The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 9, Number 23, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 5 October 1916 — Page 3

THE LONE STAR RANGER A ThHlling Texas Border Story By ZANE GREY

s SYNOPSIS. —7— Th* time of the story: about 1875. The pia The Texas cow country. The chief chars'.ter: Buckley Duane, a young man who has inherited a lust to kill, which he suppresses.. In self-defence he shoots dead a drunken bul y and is forced to flee to the wild country where he joins Bland’s outlaw hand. Euchre, an amiable rascal, tells him about Jennie, a young girl who ha<f been abducted and sold to Bland tot a bad fate. Tbev determine to rescue ttie c. rl and restore* her to civilization Euchre has just reconnoitered, and is reporting the outlook to Huik. Euchre ts billed. Buck kills Blind an! Is dangerously wounded by Mrs. Bland, but es--1 apes with Jennie. Jenn'e is abducted. Bucii never sees her again, but kills her nbd’jitor.

s Have ycu ever deliberately y * trken a chance where the odds v * were three to one that you * J would be killed? If you saw % « your child fall into deep water, * * it is likely that ycu would im- , * mediately* plunge in and try to * *, save him without reasoning the * J chances against your safety * * Suppose that your wife or sis- * 5 ter were held captive in a hours * * by an armed maniac who intend- * * ed to kill any would-be rescuer: $ * would you go and try to pacify $ 5 that maniac? Read this install- * ? ment. See what desperate \ ' chances Buck Duane ’took to § y prove his innocence cf a foul «, 4 crime. v

’CHAPTER Xll—Continued. Duane has just escaped into the underbrush from a posse intent on lynching him. The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most cf their length in Texas ran between wide. low. flat lands covered by a dense growth of willow. Cottonwood. mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with the willow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that an inexperienced man would have considered Impenetrable. The depths of this brake Duane had penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle of the rl.ay the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered the foliage, then slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the green mantle stud danced like gold on the ground. Duane hatd always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, and likewise he had felt a protecting, harboring snnething which always seemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Any unwounded creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glided under the low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and. keeping in the brake, work his way upstream till ho had reached country more hospitable. He pushed on. His left arm had to be fa vored, as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread the willows, he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. Finally after a toilsome penetration of still denser brush lie broke through to the bank of the river. He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bank extending like a green and yellow

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Lilted Enough Water to Quench His Thirst. wall. Duane perceived at li glance the futility of his trying to cross at this point, Everywhere the sluggish water laved quicksand bars. Before leaving the hank he tied his hat noon a pole and lifted enough water to quench his, thirst. Then he worked his way back to where thinner growth made advancement easier, and kept on upstream till the shadows were so deep he could not see. Peeling around for a place big enough to stretch out on, lie lay down. For the time being he was as safe there as lie would have been beyond in the Rim Rock. He was tired, though not exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain .in his arm lie dropped at once into sleep. CHAPTER XIII. How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew. But he reached familiar country and found a rancher <vho had before befriended him. Here his arm was attended to; he had food and sleep; and in a couple of weeks he was himself again. Wlwn the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail his friend reluctantly imparted the information that some thirty miles south, near the village of Shirley, there was posted at a certain cross-road a re-

1 ward tor Buck Duane dead or alive. Duane had heard of such notices, but he had never seen one. His friend s reluctance and refusal to state for what particular deed this reward was offered roused Duane's curiosity. Abruptly he decided to ride over there and find out who wanted him dead or alive, and why. Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the green fields ■ and trees and shining roofs of a town he considered must be Shirley. And tit ! ’he bottom of the hill he came upon !an Intersecting road. There was a I placard nailed on the cross-road sign- ; post, Duane drew rein near it and I leaned close to read the faded print, i “sl,(w'-0 REWARD POII BUCK Dl'A/E DEAD OR ALIVE." Peering ! closer to read the finer, more Tailed ' print. Duane learned that he was want- , ed for the murder of Mrs, Jeff Aiken at her ranch near Shirley. The month September was named, but the date 1 was Illegible. The regard was offered i by the Woman's husband, whose name ' appeared with that of a sheriff’s at ! the bottom of the placard. Duane read the thing twice. When I he straightened he was sick with the I horror of his fate, wild witli passion I al those misguided fools who could 1 believe that he had harmed a woman. I A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a storm shakes ] the oak. When it passed, leaving him ■ cold, with clouded brow and piercing I eye, him mind was set. Spurring his horse, he rode straight toward the ' village. Shirley appeared to be a large, pre- ■ tentious country town. A branch of I I some railroad terminated there. r lhe !* main street was wide, bordered by trees and commodious houses, and [ many of the stores were of brick. A I large plaza shaded by giant cotton- , wood occupied a central location, i Duane pulled his running horse and : halted him, plunging and snorting, bei fore a group of idle men who lounged | on benches in the shade of a spread- I i ing cottonwood. How many times had ■ Duane seen just that kind of lazy ; shirt-sleeved Texas group 1 Not often, however, had he seen such placid, lolling, good-natured men change their expression, their attitude so swiftly. His advent apparently was momentous. They evidently took him for an un- ■ usual visitor. So far as Duane could ’ tell, not one of them recognized him. i had a bint of nis identity. He slid off his horse and threw the ; bridle. I ‘Tin Buck Dunne.” he said. “1 saw ‘ that placard—out there on a sign-post. It’s a damn He! Somebody find this man .Jeff Aiken. I want to see him.’ His announcement was taken lu absolute silence. That was the only I effect he noted, for he avoided looking !at these villagers. The reason was l simple enough; Duane felt himself I overcome witli emotion. There were tears in his eyes. He sat down or. a bench, put his elbows on his knees and bis hands to his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his fate. This ignominy was the last straw. Presently, however, he became aware' of some kind of commotion among these villagers. He* heard whispering, low. hoarse voices, then the shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked his gun from its holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man. fi vid of face, shaking like a leaf, confronted him with his own gun. "Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!" he roared, waving the gun. That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Several meA lay hold of his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even if Duane had had the spirit. One of them fetched his halter from his saddle, ami witli tills they bound him helpless. People were running now from the street, the stores, the Imuses. Did men. cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew. The increasing clamor began to attract women as well tts men. A group of girls ran up, then hung back in fright and pity. The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, busines like hands. One of them lifted his fists and roared ai the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the racket. He bent them back into a circle; but it was some little time before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard. “ shut up. will you-all?” he was yelling. “Give us a chance to hear , somethin'. Easy now—soho. There .1 ain't nobody goin’ to be hurt. Tliet’s j right; everybody quiet now. Let's see i what’s come off.” This cowboy, evidently one of ! authority, or at least one of strong j personality, turned to the gaunt man. still waved Duane's gun. “Abe, put the gun down,” he said. "It might go off. Here, give it to me. I Now. what’s wrong? Who’s this roped ■ gent, an’ what’s he done?” The gaunt fellow, who appeared now ’ about to collapse, lifted a shaking hand and pointed. “Thet thar feller —he’s Buck ' Duane!" he panted. An angry murmur ran through the ■ surrounding crowd. "The rope! The rope! Throw It over a branch! String him up!” cried an excited villager. ■* “Abe. how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?” the cowboy asked, sharply. “Why—he said so,” replied the man called Abe. / . “What 1" came the exclamation, In- . credulously. “It’s a tarnal fact,” panted Abe. | I waving his hand Importantly. He was an old man and appeared to be i carried awajP with the significance of I his deed. “He like to rid' his hoss | right over us-all. Then he jumped off, j says he was Buck Duane, an’ he want- ! ed to see Jeff Aiken bad.”

This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had restored order again, someone had slipped the noose-end of Duane’s rope over his head. “Up with him I” screeched a wildeyed youth. Tlie mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys. “Abe. if he's Buck Duane how’n hell did yon get hold of his gun?" bluntly queried the cowboy. “Why—he set down thar —an’ he kind of hid his face on his hand. An’

lihw f ; H ” il! ’Z v OH ,« r * Jar“How’n Heil Did You Get His Gun?”

■ I grabbed his gun an’ got tlie drop on Idm.” What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane. "Stranger, I reckon you’d better speak up for yourself.” he said. That stilled the crowd as no command had done. “I’m Buck Duane, all right,” said Duane, quietly. "It was this way—” The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left his face; his jaw Legau to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out a powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duane’s blouse. “Somethin’ queer here. But If you're Duane you’re sure in bail. Any fool ought to know that. You mean it. then?” “I'm Duane; yes. But I won’t stand for the blame of things I never did. That’s why I’m here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward. Until now I never was within half a day’s ride of this town. I’m blamed for what I never did. I rode in here, told who I was, asked somebody to send for Jeff Aiken.” “An’ then you set down an’ let this old guy throw your own gun on you?” queried the cowboy ; n amazement. “I guess that’s it.” replied Duane. “Well, it’s powerful strange, if you’re really Buck Duane what do you want to see Aiken for?” “I wanted to face him, to ten him 1 never harmed his wife.” “Suppose we send for Aiken an’ he hearty’you an’ doesn't believe you; what then?” “If he won’t believe me—why. then my case’s so bad—l’d be better off deml.” . ' A momentary silence was broken by Sibert. “If this isn’t a queer deal! Boys, reckon we’d better send for Jeff.” “Somebody went ter him. He’ll be coinin’ soon,” replied a man. Duane stood a head taller than that circle of curious faces. He gazed out nbovt and beyond them. It was in this way that he chanced to see a number of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some were old. with hard : faces, like the men. Some were young : tnd comely, and most of these seemed agitated by excitement or distress. They east fearful, pitying glances upon Duane as he stood there with that noose around his neck. Women were more human than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that dilated, seemed fascinated ar his gaze, but were not averted. It was the old women who were voluble, loud in expression of their feelings. “Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,” called a man, loudly. The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness. . Duane saw two men coming fast, 'one of whom, in the lead, was of stalwart build. He had a gun in his hand, and tiis manner was that of fierce enThe cowboy Sibert thrust open the ostlinc circle of men. Hold on, Jeff.” he called, and he blocked the man with the gun. He spoke so low Duane could not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken’s face. At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, and Aiken ami Sibert were caught in the circle. There was a pushing forward, a pressing of many bodies, hoarse cries and flinging ha^ds —again the insane tumult was about to break out —the demand for. an outlaw’s blood, thi call for wild justice executed a thousand times before on Texas’ bloody soil. Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. The cowboys with I him beat and cuffed in vain. “Jeff, will you listen?” broke in Sli bert, hurriedly, his hands on the other nan’s arm. Aiken nodded cooiiy. Duane, who had seen many men in perfect control < >f themselves under circumstances like . . -- ‘ f 1 H , f ...

THE SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

these, recognized the spirit that <iom»- I nated Aiken, tie was white, coin I passionless. There were lines of bitter tii’ief deep round h'.s lips. If Duane over felt the'meaning of death he felt it then. "Sure -this ’s your game. Aiken-.”, s*.!d Sibert. “But hea me a minute. I reckon you'd better hold on till you hear what he has to say." Then for the first time the drawnfaced. hungry-eyed giant tnrnetl his gaze upon Duane. He had intelligence which was not yet subservient to passion. Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane would care to have judge him in a critical moment like this. “Listen." said Duane, gravely, with his eyes steady co Aiken’s. “I’m Buck Dunne. I never lied to any man in my life. I was forced Into outlawry. I’ve > never had a chance to leave the j country. I’ve killed men to save my own life. I rode thirty miles to-day—-deliberately to see what this reward was, who made it, what for. When I read "the placard I went sick to the bottom of my soul. So 1 rode in here to find you—-to tell you this: 1 never saw Shirley before to-day. It was impossible for me to have —killed your wife. I ist September I was two hundred miles nortl of here on the upper Nueces. 1 can prove that. Men who know me w.ll tell you I couldn’t murder a woman. I haven’t any idea why such a deed should be laid at my hands. It’s just that wild border gossip. And see here, Aiken. You understand I’m a miserable man. I’m about broken. I guess. 1 don’t care any more for life, for anything. If you can’t took me in the eyes, man to man, ami believe what 1 say—why. by God 1 you can kill me 1” Aiken heaved a great breath. “Buck Duane, whether I’m impressed or not by what you say needn’t matter. You’ve had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear. The thing is we can piove you innocent or-gmilty. My girl Lucy saw my wife's assailant.” He motioned fur the crowd of men to open uj>. “Somebody—you. Sibert—go for Lucy. That ’ll settle this thing.” Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him. the hum of voices, all seemed far off. His iife hung by the merest thread. Yet he did not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which might be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child. Th crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image of a slight girl clinging to Sibert’s hand. He could not see distinctly. Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid. Then he fetched her closer to Duane. “Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?” asked Aiken, huskily and low. “Is he the one—who came in the house that day—struck you down —and dragged mama —?” Aiken’s voice failed. A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane’s blurred sight. He saw a pale, sad face end violent eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No horrible moment in Duane’s life ever equaled this one of silence —of suspense. —l. “It ain’t him!” cried rhe child. Then Sibert was flinging tl»e noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations. “See there, my locoed gents, how easy you’d hang the wrong man.” burst out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. “You-all are a lot of wise rangers. Haw! haw!" He freed Duane and thrust the bonehandled gun back In Duane’s holster. “You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don’t try the like again. And, men. I’ll gamble there’s a hell of a lot of bad work Buck Duane’s named for—which all he never done. Clear away theje. Where’s his hoss? Duane, the road’s open out of Shirley.” Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane 1 toward the horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a lift as he went up. Then the cowboy’s hard face softened in a smile. “I reckon it ain’t uncivil of me to say—hit that road quick!” he said, frankly. He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them they escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly drawn to follow. Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane’s knee. In It, unconsciously probably, he still held the gun. “Duane, a word with you,” he said. “I believe you’re not so black as you’ve been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this, anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?” “I do not,” replied Duane, in surprise. , , “I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,” went on Aiken, hurriedly. “He declared you hever killed my wife. 1 didn't believe him—argued with him. We almost had hard words over it. Now —I’m sorry. The last thing he said was: ‘lf you ever see Duane don’t kill him. Send him into my camp after dark!’ He meant something strange. What—l can’t say. But he was right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I’d have killed you. Still. I wouldn’t advise you to hunt up Mac Nelly’s camp. He’s clever. Maybe he believes there’s no treachery in his new ideas of ranger tactics. I tell you for all It’s worth. Good-by. May God help you further as he did this day!” Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs. “So long. Buck !” called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over his brown face; and he held his sombrero high. CHAPTER XIV. When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on, the sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of decision in favor of that direction. If he had been driven to hunt up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find thisunknown ranger captain. In Duane’s state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were out of the question. He went because he felt be was couinelled. “■ !

Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be Fairfield. There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to make, he eaught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness. Heading toward them he Saw the moving forms of men and heard horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted. “Who goes there?" came the sharp cull out of the gloom. Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable. “One man —alone.” replied Duane. “What do you want?” “I’m trying to find the ranger camp.” > “You’ve struck it. What’s your i errand?” “I want to see Captain Mac Nelly." | “Get down and advance. Slow. I Don’t move your hands. dark. ■ bur I can see.” Duane dismounted, and. leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces. He saw a dully bright object—a gun — before he discovered the man who held it. A few more steps showed a ilark figure blocking the trail. Here Duane halted. “Here, ranger, understand this. My visit is peaceful—friendly if you'll let it be. Mind. I was asked to come here—after dark.” Duane’s clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the camp-fire heard what he said. “Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,” replied an authoritative voice. Then a slim figure detached itself from tlie dark, moving group at the camp-fire and hurried out. “Better be foxy. Cap.” shouted a ranger, in warning. “Shut up—all of you,” was the reply. This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined *he two rangers who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to Duane. “I’m JlacNelly," he said. “If you’re my man, don't mention your name — yet.” e All this seemed strange to Duane, in keeping witli much that had happened lately. “I met Jeff Aiken to-day." said Duane. "He sent me—” “You’ve met Aiken!" exclaimed Mac Nelly. sharp, eager, low; “By all that’s bully!” Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained. “Men. fall back, leave us alone a mpment.” , The rangers slowly withdrew. “Buck Duane! It’s you?” he whispered, eagerly. “Yes.” “Ifi, I give you my word you’ll not be arrested—you’ll be treated fairly—will you come into camp and consult with me?” “Certainly.” “Duane, I’m sure glad to meet you.” went on Mac Nelly; and he extended his hand. Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his hand and felt an unmistakable grip of warmth. “It doesn’t seem natural. Captain ! UacNelly. Tint I believe I'm glad to j meet you,” said Duane, soberly. ! “You will be. Now we’ll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for tAe present.” He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire. “Pickens, go back on duty.” he ordered, “and, Beeson, you look after this horse.” When Duane got bpyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of the camp site, he saw a group

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, “It Ain’t Him!" of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around the fires, near a long, low shed where horses were feeding, and a small adobe house at one side. “We’ve just had grub, but I’ll see you get some. - Then we’ll talk.” said Mac Nelly. “I’ve taken up temporary quarters here. Have a rustler job on hand. Now. when you’ve eaten, come right into the house.” Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set before him. urged on by curiosity and astonishment. While eating lie had bent keen eyes around him>- After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers apparently paid no more attention to him. They were all veterans in service—Duane saw that —and rugged, powerful men of iron constitution. Despite a general conversation of camptire nature, Duane was not deceived about the fact that his advent had been an unusual and striking one, which had caused an undercurrent of conjecture and even consternation among them. These rangers were too well trained to appear openly curious about their captain’s guest. As it was, Duane felt a suspense that must have been due to a hint of his identity. < He was not long In presenting himself at the door of the house. “Come i» and have a chair,” said Mac Nelly, motioning for the one other occupant of the room to rise. “Leave

us, Russev, and close the door. Hi be through these reports right off." MacNeily sat at a table upon which was a Ithnp and various papers. Seer in the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man of about forty years dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong, yet not wanting in kindliness. He scanned hastily over some papers, fussed with them, and finally put them In enve-1 lopes. Settling back in his chair, he i faced Duane, making a vain attempt to hide what must have been the fulfilment of a long-nourished curiosity. “Duane. I’ve been hoping for this for two years." he began. Duane smiled a little —a smile that 1 felt strange on his face. He had never been much of a talker. And speech | here seemed more than ordinarily ditti j cult. Mac Nelly must have felt that. He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his quick, nervous manner .

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"Come tn and Have a Chair." changed to grave thoughtfulness. “Ever hear from home since you left Wellston?” he asked, abruptly. “No,” replied Duane, sadly. “That’s tough. I’m glad to be abl€ to tell you that up to just lately youi mother, sister, uncle —all your folks 1 believe —were we{l. I’ve kept posted But haven’t heard lately.” 2 What do you thing that Cap- ? * tain Mac Nelly has in store for v j Duane? Will Duane ever con- » * sent to go to prison? ? (TO BE CONTINUED.) ACCORDING TO RANCH CODE Cowboy Did the Only Thing He Feit There Was to Do Under the Circumstances. A story certainly untrue, but ont beautifully plausible, was told by the Abilene (Kan.) Reflector. It concerns a man who —by definition, as the math ematicians say —:had spent ail his lift on a remote cattle ranch and was utterly inexperienced in any tenderer or, gentler relations than tjjiosq which ex Ist between men like himself and between them and their bovine charges This untutored yet thoroughly wellintentioned person, according to the tale ns told, at last went to a bordei ! town and there, as might have been ' expected, lie fell promptly and violently in love with the first woman with whom he became acquainted, who hap .pened to be the pretty waitress who served him at the table. His wooing was equally vigorous and successful In a few days the twain were married and together they started back tor the ranch on horseback. A week later the cowboy returned to tlie town alone and cf deeply sorrowful mien. To the .natural and immediate inquiries that were made as to tlie whereabouts of his bride he replied. witli tears starting to his eyes and running down his . lean, bronzed cheeks: "She broke her leg twb days out and I had to shoot her. And I tell you. boys,” lie added. “I hated to do it —she was such a good woman I” All Began With a Dime. “Last spring a year ago,” says Farm and Fireside, “a ten-year-old neighbor boy was given ten cents by his grandmother. He purchased a packet of good cucumber seed with his money and grew a nice patch of cucumbers for the local village market. His crop of cucumbers brought him a little over $6 in money, all of which his mother allowed him to keep and spend as he pleased. “With $1 of his money this boy purchased a few little tilings for himself, and with the other $5 lie purchased a ewe lamb. By this spring his ewe lamb had grown into a mature mother sheep, and she gave birth to twin lambs. So now the boy has three sheep from his investment. The mot Iler sheep is now worth §lO, and the lambs are worth $5 each, making a total value of S2O he lias earned with his ten cents in a year and a half. Besides, lie sold wool this spring from the mother sheep for $2.45, which lie has placed in tiie savings bank as rhe beginning of a bank account of his own." ' Marshes in Mesopotamia. The marshes of Mesopotamia were famous in tlie time of Alexander the Great. One of the last acts of his life, within a few weeks of his death, was a voyage down the Euphrates to the great dike of Pallakopea, about bo miles below Babylorr. This sluice had been constructed by the ancient Assyrian kings to let off the water of the river when it became excessive, into the marshes. It was reported not to be working well, and Alexander proposed to construct another sluice lower down. He sailed on into the marshes steering his vessel himself, with Jus diadem on his head, explore them and the tombs of the kings, and so extensive were the lakes and swamps that Alexander’s fleet lost its way among

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“IS and would tret so weak at I fell over. I bo~r.n to ta’.:o Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, amt ten days later I could eat and it did no*' hurt my stomach. I have taken tbv medicine ever since and I feel like a new woman. I now weigh 127 rounds so you can see what it has done for ma already. My husband says he knows your medicine has saved my life Mrs. J. S. Barlow, ICiU South 4lh Sk, Columbus, Ohio. LvdK E. Pinkham’s Veget»Mo Compeund contains just the virtues of roora and herbs needed to restore health ana strength to the weakened organs of tffo body. That is why Mrs. Barlow, a chronic invalid, recovered so completely. It pays for women suffering from any female ailments to insist upon having Lydia E. Pinkham’s (Vegetable Compound. ' Didn’t Want Much. One Saturday night n lady who possessed a fruit and vegetable shop Hurried to serve her last customer, a veiy red-faced wontati. She asked for a penny’s worth at vegt talffes, <>mi wanted a piece or everything. o j When she had been given what she desired, she politely asked if they could be wrapped in a piece of paper ami tied witli a string. The shopkeeper turned to her, quite Calm, and said: “Wait a minute, ami I will run across to tffe butcher’s for a bone, and I think that will complete your Sunday dinner-” CLEAR RED >IMPLY FACES Red Mantis, *»ec soasp With Cuticura soap and Ointment. Trial Free. .The soap to cleanse and purifj*, the Ointment to soothe and heal. Nothing better, quicker, safer, surer at any price for skin troubles joi young or old that itch, burn, crust, scale, torture or disfigure. Besides they meet every want in toilet preparatlonaFree sample each by man witn tioct. Address postcard, Cuticura. Dept. L. Boston. 3aid everywhe-e.—Adv. An Eye to Business. . . . ' “This play is the worst ever. I am going to demand my money back.”, “Wait until after the next act, old man. Ten years elapse between acts 1 and 3. and you can demand interest on your money for that length of time.” ’ - - - -- - £ MM* Smile, smile, beautiful clear white clothes. Red Cross Ball Blue, American made, therefore best. All grocers. Adv. Hard Luck. “Din you catch anything on your fishing trip?” “No: not even the last train home.”

Thousands Tell If Why dally along with backache and kidney or bladder troubles? Thousands tell you how to find relief. Here’s a ease to guide you. And it’s only one of thousands. Forty thousand American people art* publicly praising Doan’s Kidney Pills.. Surely it is worth the while of any one who has a bad back, who feels tired, nervousuand run-down, who endures distressing urinary disorders, to give Doan’s Kidney Fifls a trial. An Indiana Case Miss Lucy Whitt- "Fverj Hctjre TeDsaStwy* ker. 16b S. Colfax St..Mw || Martinsville, I nd., fl says: "My health be-’# ga'n to fail and the | pains through tnm hips and sides drove , H iZJStYa me almost frantic For two weeks I couldn’t move handEwiV y. /■» or foot without suf-|T/*[\ yyf sering. 1 felt tired I / I | *~~ all the time, had A! Afl headaches and dizzy'<*’*’o *-■' spells and my nerves VIfFTMi " gave out. The doctor 3 ip c — treated me and I * tried every medicine I knew of, but without relief. Finally, however, I used Doan’s Kidney Pills and they completely cured me.” Get Doan’s at Any Store, 50c a Box DOAN’S V.VJ.’ FOSTER-MILBURN CO.. BUFFALO. N. Y. Don’t Persecute Your Bowels Cut out cathartics and purgatives. They am brutal, harsh, unnecessary. CARTER’S LITTLE LIVER PILLS Purely vegetable. Act ADTCO'C gently on the liver, VAI\ I C.KO eliminate bile. and F9ITTLE soothe the delicate K» l VCD membrane of thej^sSfeii>'>Wf r isIVCK bowel. Cur e K PILLS. Constipation, \ \ Ik i Jj Biliousness, ***»» Sick Headache and Indigestion, as millions know. SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICEGenuine must bear Signature fEvery Woman W anta»| FOR PERSONAL HYGIENE Dissolved in water for douches stope pelvic catarrh, ulceration and inflarhmationc Recommended by Lydia EL Pinkham Med. Co, for ten years. A healing wonder for nasal catarrh* sore throat and sore eyes- EconomicaL Has extraordinary daaniing and sennicidal power. W. N. U., FORT WAYNE, NO. 41-1918. i