they spoke with absolute and unfailing politeness. They played tricks on one another: they pounded one another hurtfully and affectionately; they heaped upon one another’s heads friendly cursem and obloqny: but they were polite to Cnriy. He saw it, and It stung him at much as Range hoped it would. Then came a night that brought a cold, wet norther. Wilson, the youngest of the outfit, had lain In camp two days 111 with a fever. When Joe got up at daylight to begin breakfast he found Curly sitting asleep against a whed of the grub wagon with only a saddle blanket around him. while Curly’s blankets were stretched over Wilson to protect him from rain and wind. Three nights after that Curly rolled himself In his blanket and went to sleep. Then the other punchers rose up softly and beg? .1 to make preparations. Ranse saw Lon( Collins tie a rope to the horn of a sad lie. Others were getting out their six-shooters. "Boys." said Ranse. “I’m much obliged. I was hoping you would. But I didn't like to ask." Half a dozen six-shooter* began to pop —awful yells rent the air—Long Collins galloped wildly across Curly's bed, dragging tbe saddle after him. That was merely their way of gently awaking their vietlia. Then they hazed him for an hour, carefully and ridiculously, after the code of row camps. Whenever he uttered protest they held h'm stretched ove.r a roll of blankets and thrashed him woefully with a pair of leather leggings. And all this meant that Curly had won his spurs, that ue was receiving the puncher's accolade. Nevermore would they be polite to him. Eut he would be their “pardner” and stirrup-brother, foot to foot. When tbe fooling was ended all hands makle a raid on Joe's big coffee pot by the fire for a Java nightcap. Ran** watched the new knight carefully to see If he understood and wag worthy. Curly limped with his cup of eoffe# ’to a log aud sat upon it. Long Collins followed and sat by his side. Buck Rabb went and sat at the other. Curjy—grijuMd. And then Rause furnished Curly with mounts and saddle and equipment, and turned Mm over to Buck Rabb, instructing Mm to finish the Job. Three weeks later Ranse rode from the ranch Into Rabb s camp, which was then in Snake % alley. The boys were saddling for the day's ride. lie sought out Long Collins among them. “Ilow about that bronco?” he asked. Long Collins grinned. “Reach out your hand, Ranse True*dell.” he said, “and you’ll touch him. And you can shake his'n, too, if you like, for he’s plumb white and there's none better In no camp.” Ranse looked again at the clear-faced, tronzed, smiling cow-puncher who stood at Collins' side. Could that be Curly? He teld out his hand and Curly grasped it with the muscles of a bronco-bueter. “I want you at the ranch,” said Ranse. “AH right, sport,” said Curly heartily. "But I want to come back again. Bay, pal. this is a dandy farm. And I don't want any better fun than bustlin’ coVs with this bunch of guys. They're all to the merry merry.” At the Clbolo ranch house they dismounted. Ranse bade Curly wait at tbe door of the living room. He walked Inside. Old "Kiowa” Truesdell was reading at a table. “Good morning, Mr. Truesdell," said Ranee. The old man turned his whit* head quickly. “How Is this?” he began. “Why do you call me ’Mr. ’?” When he looked at Ranse’s face he stepped, and tbe band that held his news- 1 paper shook slightly. “Boy,” he said slowly, "how did you find out?” “It’s all right,” said Ranse, with a smile. “I made Tia Juana tell me. It was kind of by accident, but It’s all right.” “You’ve been like a son to me," said old “Kiowa,” trembling. “Tia Juana told me all about.lt,” said Ranse. “She told me how you adopted me when I was knee-high to a puddle duck out of a wagon train of prospectors that was bound West. And she told uie how the kid—your own kid, you know—got lost or was run away with. Aud she said it was the same day that the sheep-shearers got on a bender and left the ranch.” “Our boy strayed from the house when he was 2 years old," said the old man. “And then along came these emigrant wagons with a youngster they didn't want; and we took you. I never intended you to know, Ranse. We never heard of our boy again.” "He's right out3ide. unless I’m mighty mistaken,” said Ranse, opening the door and bqckoning. Curly walked in. No one could have doubted. The old man and the young had the same nose, chin, line of face, and prominent lightblue eyes. Old "Kiowa” rose eagerly. Curly looked about the room curiously. A puzzled expression came, over bis face. He pointed to the wall opposite. “Where's the tlck-tock?” he asked, ab-sent-mindedly. "The clock,” cried old “Kiowa” loudly. “The eight-day clock that used to stand there. Why—.’’ He turned to Ranse, but Ranse was not there. Already a hundred yards away, Vaminos, the good flea-bitten dun, Was bearing him eastward like a racer through dust and ebapparol'toward th* Rancho de los Olmos.