Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 13 July 1937 — Page 18

SUPERSTITION MOUNTAIN

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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—The Colters narrowly escape death when a huge boulder crashes down near their car. Stuart announces he has a clue to the strange happenings on Superstition.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN TUART BLAKE rode from Superstition Lodge morning at dawn. “Tell my dad and sister,” he instructed the horse wrangler there, “that I'm heading back to the Weaver's Needle region. I may be gone two days.”

away next

“All right,” the wrangler agreed. |

“But ain't you takin’ chances? BY yourself, I mean? I heard you had some trouble up there once, and Mr. Blake told me he got shot at. You can’t mess with that mountain!” Stuart didn’t grin, as he normally would have. He was tying a rifle holster to his saddle “A month ago I would have laughed at that statement, my friend,” he told the wrangler. “Now I'm wondering at the truth of it! But I have to go.” “How come? you?” “Nobody thing unknown, Kept you, sniping at you and your friends, endangering your lives, you'd decide to bust right into it, winner take all, wouldn't you?” = = =

Who's making

pecking at

HE wrangler, a veteran Westerner, eyed Stuart in some surprise. “Be damned if you ain't diff’ runt from most dudes!” he declared. “You got blood! Set tight a minute: I'll saddle and go with you myself.” “No.” Stuart was firm. “Its a private war, thanks just the same. I've been practicing shooting a lot lately. I can keep my bearings now, and I know that water's precious in a desert country. I'll get along. Thanks again, though.” “What you figger on doin'?” “As to that, I'm not just sure. Call it an investigation.” He was honest there, for he didn't know exactly what he would do in Superstition, save to ride back to the region where his horse had been killed before. Not far from there was where they found Paul Colter’s body, he knew. He would go to that spot first, he ( decided while riding, and see whit signs might remain. = = on

E never got there. He was no more than three miles up the mountain canyons when disaster again threatened. Crack!—a rifle shot cut the thin mountain air. The bullet struck his saddle. Tense now, he quickly surveyed the country from which the shot came. There were several rocks, and a clump of green laurel about 200 vards off. The land sloped upward. There was ho intervening canyon this time. He discerned all that in a fleeting second or two. Then he spurred his horse and turned directly toward the laurel

But if a man, or some- |

| Indians and a physician with him.)

One of the Indians, an Apache youth, was an interpreter who tre- | quently worked at the lodge. They made a dramatic setting there around the wounded man — the | whites and the reds, the old and the new, when ‘the sheriff started his questioning. Stuart was still a bit confused, yet relieved. He had more or less forced himself, in desperation, to suspect Sheriff Watson, but now—,

» » =

HE inquisition took but little time. ! "Youre going to die,” the shpriff told the old Indian. “Why did (you shoot at this white man? What is your name, and where do you live?” The Indian said little, but revealed much. He had been the “ghost of Superstition,” he confessed; a medicine man, high in rank. Oldest of his tribesmen, he had labored through life to keep “white men” from despoiling the mountain, lest they anger the Thunder Gods. As a youth he had fought white men in open battle, he and his red comrades. He had sworn, with others now gone, to guard the sacred mountain throughout life; he had done his work well, for only one white man had found the real gold and this one had reconcealed it. “You murdered a man up there last week, and killed this white man’s horse?” The sheriff indicated Stuart. The Indian sighed | “yes.” “You pushed rocks over a cliff last night, to stop these people in their fire wagon? Have you been

1937 NEA SERVICE, Inc

hounding people up there all these vears?” = 2 5 HE old man talked more readily now, and the interpreter reported that he had helpers who also guarded the mountain at his direction. The medicine man had spies, too, he told. Squaws selling baskets, beads and other trinkets were really snooping on the talk and plans of white people, had done so for years. Some Indian men who worked for whites were in his clan to guard the mountains also, and reported secrets that they learned. “You know where the Dutchman's mine is, the gold,” said the sheriff. “You'll die. Tell where it is, and you'll get proper ceremonies by your people. Chants and dances, and | burial with your kind. Otherwise, we'll do it white man's way. Tell him that, interpreter.” It was crude and cruel, perhaps, but it was sound psychology. La- | boriously the old man talked and all ears strained for the transla- | tion. | “He say,” the interpreter slowly | explained, “that he is swore never | to tell white man where is gold— {any white man. He hate white men. But he is not swore not to | tell white woman; he can tell white |squaw. White woman there—" he | | indicated Carolee “—only friend of | Indian people. She do not carry | {guns. She give candy and money | She help Indian squaw |

Daily Short Story

CHARM—By Ruth H. Kenny

1 H, HUH. . . . Yeah. . ,. . NO, honey. . . . But, Edna. . . . Let me get a word in edgewise, will you? ... I've got a whole lot of stuff in that's going to dry up by tomorrow if I don't stick around and sell it. . . . Especially want to get rid of a

stack of hamburgers that need fry- |

ing.” The young man’s voice was

sincere, as he shifted the receiver to |

the other hand. “I know, dear, but I can’t go to the movies, and, I'm sorry you have to go alone. . . . But these sandwiches are goin’ to curl up, and . . . wait a minute. It's so blame hot in here, I've got to open the telephone booth door. ... Was I what? . . . Of course not. . . . There aren't any customers here now, but they'll come . . . Well, why not tomorrow night?” The tall figure leaned against the side of the booth door, and his white

apron drooped limply in the heat of |

| the evening. He was a nice-looking sort of chap, typically a gasoline-and-hamburger dispenser, and his

| promptly.”

| Everything we've been planning has! | blown up in the last 10 minutes.” | "You mean that dame you were | talking to?” | | “And how! Called off the engage- | | ment, says she isn’t going to see me | | any more, and all the rest.” { |

“My dear young fellow, then I am | | Just in time.” | “Nope, I guess you're just too late. | | You don't know . ) | me a minute w | that horn that’s tootin’ out by the | | gas and the young man | | darted for the door. | The old man slipped into the tele- | phone booth. He ran his fingers into | the return-coin slot and quickly | found the slug that had fallen there : { when the young man had left his call uncompleted. He lifted the re- | ceiver, When Tom came back to him | after selling the gasoline, the old | fellow had again taken his place at | the lunch counter.

"Now about my meal, lad,” the| (old man started. “I have here, my | boy, the magic charm that will bring the young lady back to you,

Tom rubbed his forehead with one |

| hand in a gesture of distrust, and | | the old man continued, “It looks like |

‘an old wolf's tooth, but it's saved | | me from starvation many a time.”

: THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

OUT OUR WAY

By Williams

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TUESDAY, JULY 13, 1937

By Sylvia

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“Next time you say ‘This one’s on the house,’ just re-

member it was my lemon that set us up in business.”

THERE'S A HILL: BiLLY > HE HAS AN UNMISTAKEABLE *MOUNTAIN BOY” LOOK-EVEN FROM THE BACK* HEY -YOUS

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YEAH BUT SH.H.M! WE MAVE A TRAMP IN OUR TRAILER! IT nHiNKk HE HAS A RECORD ! Youn BETTER SNEAK UP ON HIM QuieTLy !!

HE HAS $500 IN HIS JEANS CHIEF! YOUD BETTER GRAB HIM QUICKLY, BE - FORE HE TRIES TO MAKE A GET-

E MUD OFF “THE uve | PLATES | AND “THAT TAIL LIGHT WIRE OF YOURS IS BROKEN ' = DI

EQUIRED sTANCE

AND ANOTHER THING ! BETTER LET ME CHECK THOSE BRAKES... THEY DON'T LOO CAPA - BLE OF STOPPING THIS CAR IN THE

—By Raeburn Van Buren |

ANY TROUBL RE! RECOGNISING wi AUBREY EUSTACE!

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He watched the landscape as intently as he could. Instinct made him lean low on his saddle; he expected other S

Quick reasoning told him that whoever shot wouid peep out again and likely be visible, if crouched behind a rock. He watched carefully and saw nothing His assailant must be in the shrubbery.

= = =

E jerked out his repeating rifle, raised up quickly and shot blindly into the laurel. about 100 vards away. Suddenly he swelled with elation, excitement. His hunch had been right! The shrubbery moved. A human form became pactly visible. Stuart reined his horse to a quick

stop and pumped more bullets at the |

spot. He expected shots in return, but none came. There was a shaking of the limbs and leaves, then quiet. He holstered his rifle and drew a revolver as he spurred forward again, plunging quickly right into brush. Even as he rode, his mind

told him this couldn't be happening |

to him, couldnt be real. But it was! had never known before,

WO minutes later he was standing over a man on the ground. The man was old. He wore few

garments, and they were of animal | deep |

skins. And his color was bronze, almost black. He was bleeding. His rifle lay near. Stuart talked to him, but he seemed not to understand. As best he could he bound the old Indian's wounds. An hour later, Stuart rode into the clearing on the cliff that held the Colter home, carrying the wounded man across his saddle. When he saw the other white people, the Indian's expression became one of resignation. Here was he, at last, captive of the enemy; the logical thing to expect was slow torture at their hands while they celebrated. Otherwise, why had the white man bothered to carry him in alive? Why had his brains not been bashed out there in the mountain. Carolee directed the immediate doctoring. Stuart's bullets had been effective and the wounds were indeed bad. She put the old savage on a bed, gave him water, dressed his wounds and comforted him the best she could. Silas rode posthaste for Superstition Lodge to summon the sheriff and a doctor.

It was hours before the officer ar- | niftiest feminine charms in the | thing had happened and you'd been rived, but he brought some other county and now I've lost the girl. ' hurt,” She looked him over quick-

the |

He felt a zest for action he |

He was then |

“I Have Here the Magic Charm

voice was music to the stack of empty coffee cups along the counter. The screen door of the shop squeaked open as a tattered old man entered. The newcomer seated him- | self on a stool near the booth and

made a deep study of the items on |

the menu. = = ” ve OMIN’ rights up, brother,” the young man called to him. “Say, Edna,” this into the telephone, “why dont . . . if you only would ..” A loud click on the other end of the line forced him to replace his | receiver a moment, then quickly to snatch it up again. “Hung up on me, eh? Well, no dame can do that to me. . . . Operator, give me Sharran 527. . . . No, Sharron 527. . . . Aw, no. Cancel it; skip the whole thing.” He banged the receiver down on the hook, started out of the booth and in a temper closed the door on | his finger. | “Ouch, darn ijt!” he sputtered. | “This is going from bad to worse.” | He regained control of himself suf- | ficiently to ask, “What can I do for | you, buddy?” | “Well, son,” said the old man at (the counter, “I'm powerful hungry.” | “You're at the right place, then.” {His anger was leaving him now. “I've got so much food in stock {you'd think I was ready for the | Fourth of July.” | “Kinda expensive, though, ain't [it?” the old man said slowly, jingling two coins in his pockets. | "Guess I ain't as hungry as I could {be unless"—and here he paused | with dignity—"unless you believe in | charms.” =

1 ow

AY, don't mention charms to me,” Tom Brock replied, fold{ing his arms over the great white | apron that covered him. “I was sap enough to fall for some of the

| “QAY, what are yuh trying to hand A S

it to Tom.

me, anyway?” the young man | asked, taking the tooth and turning (it over in his hand. “It's a funny | thing to be giving away, if it’s so | valuable,” he added skeptically. “Well, son, the old Indian that | ‘gave this here tooth to me told me | that I should part with it only in | an emergency, and, my boy, I think | that this is an emergency for you, and as it so happens, one for me, | too. Now I shall glady part with it [in order to help you get back the | lady, and help me get a sandwich, a | | piece of that lemon pie, and a cup | of coffee.” | “Gotta laugh at myself, I sup- | pose, for falling for a lot of bunk | like this, brother, but I'll stake yuh | to the grub if you think Edna will | really come back.” Tom grinned, {and flipped a hamburger onto the | grill, let it fry a while, shoved it be- | tween a sliced roll, and set it with a {cup of steaming coffee in front of | the stranger, The old man fell to the food, and between mouthfuls said, “Pretty good pie. Believe I'll have another | cup of coffee, lad. Now don't you worry, I'll guarantee that the young woman will be here before the night is over.” As he was draining the last drop | of coffee, the screen door squeaked | open, and both men looked up to! see a very excited girl standing transfixed at the door. Tom said, “It worked, all right,” and wiped his hands on his apron.

“ OM,” she said breathlessly, “Tom are you all right?” Tom rushed toward her. “Of course, I'm fit as ever, and darn glad to see you've changed your mind.” He came to her side and | started to take her in his arms, but she moved back. “Why, Tom, I thought you'd been hurt? Are you really all right?” Her eyes studied his face, and fell to the long yellow tooth that he swung in one hand. “Hurt? Who, me? get that idea?” “Someone phoned me, and . . . ” “Sure, I phoned you but you hung up on me.” “Oh, I don’t mean then. After | that, a man phoned and said, some-

Where'd you

A Taste Thrill . . .

PURE . ..

WHOLESOME

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Q—How large is the ordinary deep-sea type of submarire telegraph cable? A—The outside diameter is about one inch, and the weight in air is about two tons per nautical mile. The shore-end types of cable may be as large as 32 inches in diameter

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Boston,

ly. “Darling,” she cried, “your finger! It's all black and blue!” He stood utterly bewildered while

she took his hand tenderly and examined the injured member. He thought how foolish this all must look to the old man; but when he turned to where his customer had been, all he saw was the empty stool. Out on the road a tattered old man trudged slowly along, absentmindedly shaking a pocketful of wooden “teeth” and speculating where he could use them again to get his next meal.

THE END

(Copyright. 1937. United Feature Syndicate] The characters in this story are fictitious

i Oopr. 1937 by United Feature Syndicate, Ine. .

1-13

“Dat’s a pitcher of my eldest—he’s gonna follow in my fingerprints!”

Modern Judaism takes the stand that the worker has an inviolable right in the industry in which he works . . . we recognize labor's right to strike, but we strongly prefer arbitration to open conflict.—Rabbi Barnett Brickner.

President Roosevelt may not be a dictator, but he is paving the way for someone who may be hard where he has been soft, brutal where he

has been benevolent.—Dr. Harley L. Lutz, Princeton University.

In such a world as that in which we are living we cannot take the position that the use of force is never justifiable.—~Bishop Manning, New York.

America has fewer strikes now than in the past, but the people seem to make more of them.—Lady Nancy Astor.

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