Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 July 1937 — Page 28

WE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES OUT OUR WAY

WAR ADMIRAL 1S A MAN O' WAR

rRWAY, JuLY 2, 1 FLAPPER FANNY

By Williams By Sylvia

By Oren Arnold

CAST OF CHARACTERS CAROLEE COLTER, heroine, prospector’s daughter. STUART BLAKE, eastern “dude” tourist; Carolee’s lover, HENRY COLTER, prospector. PAUL and SILAS COLTER, prospector’s sons. NINA BLAKE, Stuart’s sister.

Yesterday: Stuart becomes lost in the mountains, suffers delirium, and finally falls asleep on a patch of buck brush, utterly exhausted.

CHAPTER EIGHT

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| knows about. more or less for fun. I'm not—I wouldn't of course interfere with anybody else. Just adventuring. You know what I mean.” » 8 n E felt he .was talking himself into a pocket. He had already had one run-in with the Colter men, downtown. He had no desire to offend them again, especially since they had apparently saved his life. But in him was growing & new thought, too. These Colters were

HERE was nothing especially romantic about the way they found Stuart Blake. Silas Colter saw him first, and grasped his father’s arm. “Ain’t—ain’t over yonder?” the distance. i It was a man, undoubtedly. Silas unconsciously cocked the rifle he carried. The man was staggering, half crawling. But he wasn’t menacing. He hadn't even seen the Colters, in fact. Carolee was with the Colters that day, but that was just happehstance. She had hung out her sheet signal on the morning after her experience with Stuart, but he had not met her down trail. This had piqued her considerably; she'd wait a week or more before she tried to signal him again, she prom- | ised herself. Paul Colter had, gone | alone to study the high plateau | country, and Silas and the father had spent a day at wood gathering. | On the second day they and Carolee | went mine hunting. : She saw the man in the distance. but didn’t recognize him. “He's in trouble, isn't he?” she demanded. They had no field glasses, and he was several hundred yards away. | They tughed to get nearer to him. | “It’s that Blake feller!” Old man | Colter recognized him first. | “Oh!” cried Coralee. They all spurred their horses to | move ‘as fast as the rugged terrain | permitted.

that a man away He was staring in

” ” " |

TUART still didn’t see them. He | appeared not to see them even when they dismounted in his pres- | ence. He had been bedeviled by many mirage oi 2 “Stuart!” Carolee spoke to him. | Nobody noticed her familiarity. He didn't answer. He coutdn t have answered, anyway. He just | stared, blinking. His face was rather k. his clothing torn. it ad Dl Cy gave him water, put him in the shade. The Colter men had to | hold him off the water, once he got | a sip. They let him drink a swallow at a time, with considerable interval. Carolee bathed his brow with a moistened handkerchief. Nobody | did any talking for a long while. | Silas had a can of peaches In his | pack, and fed Stuart the sweet juice, then some of the fruit. After that Stuart slept. They sat with him | until he revived ghd recognized | them as real people, not phantoms. |

AROLEE!” he murmured, and C smiled. She smiled back and | “Do you feel Yeu 2 ank more water, anc ate] are on the food they offered. Strength was flowing back into him. “This—Wednesday?” he asked. “Thursday,” she said. “What happened? How long have you been here? Who is with you?” “Nobody. Nothing happened. To me, I mean. My horse fell over a cliff and killed himself Yesterday, 1 suppose, Where are the panthers? It was his last memory. and his speech was confusing. He realized he'd have to explain. “I found some mountain lion pabies, panthers. Like those in the filling station z00. Not the old ones. I expected them to come and tear | into me. v “They don’t do people no harm, Mr. Colter said, watching Stuart intently. “Where's your hoss?” “I don’t know. Dead somewhere, on the rocks. Busted my canteen and lost the water all out. I had no idea thirst would be like that. My tongue is still thick and hard. It was hellish.”

” ” u

AROLEE was solicitous. “You tried to walk back? You were lost again, Stuart?” “I think I knew the way back, but it was rough going. I spent a long time looking for water. I was thirsty when 1 started. Then I got mixed up. Isn't there any water in this mountain anywhere?” “Ths same in Peralta Canyon, on the other side, if vou know where to find it,” the elder Colter put in. “But it’s miles from here. You was in a bad way, son.” Stuart nodded. He was entirely rational now, feeling much stronger. And he was doing some close thinking. Even to him, a tenderfoot from Chicago, it didn’t seem right that his horse should have fallen over a high cliff. That horse had been sure-footed, with unusual horse sense. He wondered. Of course, it would have been an accident. Even accidental that the canteen was smashed. But accidents were happening rather often | And that shooting at his father two days ago—that was certainly no accident. Or was it? Maybe some fool hunter, some other tenderfoot from the east, had mistaken Mr. Blake for an animal. People had been mistaken for deer and killed. The Colters, of course, had to help Stuart out of the mountain. He wanted to walk, but Carolee insisted that he ride and Silas gave up his horse. Carolee did most of the talking for her family. “Were vou hunting gold, she inquired, cheerfully. “Well, ves, I was. In a way. Not too seriously, but—" He glanced in some concern at the other two men. “I mean, I was just tracing down

asked, gently,

too?”

odd, clannish, all but the girl. They

{had been quick to fight, even to

shoot. Perhaps—he mused silently for a mile or two. “Say, where's the other brother, Paul?” he suddenly asked. “He went out alone,” Carolee explained. “Said he had his own ideas about hunting. Wants to find a landmark, a rock shaped like a horse’s head, that shows on dad’s map.” “Was he out—day before yesterday?” Stuart asked. “Why ves. And yesterday also. Papa and Silas gathered wood yesterday. Paul was due back last night, but he didn’t come. He has water and food, though. The same accident isn’t likely to happen again. I mean, like yours.”

CAN

NEA SFRYICE 1!

AUL COLTER had been in the mountain alone, on both Tuesday and Wednesday, and was still out on Thursday. Paul Colter had impulsively tried to kill Stuart with his rifle, over a fancied insult downtown. Paul, as well as his brother and father, did not welcome “easterners” or any ofher men as suitors for Carolee, vet she and Stuart had been keeping company. It was beginning to sound sort of melodramatic, Stuart, reasoned, like an old-time story book. But by George it was also beginning to make sense! He couldn't come out openly and accuse them, or Paul, of shooting at Mr. Blake Sr., on Tuesday. Or of running Mr. Stuart’s owh horse off the cliff yesterday. He had no proof, and here the Colters were saving his life anyway. But it was Carolee, he reasoned, who was aiding him. Luckily for him she had ridden with her men that day. She was swell! He looked carefully at her. He had never seen such natural beauty. Back in Chicago he would already have been making ardent love to her, but out here—well—. Stuart promised himself to make a change in tactics regardless of her family. He thanked them sincerely when they left him at the yard gate of Superstition Lodge.

Stuart didn’t reply to that. He

was thinking,

(To Be Continued)

Daily Short Story

DEADLINE—By M. A. Tapp

N every newspaper shop you will |

find probably at least one of |

that queer tribe known as deadline writers—those gifted writers who | find it either mentally or physically | impossible to turn out their daily | stint until the last possible moment | before the edition goes to press. | Doubtless they are the despair of harried city editors. But the record is small of their failing to produce. Mostly they will be found to belong to the old school of journalism, which had few of the modern efficient methods of getting out the nation’s daily mental pabulum. Like old Pop of the Advertiser's city room, for instance. Pop was an institution at the Advertiser. For almost 40 years he had been identified with that dignified journal, and in that time he had held practically every job there,

| sheets, some containing but a para-

among them positions of high exec-

utive authority. According to rumor, | Ihe column was there.

| “Have You Any Copy Yet?”

instead of good red blood, printer's ink coursed through his veins. Pomp and authoritative positions meant little to Pop, which was why he finally asked the publisher to let him just stay in the city room and pound out special copy for the paper. He could remember when he had done that very thing years ago with pen and ink.

» » » T suited Pop exactly to come down to the office on time, sit around in the city room and dream—to

las he pleased . . . as usual!

come out of his trance barely in

[time for his two nimble forefingers of time study experts, made =a ‘to beat out a swift tattoo which | thorough tour of the plant.

ultimately showed up in print on | the first page as a featured column. The only concession Pop allowed tc Honor was the by-line which invariably flaunted itself at the head

of his column. Tt read, immediately by the heading Vagaries, “By Barton Holmes.” Pop knew that it carried importance and prestige Wherever newspapers were read. It was the sign and symbol of a life’s work, just as surely as a pictorial masterpiece would be to =a painter or a perfectly executed statue to a sculptor. It was the job 0 which he had devoted the best vears of his life, the filling of that single strip of space daily with material. ” » »

HE journal's readers, along with the readers of a syndicated service which covered the country, could expect to find the familiar Vagaries column in its accustomed place upon opening the paper. Pop sometimes wondered what reactions his shrewd writings brought to the public. In spare time, it could be an interesting game, this thing of speculating. The important thing was to have his column there, regardless of anything else. That duty was inexorable! He was not worried about the quality of what it contained . . . any more, at least! He remembered the day that Collins, the city editor, had come from out of town to take over the job. He

some of the clues that everybody

had approached Pop's desk, some-

what awed at Pop’s reputation, but worried just the same. “We've only about a half hour till deadline,” he had said. “Have you any copy yet?” n » »

ND Pop had come out of his lethargy and smilingly denied

having a word. Collins had worried a bit that day, not wanting to get in wrong right off the bat by omitting the Vagaries column, but visibly skeptical of getting it in time to print.

Pop had swung his feet down from his desktop and begun vigorously battering the keys of his typewriter with a rapidity incred-| ible for two fingers. The pile of

graph or two, mounted in the wire copy basket. With three good min- | utes to spare, Pop smiled and en-! closed his typewriter in his desk.

» » » OLLINS never forgot that day; neither did he forget the sheer genius of the old man who had battered out inspired material in so short a time, From then on, Pop did

That was the keynote of Pop's success, he knew. He could write | no other way. If he did, his stuff was more than liable to be mediocre, more like what some green reporter would turn out. But then, some of the best newspaper men in the country were the same. Even Kipling had done his best work writing against time! The day came, however, when Pop was destined to discover that everyone in the world couldn't share his views about that very thing. The knowledge knocked the props out from Pop’s whole life, as well as everything for which that life stood. The Advertiser was sold, and the new publisher turned out to be a man whose closest proximity to publishing & paper had been reading it at the breakfast table and on the train in the evening. Pop scoffed openly when he heard of the sale, but he know that the boys could run the paper with co-operation.

» » ®

T= new owner and publisher, however, was a stubborn and shrewd business man who had his own ideas of efficiency, including running his own newspaper. An almost unprecedented thing happened. The publisher, followed by his staff

Pop, as customarily, was dreaming, drawing upon his rich and varied experience for the material he must write to make the near deadline, The new owner noticed him, investigated. It was to little avail that Pop, backed up by the harassed city editor, tried to convince him it was all right. The next day he received an order for a month's salary . . . and a notice of dismissal immediately!

Ld » »

OP was staggered, shocked, as his world tumbled. He was fired—through forever! He could scarcely see to roll paper into his machine for his final column, because of the obscuring tears. Deadline time was near, and Pop swung into action, his fingers jabbing familiarly at the keys, his mind beating with the realization that this was to be his swan song! The column that day was & mayterpiece. It fairly seethed with philosophy of the purest sort, all of which was aimed directly at the blind injustice of unseeing employers. The last sizzling page ripped out of the machine, Pop leaned back. His work was done, and he knew it was good. But when they tried to arouse him later, where he was slumped smilingly over his typewriter, it was in vain, Barton Holmes had meade his last deadline . . . !

THE END

[Copvright. 1837. United Feature Bvndieate)

REG, U,

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CMON, GRAND WIZER, BUCK UP- TELL ME ABOUT 17- Y'SAY T= WOOLIE FAILED You =?

ASK THE TIMES

Inclose a 3-cent stamp for reply when addressing any question of fact or information to The Indian-

ington, D. C. Legal and medical advice cannot be given, nor can extended research be undertaken.

Q—TIs the FERA still in existence? A—The functions of the Federal | Emergency Relief Administration | have been curtailed and transferred to other Federal agencies. At present, the Division of Relations with the States and the Division of Research, Statistics and Finance are the only two major divisions in continuous operation. Under the present policy of the Administration, employable persons on relief status are expected to find gainful employment under the current Works Program. Federal grants to states by the FERA for direct relief and work relief have been discontinued. Special work programs included in the former emergency relief are now absorbed or are in process of absorption by the Works Progress Administration. The college aid program has been taken over by the National Youth Adminjstration. The tran- | sient program was discontinued and its activities replaced by WPA projects and work camps. Federal assistance under the FERA was withdrawn from Self-Help Associations on Oct, 1, 1935. Q—What is the function of the “stroke oar” in rowing? A—He is the oarsman who sits immediately facing the coxswain and sets the pace as ordered by the coxswain, Each of the other oarsmen keeps his eyes on the back of the oarsman in front of him, and times his swing from him. Q--Who composed the song, “Sweet Leilani,” which was featured in Bing Crosby's picture, “Waikiki Wedding”?

The characters in this story ure fietitions

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That, as T understand it, is the

13, Senator William E. Borah, Idaho, referring to $25,000 salary granted

John D. M. Hamilton as Republican |

National Committee chairman,

I am one of the best pistol shots in Oklahoma and I can take care of myself.—Clovernor BE. W. Mar-

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