Kankakee Valley Post, Volume 8, Number 32, DeMotte, Jasper County, 7 July 1938 — Floyd Gibbons' [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Floyd Gibbons'

ADVENTURERS’ CLUB

HEADLINES FROM THE LIVES OF PEOPLE LIKE YOURSELF!

“Vanishing Corpses ”

By FLOYD GIBBONS

Famous Headline Hunter Hello, everybody: You know, boys and girls, I’ve often noticed, in these adventure stories, how in a good many cases, one mishap leads to another. That’s probably because the first thing that goes wrong so upsets the fellow it happens to, that—well—he just loses his head and plunges right smack into another danger. It's bad business when a man loses his head in the face of danger. But at the same time it has produced a lot of red-hot double-barreled and triple-barreled adventures, and the story I'm going to tell you today is a mighty good example. Paul Moore of Chicago is today’s distinguished adventurer. * The events this yarn deals with happened to him and tw’O other lads, in September, 1923. r At that time Paul was just a kid of twelve, living in Grand Rapids, Mich. Paul had just been given a .22 caliber rifle for selling perfume, and one Saturday he and his two friends, Art Kohles and Archie Eastman, started out on a hunting trip. Art and Archie had air rifles. Paul had no cartridges for his .22, but Art said he knew where he could get some. They started out early, taking their lunches with them, and after walking a couple hours, came to a patch of woods four miles from the outskirts of town. Art Pounded the Cartridge. There didn’t seem to be any game in sight, so they sat down on the bank of a small creek to eat their lunches. Paul had put down his gun and was just starting to untie the package that contained his grub when Art spoke up. saying there was a wild canary on the other side of the creek. “Let’s have your gun,” whispered Art. “I can’t get it with mine.” Paul passed over his rifle. Art had the in his own pocket. He took one out and tried to put it in the chamber. It wouldn’t fit. Young Art didn’t know that the cartridges he had brought from home were the wrong caliber. He thought this one wouldn’t go into the

chamber because the gun w r as new. He tried to force it in wuth his fingers and then, in his haste to get a shot at the bird before it flew away, he picked up a stone that happened to be lying at his feet. Art hit the bullet tw T o or three times with that stone. And . then, suddenly, there was a loud crack. The bullet exploded. Art dropped the gun, crying, “I’m shot!” Then he fell to the ground and lay still. The other two kids stood speechless. Art had killed himself! Paul had an uncle who lived about a mile aw’ay on the other side of the woods-, and the first thought that popped into his mind was to run there and get help. He told Archie to stay behind with Art, but Archie insisted on going along with him. They started o'fT on a short cut through the w’oods, running as fast as their legs would carry them. On the other side of the woods they came to the tracks of the interurban line that runs out of Grand Rapids. There w'as a third rail along the right of way, set up a foot or so above the ground. Paul knew about it. He was w-ell up ahead of Archie, and he went over it with a flying leap. But he didn’t think to warn Archie about that electrified rail. Hit; mind was too full of the thought of Art lying back there by the creek bank. Archie Stepped on Third Rail. The next thing Paul knew, Archie w'as stepping on that rail. He just lit oh it for an instant. Then he pitched forward on his face. And -he, too, lay. still! Archie’s body was lying between the tu’o tracks. “1 took one look at him,” says Paul, “and decided he was dead. Then I turned and ran as if the devil was after me.” It was a long way to his uncle’s house, and by that time Paul was all but out of breath. But he didn’t dare stop running. He stumbled on. At last he reached the house and burst in, panting, “Uncle Abe! Quick! Art’s killed himself with my gun and Archie’s been electrocuted!” Everyone in the house, including two old ladies who were visiting Paul’s aunt, dropped whatever they w r ere doing and started for the tracks. They hurried through brush and corn fields to the spot where Archie had fallen—and when they arrived, there w’as no’ sign of Archie. Uncle Abe turned on Paul. “Young man,” he said sternly, “are you sure this isn’t a joke of some kind?” But it was no joke to Paul. He thought maybe a passing interurban hah stopped to pick Archie up. He crossed the track and started through the woods toward the stream where they had left Art. Both Bodies Had Disappeared. The women turned back, but Uncle Abe followed along after him. They ran through the woods in breathless haste—tore up to the spot where Art had shot himself—and then Paul stopped dead in his tracks. Art was gone, too! It was top much for Paul. His uncle was looking at him suspiciously, and he hardly knew what to say. How could Paul ask him to believe that tw-o dead boys had both disappeared, one right after the other? He stood there silent a minute, and then he heard sounds of splashing w’ater, and of voices coming from some point down the stream. Together they walked toward those voices and there they found— Art and Archie. It was all explained easily enough. Archie had been knocked out by the shock from the third rail. He had a big bump on his head, but that was all the damage that had been done to him. When he came to, he went back to where Art had fallen and found him bathing his leg, which had been grazed on the calf by a bit of Jhe exploding shell. Together they had moved down stream a ways, and that’s w’here Paul found theta. And that’s ail there is to this story, except that a short time after that. Art and Archie and Paul took that .22 rifle and pitched it in the Grand river. Copyright.—WNU Service.

Archie Pitched Forward on His Face.