Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 1 July 1936 — Page 25

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* rett excitedly.

. was too sick. comin’ here, an’ feedin’ me liquor,

| pulled me through, an’ we're pard-

is

as hé looked up at Jed Cam-

fron, leaning over the bunk. “You're feeling better?” asked

Ped. | .. The old prospesctor grinned, a bit feebly. Jed had found him delirious with fever and influenza, in his eold mountain cabin two days before

“Did I do quite a bit of talking?” he asked. 124A Jot.” “About. the Lost Lode?” Jed nodded. ~ “Well, boy, I found it)” said Jar-

Jed blinked in surprise. |All his life he had heard tales of the marvelous lode of ore, once found then Jost again. It was one of the leggnds of the region. “You sure?” “Absolutely.” The old man raised tp in his bunk, then sank back with a8 groan. “I reckon I can’t make it outside yet, but we gotta move fast. Harmon Broyd an’ Ike Rodgell are in here.” - “Do they know?” “I don’t know what they know,” old Jarrett said anxiously, ‘I was about half dead when. I stumbled on to the lede. I expected to start for the land office next day, but I I remember ‘em

an’ talkin’ to me, an’ I reckon I was doin’ a lotta talkin’, too, I don't. think I told '’em where it it was, but they're wise enough so they might find it, Next thing I knew, you was here.” ab “You won't be able to travel for Bays,” said Jed. : “No, son, I reckon not. But you

mers in this. You can look after

“He fumbled in the deer hides off his bunk and brought out a sheet

|

h / tree. As he leaped to the ground

| ing. He could walk, but only slowly.

‘| of paper, roughly drawn _as a map.

37 Half an em. 38 Preposition.’ "189 Cherubs.

|: “Now here's where she lays, figered . from ‘the nearest witness ees. You take this an’ file two claims, one for me, like I got marked, an’ one for yourself, jusi below, on the litle brick. We'll be pardners in everything.” The younger man slipped the paper into a pocket of his shirt. “I'll start at dark,” he said.

H 2 2

Y sunrise, traveling on snows shoes, Jed was over the ridge of the mountain range and far down the winding trail on the other side. He leaned against a tree to rest a moment, looking up toward ghe bare, rocky pass behind him. Stddenly, a small moving figure appeared, silhouetted against the sky for a minute. Jed grunted. It was Harmon Broyd, following him. But hed never catch up. He, Jed, would reach the land office before closing time, and the claims would be safe. Rodgell, apparently, had stayed behind to watch old Jarrett. As Jed neared his own cabin, in 8 mountain clearing, he crossed a tumbling little stream on a fallen

from the log, a calk on his boot caught in a rough bark crevice, and he fell in a twisted heap. He got slowly to his feet, gasping 0 recover his breath. He took a Step and staggered from pain as he bore weight on his left foot. The .8nkle was badly twisted, and swell-

Somehow, he reached his cabin 8nd built a fire, to heat water. He | Wag in a fix, he knew. Soon, Harmon Broyd would be close at hand, Would be waiting to stop him—with ' & gun, if necessary. . Jed had a gun, too, but all the adVantage was on Broyd’s side. How iwas he to get past him? Five miles farther down the mountain, | he

‘| the wood trapped his hand.

a homesteader, if he could get that far on his crippled foot. But how could he outwit Broyd? As he soaked his ankle in hot water, he took out Jarrett’s map and studied it a long ‘time. Then he stared out of the little cabin window toward the spot where he had split the puncheons for his floor. Some logs and his tools were still

there. Suddenly, he grinned. He leaned over the fire for a moment, chuckling. Then, he bound his ankle tight and worked his foot painfully into his boot: He hung his revolver and belt on a peg above the fireplace, and limped out of the cabin. me 2 ” 8 \ ED was splitting a tough cedar log with maul and wedge when he looked up to face Harmon Broyd. He nodded a greeting, then leaned on the handle of his maul, wiping sweat from his face, Broyd fingered the butt of his gun, eyes narrowed. “Where's that paper?” he demanded. “What paper?” surprise. “You know what I mean.” Broyd jerked the gun from its holster and pointed it toward Jed’s mid-section. i “Now just elevate your hands, and no funny stuff!” Jed *tomplied, and Broyd then searched him, but without result. “Where's that paper?” he repeated angrily.

Jed pretended

wide crack in the log. “Well!” he said. ‘““You was clever, but not quite clever enough. Just keep your hands high.” Still keeping ‘his gun leveled at Jed, Broyd knelt beside the log. Shoved down in the crack made by the wedge, was a folded piece of paper. Reaching down, he probed in the log. with his fingers, trying to reach the paper. This was what Jed had been waiting for. - With a lightning motion of his right leg, he suddenly brought the toe of his heavy bodt against the wedge. It sprang‘ out. The halves of the log snapped back together. Broyd roared with pain’ as

“Let me out of here,” he demanded hoarsely. Jed grinned. “I've got to go to town. I'm borrowing a horse from Durgan, down the mountain, an’ I'll send him back to you.” “Fool, your map’s in this too!” “Oh, that,’ said Jed. “That's just blank paper—a bait for the trap. I burned the real map in my fireplace, Lbut I'm packin’ the figures in my head.”

log,

THE END.

1936. by _ United Feature Syndicate, Inc.) ay

STATE FARM TOUR SET FOR TOMORROW

Management Association to Visit Four Locations. Times Special LAFAYETTE, Ind, July 1.—The annual state farm tour is to be held tomorrow, O. G. Lloyd, Indiana Farm Management Association secretary, anounced today. The tour is te start at 9 at the N. M. Merrill farm near Elwood. From the Merrill farm the tour

goes to the Ormal Beuoy farm near Wheeling, then to the D. M. Langdon farm near Hartford City and to the Palmer Edgerton farm in Grant County. Howard Halderman, Wabash, association president, is to act as tour

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( MR BURKE, OF THE IRIS PAINT STORE, SAID, HE FOUND A BIG CAN, OF, LUMINOUS PAINT, KNOCKED}

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(WHOEVER KILLED JEFF PICKET, AND BLEW UP THAT NITRO TRUCK KILLED THE DESPERADO, IDAHO | BUTCH. HE WAS AFRAID BUTCH'D TALK.

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IRE ALARM IS TURNED IN— \ RE BLOOEY TORPEDO CO. = /i SEND JOE PICKET.

©1936 BY NEA SERVICE, INC. T.M. REQ. U. 8. PAT. OFF. / , ul »

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WELL, GOOD GOSH, 51S, WHAT D'YA WANT ME TDO“THROW EM TO CTE i DINOSAURS?

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I THINK YOU COULD DISPOSE OF THEM IN A BETTER WAY THAN THAT?

HOWRE GONNA PROVE THAT 1 © | TT? YA DON'T HAUE ANY EVIDENCE

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