Syracuse-Wawasee Journal, Volume 38, Number 4, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 6 November 1942 — Page 6

Velvet Is a Fabric Favorite For Lovely ‘Dress Up’ Things

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VELVET has ever been a magic word in the fabric realm and this season its flattery is being played up more glamorously than ever. It is in lavish mood that designers are stressing velvet throughout fall and winter collections, bringing out most exciting “date dresses’’ and evening modes styled for “date” wear, for afternoon and after twilight formats, in charming off-duty contrast to sturdy uniforms and functional workaday outfits. There are many outstanding slants to the velvet vogue that make for big news just now. One is that of the simply tailored afternoon velvet suit that is conceded to be one of the smartest items on fashion’s program this season. It adds to its lure that it is so dramatically adaptable to the accompaniment of show-piece furs, lovely, lacy blouses, glittering jeweled buttons and, what is most important, high color touches in gloves, bags and beguiling hats. Then, too, stunning separate coats made of ink-black velvet luxuriously collared in ink-black fur carry a message of. ace-high chic for winter. Which all goes to show that no matter how formal or casual your sociable moments are, there will be lovely, appropriate costumes for the occasion done in regal velvet which will make you as feminine and elegant as your best beau’s) heart could I desire, I Suitable for any “date,” from afternoon to midnight, is the charming priority-correct furlough frock shown to the right in the above illustraShawl to Match iX« ~ w Jy| As Scotch as heather is this plaid outfit made of spun rayon yarn fabric dyed for true color combinax tions. The material has a warm, woolly finish. The navy sweater is piped in the plaid of the skirt. The outfit includes slacks, a mannish lined vest, a calot and, most important of AH, a three-cornered fringed shawl made of the identical plaid used for the dress. The idea of a cunning shawl “to match” is taking the young campus crowd by storm. These are often embroidered in peasant style and colorfully finished off with hand-tied yarn fringe or with a self-fabric, frayed-fringe edge.

By CHERIE NICHOLAS

• • xyyx xvx tion. It is fashioned of handsome, wine-colored, crush-resistant transparent rayon velvet. The grand thing about crush-resistant rayon velvet is that it is all that its name indicates —crush-resistant! You can wear it with confidence, knowing that it will keep its freshness. Note especially that gleaming metallic embroidery defines the simulated two-piece effect. Many of the new velvet fashions are gleaming with bead and sequin touches. The slimly fitted bodice has a deep V-neck. Worn over a properly fitted foundation garment (the new slenderizing fashions call for just that) the youthful, slim-waisted lines of this lovely dress are unusually graceful. The vogue for contrast has inspired the charming “after five” bolero costume to the left, which is done in rich crush-resistant rayon velvet in deep midnight blue. The long slim lines of the colorful rayon-and-metal bodice are accented by the patriotic fabric-conserving brevity of the bolero jacket, making a well-corseted figure a necessity for effective wearing. The flattery of handsome velvet in deep, rich black is combined with the enchantment of exquisite lace in the charming dinner dress illustrated in the center above, which is designed especially for the woman whose program includes club activities. The graceful, long lines of this dress are accented by effective, vel-vet-banded puffed sleeves of thin-to-transparency black lace. A cluster of flowers adds coloring to the softly draped neckline. Enthusiasm for velvet is also finding a new outlet this season in that most important vogue which calls I for accessory accents, especially I velvet gloVes matched to hats, the ensemble carried out in daring colors, notably fuchsia shades, kelly green, turquoise, and flaming red. Released by Western Newspaper Union. Small or Large— Hats Are Feathered Gorgeously colorful feather hats are out in full force. They range from the pheasant-pad calots (so tiny you have to look twice before you can identify them as hats) to pillboxes and dashing types that flaunt towering crowns with imposing feather motif trims. A charming feather fantasy that does the “pretty-pretty” gesture is the halo of pastel feather flowers that pose back of your forehead curl. The single ostrich plume swirls from the front over the top of the hat to the back where it falls low to the nape of the neck. Ruffles Galore Are Seen On Coats, Skirts, Suits Be on the lookout for ruffles galore, for many of the newest fashions are being smartly styled with ruffles. Even cloth coats are taking on ruffle effects, such as cascades of self fabric running down side closings from neckline to hemline. Tailored suits, too, are softened with jabots of self fabric on the jacket fronts. Afternoon dresses have cascades of ruffles on both skirts and bodice tops. Tiny flutings and ruche effects finish off the hemlines of narrow skirts. Cozy ‘Nighties’ The flannelette nightgowns that we’ll be wearing this winter will be old-fashioned, long sleeved ones. Women who never wore these quaint types will be wearing them this year. Some of them are really very pretty, made as they are of flower prints in delectable colors.

SYRACUSE WAWASEE JOURNAL

J ® By Ernest Haycox z,

THE STORY SO FAR: Clay Morgan has decided to play a lone hand against Ben Herendeen, a rancher bent on running the cattle country his own way. The two men have been enemies for years, having first fought overt Clay’s wife, Lila, who died hating him and believing tehe should have married Herendeen. Morgan is a solitary figure, devoted to his nine-year-old daughter, Janet. Although two women, Catherine Grant and Ann McGarrah, are In love with him, they know he cannot forget Lila. Os his former friends, only Hack Breathitt has not gone over to Herendeen’s side. Gurd Grant, Catherine’s brother, hesitated about joining Herendeen, but became Morgan’s sworn enemy when he discovered that Catherine had been to his ranch. Learning at the last minute that Government Valley is to be auctioned at Sage City 190 miles away, Clay rides all night and arrives in time to outbid Charley Hiilhouse, Herendeen’s foreman'. When he learns that Herendeen has sent a party out to find Hack Breathitt and kill him, Clay starts out to find him first. He goes to Freeport, to Kern Case’s store, where he thinks he will find Hack. As he is talking to Case, Herendeen appears in the doorway. . . . Now continue with the story. CHAPTER X On the same day Morgan returned from Sage City, Charley Hillhouse had pulled into Three Pines and reported his failure to Herendeen. Both of them had been thoroughly certain of success and now Herendeen sat in astonished silence, the back of his neck flushing and his hazel eyes freezing on Hillhouse. Charley felt this bad luck keenly; it was a personal loss to him, so complete was his loyalty to the ranch, so partisan a man he was. He rolled a cigarette, laying his shoulders against a porch post. There was no sweetness in the smoke. » “If we’d keptxthat’damned notice down another twenty-four hours —” Herendeen said: “He was at the dance Friday night. He couldn’t of seen it. That’s why Harry Jump came to town in such a lather. What’d he pay?” “Eleven thousand.” “Why didn’t you keep on?” said Herendeen, irritably. “Why didn’t you snow him under? My God, Charley, I send you two hundred miles for something we had to have, and you buckle up.” “You set the limit,” pointed out Hillhouse. “I went to the limit and that’s all I could do.” “You should have figured the limit didn’t mean a thing against Morgan. Hillhouse defended himself with blunt warmth. “I’m no mind reader. I can’t guess what’s in your head, Ben. When you lay out something for me to do, either give me free rein or else be damned sure how you tell me to do it.” He threw the cigarette away. “Well, we’ve lost it.” “Charley,” said Herendeen, “the country ain’t big enough for both Morgan and me.” “So it’s fight,” said Hillhouse, and let the long silence fall while he soberly considered the answer. He sighed a little and at last shrugged his shoulders. “Been a long time coming.” Herendeen said: “Stay clear of it, Charley, if you feel like that.” Hillhouse shook his head. “No,” he mused, “a man can’t be half of one thing and half of another. He’d be a mighty poor man. I’ll do what I got to do. If it means I lift a gun against Clay Morgan I’ll do it — and God take pity on me for it.” He gave Herendeen a searching glance. “But don’t make no mistakes about Clay. When you call his hand you better be ready to go right on with it. What do I say to him when he asks me to move those cows?” “Let him worry about that.” Hillhouse didn’t like the answer and was on the point of saying as much when Herendeen broke in. “Right now we’ve got Hack Breathitt to find. Take out three-four men and beat up the country around Dell Lake.” Hillhouse hadn’t heard about that. He said, “Whut’s he done?” When Herendeen told him, he considered it over a long interval. Afterwards his shoulders .rose and fell, expressively shaking away a good many memories. “I guess the wild bunch finally got him. Been teeterin’ on the edge of crookedness a long while. Well, I’ll find him.” Long as he had known Charley Hillhouse, it astonished Herendeen now that his foreman should so calmly accept the dismal chore of hunting down a man who had been one of his deep friends. Long after Hillhoufie had lined out across the flats, Herendeen puzzled it around his head. As for himself, Herendeen had no scruples to explain away. He was a cattleman protecting his range by whatever means necessary, with an ambition to extend that range by whatever means necessary. A man in this land had rights if he was big enough to hold them; if he wasn’t big enough then he had ‘ho rights. This was Heren: deen’s philosophy entirely. But Hillhouse had in his long cool head a strange standard of right and wrong; and a zeal as passionate as that of a fanatic. This kind of man could do terrible things and feel terrible emotions:’ He was, Herendeen thought, like a fellow packing a stick of dynamite in his pocket—uncomfortable at times io have around.

- * ’ —lo—- — time you go over to Morgan’s, don’t bother to come back.”

This was the extent of Herendeen’s thoughts on the matter. Turning to his horse, he lined out through the Haycreek Hills, reaching Crowfoot at suppertime. He stopped here for his meal and later made a little talk on the porch with Gurd and Catherine. “Charley pulled out this afternoon to round up a few men and scout the west side of the Moguls. We’re after Breathitt. I’ve got Bones McGeen up on the high trail, near Ketchell’s.” Gurd said, “Believe I’ll go sit in with Charley. Where you going?” “Toward Freeport.” Gurd said: “Better be careful. That’s a tough district.” Herendeen let out a huge laugh as he went to his horse. “Gurd,” he said, “I never saw the man I was afraid-of or the piece of brush I couldn’t ride through.” Late fall’s twilight began to deepen around the -yard; it turned the porch gray. From his horse Herendeen watched Catherine, who had said nothing at all. These shadows quenched the shining of her copper-red hair. But she was strong and shapely, the roundness of her upper body having its effect on him. Her face was a pale oval against the dark background; her eyes were very black. When she stirred, arms slowly rising behind her head and changing the shape of her silhouette, Herendeen had his moment’s intense desire to get down from the horse. -Had Gurd not been there he would have done so. He only said, “See you later,” and fell into the Freeport road, never forgetting how she had looked. As soon as he had gone Catherine said to her brother: “You don’t mean that, Gurd. Stay out of it. Hack has done nothing to us.” Gurd walked down the steps. “Never mind. We’ve got to stick together.” She said: “Do you realize it is Clay’s friend you’re trying to kill?” “Then he had better pick better friends.” “You’ve changed,,”, she said. “What’s happened?” He came back up the steps and stopped before her. “Sure, I’ve changed.” His voice was monotonous and odd. “Morgan had his chance to stick with us and didn’t do it. Then let him go to the devil. He's not my friend now.” “Listen,” she said, “you’d better understand me. There will never be a rider of the Crowfoot outfit sent after Hack, or used to run errands for Herendeen.” He said, “Who’s running this outfit?” “You are, as long as you stick to business. What’s the matter with you lately?” He seized her arm then, his face drawing near enough for her to see distrust on it. “Next time you go over to Morgan’s don’t bother to come back.” She pulled free of his arm and hit him across the face with her hand. She said, “You’re a small little boy, Gurd. Why don’t you try to be a man?” He shouted, “We’ll see!” and jumped off the porch. A moment later he raced out of the yard, bound over the Haycreek Hills toward the west flank of the Moguls. The clay dust of the road was a ghostly glowing ribbon unrolling between the shadowy timber banks, and as Herendeen traveled he made a perfect target for the rustlers and the fugitives and dispossessed nesters who made camp in the lost hideouts of this section. They hated all cattlemen. He knew this perfectly well and watched the black margins of the road with a sharper attention than usual, but it never occurred to him to turn back. In this man was a belief, strong as a shield of steel, that no bullet would ever reach him. This belief completely governed Ben Herendeen’s life. The road, rising from the timber, reached a small burn on which the black and gray snags of once living timber showed a stripped gaunt pattern against the swelling moonglow. Entering, this barren spot Ben Herendeen caught the smell of dust, and at once squared his heavy body on the saddle, meanwhile dropping a hand to the butt of his gun. Over by the far margin of the burn he saw a horseman

drift into the pearly,, diffused light and halt by the road. Herendeen let his horse singlefoot forward and so came upon the waiting shape. Then he slowed down. The man said: “Ben?” Herendeen hauled in. “Nothing, wrong with your eyes, Pete.” Pete Borders chuckled. “How could a man miss? You throw a shape big as the side of a barn.” Herendeen said: “Late for you. Or maybe a little early.” Pete Borders said in his easy, amused, way: “Just enjoyin’ a pretty night.” “I want to talk to you.” “Fire away. I guess we have done some talkin’ before.” Herendeen said:. “I wouldn’t trust you Out of sight, Pete, and if J ever caught you with one of my cowS Td hang you higher than a kite.” ’ ‘ “Ain’t ever caught me, Ben.” “Remember what I’d do if I did,” retorted Herendeen. “Do your stealin’ in other places and we’U get along. I propose to run every haywire rider out of this country in short order but if you stay clear of me nothin’s going to trouble you at all. I can use a fellow like you once in a while.” He thought about it, letting the silence settle gently between them. Then he said: “Go up to Government Valley and work over Morgan’s stuff. He’s too shorthanded to watch that end of his range.” “Ben,” said Borders indulgently, “you sure make me ashamed for bein’ a piker. You’re a bigger crook than I ever thought of bein’.” “You grind your coffee in one mill and I’ll grind mine in another,” said Herendeen, taking no offense. “I can make it hard for you, or I can let you alone. Just work along like I said.” “Sure,” said Borders. “But keep your riders away from that district at night so I won’t be bumpin’ into ’em. I got to cross your range.” Morgan stood with his back to the stove, gently rubbing his hands along the seat of his pants. Kern Case, grave and unmoved, murmured: “Evenin’, Ben.” For. the moment nothing else was said. Herendeen ignored Case, studying Morgan with his round hazel eyes half-shut. He filled the doorway with his heavy legs and high, huge shoulders. Morgan brought his hands forward, reaching for his tobacco to make up a cigarette. This was the length of the silence. When he struck a match and cupped it to his face he stared over the rim of his fingers, reading Herendeen with a steady interest. The man had swung into the room quickly, as though to surprise somebody; and he stood now with his thoughts pretty much on bis face, his glance rummaging all the dark corners of the room. Morgan thought he knew the answer to that. Herendeen had expected to find Breathitt here. Herendeen abruptly crossed the room, his weight squealing against the worn floorboards, and walked to a rear door. 'He turned the door’s knob gently, he kicked the door open. Kern Case’s voice echoed his dislike. “Get out of there, Ben. That’s my room.” Herendeen was in it, moving around slowly; he came out again. Somewhere above them a board snapped, throwing Herendeen’s head instantly upward. Herendeen stared at the ceiling and back at Morgan. “If you’re here, he’s here.” Herendeen stared at Morgan, his Ups pressed together. He was faintly smiling, hard and certain and slowly keyed-up by his temper. “He’s here,” he grunted. He walked on to the front door. He put his back to Morgan, watching the street. Morgan said: “Keep your eyes open, Ben.” Herendeen didn’t turn. He said: “I see nothin’ to be afraid of, Clay. As far as you’re concerned, I never did.” He stepped to the porch and wheeled around, looking upward at the second-story windows of the store. He held - the hard-creased smile on his lips; he teetered on the balls of his feet and drew his gun. He fired at the window, breaking the glass, and walked into the doorway again, swinging around to watch the street. (TO BE €O^TILLED)

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