Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 5 July 1937 — Page 16

SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN

By Oren Arnold

CAST OF CHARACTERS CAROLEE COLTER, heroine, prospector’s daughter.

STUART BLAKE, tourist: Carolee’s lover.

HENRY COLTER, prospector. PAUL AND SILAS COLTER, prospec tor’s sons. NINA BLAKE, Stuart's sister.

Eastern “dude”

Yesterday: Stuart gives Carolee a beautiful bracelet. Romance begins to grip them both. As they part Carolee tells Stuart she will call him from the Mesa should she need him!

CHAPTER TEN \TUART tried all that evening S to put two and two together concerning the near tragedies in Superstition, but he couldn’t get a satisfactory four. He suspected the Colter men one moment, and dismissed his suspicions the next. His regard for Carolee helped with the dismissals. Next day, though, he decided on further action. He would drive in for official counsel. He had leased an eight-cylinder car for their stay in Arizona, and he wanted to buy some things in Phoenix anyway. Superstition Lodge was only 40 miles from town. He drove directly to the Maricopa

sent in 300 men and many pack animals. They worked the gold, did crude smelting to make concentrates right there in the mountain, stored their valuable cargo until all packs were filled, then headed back for the home rancho. “But th’ danged Redskins, th’ Apaches, surprised that outfit and killed everything but two boys,” old Tex was telling it in excitable fashion. “They snuk off in the bushes and hid thar, and got back home half starved. Even the mules was | killed. We have found litle bushel- | sized mounds of th’ rich ore, right where the animals dropped and rotted. Gold ain't no good to th’ Reds. It’s cursed.”

QO TUART didn’t accomplish much, but he learned more about Superstition’s treasure than he had ever dreamed of knowing. He had taken the stories lightly heretofore. Now he was intrigued by the

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Stuart was about to shake hands with the venerable sheriff and take his leave when the desk telephone rang. The old man motioned him to wait until the call was done.

TUART couldn't help overhearing—not that he tried to. A sheriff is sort of public property anyway, everyone feels; his affairs should be open to public scrutiny. At least it's a convenient excuse. Stuart wasn’t especially attentive, though, because the officer listened much and asked a few questions. Finally he hung up. “Be damned if this won't interest you, son,” he declared. “’'Sfunny. But wait’ll I call Watson. Superstition’s mostly in Pinal.” When old Tex got Sheriff Watson of Pinal County on the phone, Stuart strained for every word. “Wat? This here's Tex Leatherwood. Call frum a woman at Apache Junction. A Miss Colter, C-o0-1-t-e-r.

possibilities. The Spanish episodes, and the half dozen or so subsequent

| murders that were on official record, | | were convincing proof to Stuart (as |

to many another) that Superstition must somewhere clutch a rare treas- | ure. But—as old Tex laconically

County Court House and went in to | see the Sheriff, old Tex Leatherwood. Tex is older than the Court House itself, and even more impres- | sive. |

He had been an officer in | the 1880s and so had arrested | Jacob Walz, the Dutchman for | whom the lost mine was named, when that worthy came to town for an alcoholic stampede. “Knowed you was up thar,” the old man told Stuart. “We keep a | general eye out on newcomers. | Havin’ any difficulties?” “Yes, sir,” Stuart answered. | “Nothing you could put a finger | on, but—" = = =” | TUART related tales of his| father’s narrow escape in Superstition, then of his own experi- | ence in the mountain. He was |

about to tell why he suspected the | twenty minutes past two. The wife | rection. Colters when it suddenly struck sighed, “Oh, dear! I wish it were | will be a boy. The others are girls.

him that he couldnt do so. They | were, after all, Carolee’s family. | But she was so separate and differ- |

ent in his own mind that he had | Fillywittle studied his spouse so- | nine hours,” he managed to add in

literally forgotten the relation mo- | mentarily. He felt a trifle silly, | having to change the course of his narrative to the sheriff. | “Cain’'t see nothin’ to worry |

about yet, son,” old Tex told Stu- | Mildred nodded with another | Mr. Fillwittle slumped over the | art. “Superstition is full of queer sigh. It was the hundredth time, at | lunch counter.

doin’s. Most of it ain’t so queer, |

answered his inevitable query— “gold is where you find it, and | Superstition is mighty big.”

| His pappy found his hat and noth-

Said her brother's lost in Superstition. . . . Yeah, they been huntin’ gold. He's been out four, five days.

in’ else. Carried just a quart of | water. . . . That's a fack. . . . Yep. | . +.» Yep. Lemme know. . . . Yep, Colter; Paul Colter.”

(To Be Continued)

Daily Short Story

EMERGENCY—By Moran McKinless

I nine days Reginald Rillywittle | would be 28. Within the same number of hours, according to Dr. | Brack’s calculations, Mr. Fillywittle could expect a blessed event. Pale and nervous, the expectant

father gazed at his watch and |My Sixth.”

then at his wife. The watch said

over!” Twiddling his watch chain, Mr. licitiously. “Are — you — all — right — my | —dear?” There was a tremor in|

his voice. i

least, that Reginald had asked that |

when you git right down to it. Just | question since he had brought her

a lot of dudes like yourself goes |to the hospital. Questions, especially | they ought to say thirty minutes. | there, and you ain't at home. This | that question, were getting on her Take my fourth now. She—"

is a wild country, lemme tell you. Youre more t' home in a busy | town, ain’t you?” . Stuart smiled and admitted that | it was so. “But the shooting— | what about that?” he asked. “I don’t know. Prob’ly some mistake. - I do know that hardly a| month passes, since I was a young man, that some tale of bein’ shot

at don’t come out of Superstition. | = = {

«NON, shots ain't bein’ shot at.

nerves. What if she weren't all |

right?

resume his pacing back and forth | from window to door and door to | window. She wanted to scream, but bit back that impulse. “Why don’t you go for a walk, |

——

{ | !

What would Reginald do | Mr. Fillywittie fled in the throes of |about it? She watched her husband | 2 cold sweat.

him indicated the hospital with the jerk of a thumb. Mr. Fillywittle stared. “In the maternity hall?” “I just came from there.” “My wife's there, too.” The speaker's chest swelled perceptibly.

“Wife?” “Child,” came the grinned cor“We're hoping this one

Five of them. This your first?” “Yes!” Mr. Fillywittle swallowed hard. “The doctor said in about

spite of the lump in his throat. “You can't always believe the doctors. They told me two hours for my second and Mary was born three days later.”

“Sometimes it's the other way. They might say ten hours when

But, leaving his order untasted

» = =

S he wove his way through the Calvert St. traffic he suddenly became aware of a pain around his heart. It could be dyspepsia, but it | seemed more like an attack. He had never had an attack, but there had to be a first everything. When he emerged from the ele-

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUT OUR WAY

SHE GETS HER PAPER INTO THE TOASTER ~ THEN I DONE ME!

iT. .

I SAW YOu SLIDING THAT TOASTER OVER TO THE CORNER OF THE PAPER WITH A SPOON! I'LL SHAKE THAT FUNNY STUFF OUT OF vou =

—

Line rate

LI'L ABNER

WHY MOTHERS GET GRAY.

By Williams

cn ———————————

WELL, PUT THE FIRE OUT, FIRST!

COPR. 1937 BY NEA SERVICE, INC. T. M. REC. U. 8. PAT. OFF,

TRWILLAMS 1.5

FLAPPER FANNY

MONDAY, JULY 5, 1937 By Sylvia

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1-5 “Isn’t one bath a day enough for you?” “It doesn’t count as a bath when I can clothes and don’t have to use soap.”

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—By Al Capp

EVER SINCE ) SUDDENLY BECOME A MILLIONAIRE: EV'RY SLICKER IN NOO YAWK'S BEEN A-HOUNDIN' ME _T'INVEST IN THINGS’-BUT-1 AIN'T INVESTED A NICKELY-I'M TOO DANGED SHA

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—By Hamlin

| vator he saw burly Dr. Brack, all in | white, hurrying down the hall. Be- | fore Mr. Fillywittle could catch up | with him the physician vanished be-

TUT, TUT, KING GUZ-DEPEND ON ME! I'LL SHOW You STUFE Just WAIT AN' SEE! WITH ME AS YOUR WIZER, WE'LL GO TO

WHAT | TOLD GUZ, YOU §

There's prospectors alw’ys | WE AINT KNOW 1S TRUE!

takin’ ore samples from up there.

And hunters. And ranchers huntin’ | NOW SEE WHAY

YOU WENT AN' DONE,

WANTA REMEMBER- THERE, Y'SEE?

steers. Any of ‘em likely to shoot | atl rattlesnakes or painters.” Stuart considered that a moment, while the old man eyed him. Then | the Sheriff resumed. “You take them two fellers at the | Water Association here, name of | Blaine and Briest. Honest young fellers. Said they was shot at. But | it was deer season when they was] 4p there, and men was huntin’ in |

them hills.” Se

“I tell you how it tis—{’r years, | all my life, the's been tales abous | Superstition. That's how it got its | name. Some people have been killed | up there, and each one of ‘em makes | a corral full of yarns come trailin’ along. People are skittish when they | go up thar. I feel it m'self. I can hear shots and figger I'm bein’ shot at. Son, that mountains full of |

ghosts!” | = on » HE Sheriff chuckled a little. | Stuart smiled and nodded. “I ought to know,” Stuart agreed. “I saw plenty of them when I was | craving a drink of water. But dad | swore the bullets struck near him. | And I can't believe my horse slipped | over a cliff.” Old Tex considered that for a moment. “Didn't you say while ago you found a painter den? Some Kkittens?” “Yes, plenty.” “Don’t blame you, but you likely wouldn't have come to no harm. These here lions ain't vicious to man. But lemme tell you—they kill many a deer and cow and hoss. And a hoss knows it. Son, if yo’ hoss got one whiff of a lion near him, he'd go loco. I've seen it. I've killed, I reckon, a hundred lions in my day, and when they tree I have to whup my hoss to get him in shootin’ range. Yours likely snorted and trembled and run hisself right over that cliff without knowin’ it.” “And ripped open my canteen in the fall, I suppose,” Stuart finished. “Likely.”

{ |

sir. They frightened me

= = » T wasn't convincing, but it all seemed to dovetail. The sheriff, in common with most old-timers, loved to talk. He gave Stuart more regional lore than a book of history could have done. He even told of the Spanish days when Don Miguel Peralta, Sonoran rancher, was sending expeditions up to the mountain to bring out gold ore. And of the time when Don Miguel sent his greatest cavalcade of-all. The United States had acquired Arizona by the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848, and Don Migyel knew the Yankees wouldn't respect his ownership of the rich mine. He

“

| subject like that at a time like this.

| down the corridor tell the nurse I

{ |

“‘The Others Are Girls.”

settling her into

Reggie?” she queried, shoulders more comfortably the pillows. “At a time like this,” he gasped, while he twisted his lowest vest button and shook his head in a vigorous negative, “a man’s place is with his wife.” 2 = = ONTINUING to stride up and | down, he shot a frightened look across the hall to the door of the delivery room. He blinked and grimaced, as an icy chill prickled along his spine. “You haven't had your lunch, Reggie.” Mildred brightened. “There's a nice restaurant directly opposite here.” “I'm not hungry.” “But you'll be ill.” “I'm ill already. Hospital smells always nauseate me. I remember the time I visited Aunt Jenny right after her operation. She—" “I remember, too!” his wife inter-

rupted sharply. “I rode to her funeral!” The idea! Bringing up a

“If you don't mind honey, I'd like to be alone for a few minutes.” She was desperate. She simply had to get him out of the room. “On your way

want her. She may not notice my light. That's a dear.” “I'll go get a cup of coffee,” he muttered. “To sort of brace me up. You won't go away, will you?” His features were ashen, as he ran a finger around his collar. “Of course not, silly!” Mildred smiled in spite of herself, as her agitated husband departed. Men were such impossible creatures in a crisis like this. ” = = RESENTLY Mr. Fillywittle found himself perched on a high stool in front of a long counter ordering coffee and doughnuts. “Didn't I see vou over there, young fellow?” The man next to

Jos

| squinting at the small, cryptic sign

| perspiration started out on his fore-

| voices! The clicking of instruments!

teen minutes to three!

| brow, moistened his parched lips

hind a swinging door. As though glimpsing an apparition, he stood

on the dark panels, “Delivery Room. No Admittance.” Mr. Filiywittle tiptoed into his wife's room. He stopped dead on the threshold. Empty! Beads of

head. He turned back to the delivery room door. He listened with straining ears. A hushed jumble of

He shook with something akin to terror. He staggered to a huge leather chair and dropped into it heavily. Minutes dragged by. He rocked to and fro, breathed like a spent runner, buried his twitching face in his hands. They had been so happy, Mildred and 1e. Their courtship had been gay; their marriage joyful. He consulted his watch. Only fifEach clocktick was an eternity. In the eerie stillness of the hall he could hear his heart hammering against his ribs. Watch in hand, he observed the slow seconds tick themselves away. He wiped his damp

with the point of his tongue and gritted his teeth. Three o'clock! Three-fifteen! Exhausted, he slouched back against the cushions.

# n =

UICK steps roused Mr. Fillywittle. His eyes wide with apprehension, his head jerked up. “My wife?” he gulped. “How is she?” “She's been wondering what became of you.” The nurse smiled down at him. “You can go to her. Room 416. We moved her up the hall while you were gone. She didn't like being opposite the delivery room. Most patients don’t like 401. I guess you can’t blame them.” “You ' mean,” Mr. Fillywittle croaked brokenly, “my wife hasn't gone—to the delivery room yet?” “Did you—" The nurse hesitated. “You thought your wife was in there?” She glanced at the delivery room door. Only for an instant, however. She leaned over hastily. Her fingers found Mr. Fillywittle’s pulse. Then she ran to the supply room. “Quick!” she snapped. “Aromatics!” “These maternity cases!” The nurse in charge of supplies shook her head. “This,” the other girl chuckled, “Is a paternity case. The expectant father just fainted in the hall.”

THE END

[Copyright. 1937. United Feature Syndicate)

The characters in this story are fictiilous

Ice Cold

v .( TH SPOT FOR YOUR RECORD iS ANY Wis PART IN

WHAT DID 1 TELL You! AGAINST MY CHARGES) HE DARES NOT po

VOU LONG-NOSED MEDDLER! HOW DO 1 KNOW THAT YOU ....

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Q—What is the melting point of glass? A—It has no melting point, but has a rather long melting range. For ordinary glass the range starts around 900 degrees F. and may ex- | tend to around 1800 degrees F. For silica glass the range is much higher, 2200 to 3600 degrees F.

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{ Q—Is there a song called “Nellie Bly?” A—It was written by Stephen C. Foster in 1849, as a Negro song. It is possible that the “Nellie Bly” who went around the world in 1889 took her name from the song.

Q—When was the Colt automatic 45-caliber adopted by the U. S. 2

A—In 1911, Q—Who won the American League's most valuable player award in 1925? A—Roger Peckinpaugh of the

Washington Senators.

TOWN- YOU'RE MIGHTY

HOKLS POKUS CLOWN!

THAT

CROSSWORD PUZZLE

“Your salary will be $35 a week with lunches, or $30 without.”

Copr. 1937 by United Feature Syndicate, Tne,

The parole system gets much | trom any inherent weakness within criticism because the public reads |itself.—The Rev. H. H. McConnell,

only the spectacular cases. Statistics show 93 of every 100 criminals paroled never return to crime.— frank T. Cullitan, Cuyahoga County, Ohio, prosecutor,

Prohibition was murdered. It did not die of old age or disease, or

Cleveland, O., dry leader.

There is such strong feeling for peace everywhere that there is not a possibility of war. In America there is more talk of war than in Europe.—Dr. Hans Luther, German ambassador to United States.

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