The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 9, Number 24, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 12 October 1916 — Page 3

THE LONE STAR RANGER 77ws is a story about the Texas Plains People By ZANE GREY

SYNOPSIS. ■ . --S— The time of the story: about l c "s. The frlaee: The Texas COW country. The chief jtharaeter: Jjuckley Duane, a yoi who has inherited a lust to kill. which hr suppresses. In self-defense he shoots dead a drunken bully and is forced to flee to the wild country where he joins Bland's outlaw band. Euchre, an ani.-Ide rascal, tells him about Jennie, a y>.ur■; girl who bad been abducted and so d to Bland for a bad fate. Tla y <l. nerniii’e to ■ »s--ae the K'rl and restore her to civilization. Euchre has jitst reconnoitered, and is re porting the. outlook to Bu *k. Euchre is killed. Buck kills Bland and is dangerously wounded by Mrs. Bland, bed <•*- ; :ape'.< with Jennie Jennie is at i'neted. ( Bite!: never se< her acain, but kills be< i abduct' r Di ane barely- escapes death at-i ♦he hands of lynchers for a crin.e be nev ' tr omniitied. He goes to sea Captain Mac Kelly of the Rangers. CHAPTER XlV—Continued. Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling lift his threat, ami Hum said, "it s worth what 1 went through to-day to hear that. “I can imagine how yon feel ab->tH It. When I was in the war—hut let’s get d 'wn to the business of this meetinc." . !!p pulled h’s ehair close to Duanes. “Yen’ve had word more than, once li the last two years, that 1 wanted to s e you. why didn't you hunt me ut>?’ “I atpposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't tithe, a dart* am! expected me to ride up to your camp ami he arrested.” ""hat w:is natural, 1 suppose.” went on Mac Nelly. “Yon didn't know me. otherwise yon would have come. I've bet a a Inti'.,’ thae getting to you. Hut the nature of my job. as far as you’re « oneerned. made me cautious, Duane. ; oti’re aware of the hard name you I ar all over the Southwest?" .“Once in a while I’m Jarred into realizing.” replied Duane. “It’s Hie hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldlne. on the Texas border. But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve,hia infamous mime, t'heseldine in his day also. B*it I’ve found hundreds of men tn southwest Texas whore your friends, who swear you never committed a crime. The farther south 1 get the clearer this becomes. What I ‘want to know is the truth. Have yon ever done anything criminal? Tell me the truth. Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan. And when t sav crime 1 mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable Texan.” ‘That way my hands are clean,” repl'ed Duane. ‘You never held up a man. robbed n store for grub, stole a horsp whpn yen needed him bad—never anything ill e that?" ‘Somehow I always kept out <>f that. jtt?t when pressed the hardest.” "Duane. I’m glad!" Mac Nelly ex- ' ch imed, gripping Duane’s hand. “Glad foe your mother’s sake! But. all the pa me. in spite o.f this, you are a Texas .outlaw accountable to the state. You’re perfectly aware that under existing circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you’d probably pang, at least go to jail for a long term.” “That’s what kept me on the dodge till these years,” replied Duane. “Certainly." Mac.Xelly's eyes narrowed and glittered. The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He leaned close to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane’s knee. ' ' . “Listeh to this.” he whispered, nhoarsely. “If I place a pardon in your ’’hand—make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of infamy, make your,- mother, your sister proud of you—will you swear yourself to a service, any service I demand of you?” Duane sat stock still, stunned. Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation. Captain Mac Nelly reiterated his startling query. “My God!" hurst from Duane. "What's this? Mac Nelly. you can't be in earnest!” “Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I’m playing it square. What do you say?”* He rose to his feet. | Duane, as if Impelled, rose with him! Ranger and outlaw then locked eyes that searched, each other’s souls. jn Mac Nelly's Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose. hope, even gladness, and a fugitive mounting assurance of victory. Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent sound, until, forcing hack a lloqd of speech, lie found a voice. “Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give midword." said Duane. A light played over MhcNelly’s face, warming out all the gfrini darkless. He held out his hand. Duane met it with ids an a-clasp tliajt men unconsciously give in moments of stress. When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop i into a chair Mac Nelly fumbled for a cigar and.lighting it. turned to his visitor, ’low calm and cool. He had the look i f a m tn who had justly won something at considerable cost, His next move was to take a long leather case frpm his pocket and extract from it several folded papers. "Here’s your pardon from the Governor.” he said, quietly. “You’ll see, when you look it over, that It’s conditional. When you sign this paper 1 have here the condition will be met." He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along a dotted line. . Duane’s hand was shaky. Years had passed since he had held a pen. It was with difficulty that he achieved Ids signature. Buckley Duane—how strange the name looked! “Right here ends career of Buck jDuane, outlaw and gun-fighter," said .Mac Nelly and, seating himself, he took the pen from Duane’s fingers and wrote several lines in several places I upon - the paper. Then with a smile he -handed it to Duane, “That makes you a member of ComP*uv A. Texas Rangers.”

“So that’s it!" burst out Duane, a light breaking in upon his bewilderment. “You want me for ranger service?” “Sure. That’s it.” replied the Captain dryly. “Now to hear what that service is to be. I’ve been a busy man since I took this job. ami. as you may have heard. I've done a few things. I don’t mind telling you that political influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a good fieri of friction in Hie Department of State in regard to whether or not the ranger servicejs any good—whether it should be discontinued or not. I’m on the party who’s defending the ranger service. 1 contend that it’s made Texas habitable. Weil, it's been up to me to produce results. So far I have been successful. Mv great ambition Is to break up the outlaw gangs along the river. I have never ventured in there yet because I've been waiting to get the lieutenant 1 needed. You. of course., are the nmn 1 hart in mind. It s my idea to start way up the Rio Grande and begin with ('hesoldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw of the times. He's more than rustler, it's Chosehline and his gang who are opornring on the banks. No one seems to have seen him —to know what he looks tike. “1 assume. of course, that yon are a stranger to the country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of your ground. There’s a little town over there called Fairdale. it’s the nest of a rustler gang. They rustle and murder at will. Nobody knows who ti e leader is. I want you to find out. Well. whatever way you decide is best you will proceed to act upon. You are your own boss. You must find some way to let me know when 1 am! my rangers are needed. The plan is to break up ('heseldine’S gang, it's the toughest job on the border. We want to kill or jail this choice selection of robbers ami break up the rest of the gang. To fmd them, to get among them somehow, to learn their movements. to lay your trap for us rangers to spring—that. Duane, is your service to mv. ami God knows it s a great one!” “I have accepted it.” replied Duane “Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service. But no one except the few I choose to tell will know of it until we pull off the job. You will simply be Buck Duane tilt It suits our pttrpose to acquaint Texas with the fact that you're a ranger. You'll see there's no date on that paper. No one will ever know just when you entered the service. Perhaps we cun make It appear that all or most of your outlawry has realty been goml service to the state. At that. I’ll believe it’ll turn out so.” Mac Nelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed bis cigar, drew his brows together in a dark frown, and went on. “No man on the border knows so well as you the deadly nature of this service. It's a long, long chance against your ever (suiting back.” “That’s not the point." said Duane. “But in case I get killed out there — what—” “Leave that to ne." interrupted Captain Mac Nelly. “If you lose your life, out there I'll see your name cleared—the service you render known. Yon can rest assured of that." “I am satisfied." replied Duane. “That’s so much more than I've dared to hope.” "Well, It’s settled, then’. I'll give you money for expenses. You'll start as soon as you like —the sooner the better. I hope to think of other suggestions especially about communieatihg with me.” Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had eeased round the camp-fire Duane lay awake.

ISW Wre teoi rr WSRB Ll iISW Kw fsjj “Any Business Here?’’ eyes staring into the blackness, marveling over the strange events of the «lay. And as he lay there, with the approach of sleep finally dimming the vividness of his thought, so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated in the blackness around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted. It was broad daylight when he awakened. Mac Nelly was calling him to breakfast. The rangers were eating in a circle round a tarpaulin spread upon the ground. , “Fellows,” said Mac Nelly, "shake hands with Buck Duane. He's on secret ranger service for me. Service that’ll likely make you all hump soon I Mind you. keep mum about it." The rangers surprised Duane with a

THE SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

roaring greeting, the warmth of which he soon divined was divided between pride of his acquisition to their ranks and eagerness to meet Hint violent service of which their captain hinted. They were jolly, wild fellows, with just enough gravity in their welcome to show Duane their respect and a]»preeiation, while not forgetting his lone-woif record. When he had sealed himself in that circle, now one of them, a feeling subtle ami uplifting pervaded him. After the meal Captain Mac Nelly drew Duane aside. • “Here’s the money. Make it go as far as ye t can. Write me care of the adjutant at Austin. I don't have to warn you to be careful where you mail letters* Ride a hundred, two hundred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso.” Mac Nelly stopped with an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose. “I’ll start at once.” he said, extending his hand to the Captain. “I wish — I'd like to thank you!’’ “Hell, man 1 Don't thank me!" replied Mac Nelly. crushing the proffered hand,. “I’ve sent a lot of good men to their deaths, and maybe you're another. But, as I’ve said, you’ve one chance in a thousand. And. by Heaven! I'd hate to be Cheseldtne or any other nmn you were trailing. No. not good-by—radios, Dm.ne! Muy we meet again!" CHAPTER XV. West of the Pecos River Texas extended a vast wild region. l>arren in the north where the Llano Estaeado spread its shifting sands, fertile in the south, glmtg the Rio Grande. A railroad marked an undeviating course across five hundred miles of this country, ami the only villages and towns lay on or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was this western Texas, and despite the acknowledged dominance of the outlaw bands, the pioneers pushed steadily into It. The Rio Grande Hewed almost dub south along the western boundary for a thousand miles, and th n. weary of its course, turned abruptly north, to make what was called the Big Bend. The railroad, running west, cut across this bend, ami all that country bounded on tite north by the railroad and oa the south by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains. Across the face of this Big Bend, as if to isolate it. stretched the Ord mountain range. In rhe valleys of the foothills and out across the plains were ranches, and farther north, villages, anti the towns of Alpin * and Marfa. Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas was a world in itself—a world where the riches of the ranelier were over enriching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this outlaw-infested region was a little place called Ord. mimed after the dark peak that loomed some miles to the south. Toward the close of a day in September a stranger rode into Ord. and in a community where al) men were remarkable for one reason or another he excited interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first ami most engaging attention —horses in that region being apparently more important than men. This particular horse at first glance seemed ugly. But he was a giant, blacfc as coal, huge in every way. A bystander remarked that he had a grand head. His face was solid black, except in the middle of his forehead. where there was a round spot of white. The rider, like his horse, was a giant in stature, but rangier, not so heavily built. - Otherwise the only striking Hung about him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair white over the temples. He packed two guns, both down—but that was too common a thing to attract notice in . the Big Bend. A close observer, however, would have noted a singular sact —this rider’s right hand was more bronzed, more weather-beaten than his left. He never wore a glove on that right hand! He had. dismounted before a ramshackle structure that bore upon its wide, high-boarded front the sign. “Hotel.” The hotel had a wide platform in front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk. Upon it. and leaning against a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages, most of them slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. Some were booted, belted, and spurred. No man there wore a coat, hut all wore vests. The guns in that group would have outnumbered the men. It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. These men were idlers; what else, perhaps, was easy to conjecture. Certainly to this arriving stranger, who tlaslied a keen eye over them, they wore an atmosphere never associated with work. Presently a tall man, with a drooping. sandy mustache, leisurely detached himself from the crowd. "Howdy, stranger,” he said. The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; he straightened up and nodded. Then: “I’m thirsty!” That brought a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic* greeting. One and all trooped after the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark, ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man’s head. A bartender with a scarred face was serving drinks. ” “Line up, gents,” said the stranger. They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse jests and oaths and laughter. None of them notwd that the stranger did not appear so thirsty as he claimed to be. In fact, though he went through the motions, he did not drink at all. “My name’s Jim Fletcher,”, said the tall man with the drooping, sandy mustache. He spoke laconically, nevertheless there was a tone that showed he expected to be known.

Something went with that name. The stranger did not appear to be impressed. “My name might be Blazes, but it ain't.” he replied. “What do you call this burg?” “Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to you ?" He leaned back against the bar. and now his little yellow eyes, clear as crystal, flawless us a hawk's, fixed on the stranger! Other men crowded close, forming a circle, curious, ready to be friendly, or otherwise, according to how the tali interrogator marked the newcomer. "Sure. Ord’s a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain’t it? Futlny trails hereabouts.” “How fur was you goin’?” “1 reckon I was goin’ as far as 1 could.” replied the stranger, with a hard laugh. His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the men exchanged glances. Fletcher stroked tils drooping mustache. seemed thoughtful, but lost something of Hmt piercing scrutiny. “Wai. Ord's the jumpin'-off place.” he said. prescnHy. “Sure you've heerd of the Big Berni country?” “1 sure have, an’ was makin’ tracks fer It." replied the stranger. Fletcher turned toward a man tn the outer edge of the group. “Knell, come in heah ” » This individual elbowed h’s way n and was seen to be scarcely more than a boy, almost pale beside th<*se bronzed men. with a long, expressionless face, thin ami sharp. “Knell, this heah’s—-” Fletcher wheeled to the stranger. “What'd you call yourself?” ' “I’d hate to mention what* I’ve been callin’ myself lately.” This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool, careless, indifferent. Knell, stepped up. and it was easy to see. from the way Fldcher relinquished his part in the situation, that u man greater tiian he had appeared upon the scene. “Any business here?” ho queried, curtly. When he spoke his expressionless face was In strange contrast with the ring, the quality, the cruelty of his voice. This voice betrayed an absence of humor, of friendliness, of heart.

“Nope,” replied the stranger. “Know anybody hereabouts?” “Nary one.” • “Jest ridin’ through?” “Yep." “Slopin' fer hack country, eh?” There Came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and drew himself up disdainfully. “Wai, considerin’ you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down here in this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes—l am in on the dodge,” he replied, with deliberate sarcasm. “From west of Ord—out El Faso way, mebbe?" “Sure.” “A huh I Thet so?” Knell’s words cut the air. stilled the room. “You’re from way down the river. Thet’s what they say (town there—*on the dodge.’ . . . Stranger, you’re a liar!" With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split, leaving Knell and the stranger in the center. The stranger, suddenly became bronze. The situation seemed familiar to him. His eyes - held a singular piercing light that danced like a compass-needle. “Sure I lied,” he said, “so I ain’t fakin' offense at the way you called me. I’m lookin’ to make friends, not enemies. You don’t strike me as one of them four-flushes, achin’ to kill somebody. But If you are—go ahead an’ open the ball. . . . You see, i never throw a gun on them fellers till’’they go fer theirs.” Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the least. Yet somehow It was evident in his look that Imre was metal which rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight or withdraw, as he chose. Knell proved himself big in the manner characteristic of only the genuine gunman. “Stranger, 1 pass,” he said.'■and. turning to the bar, he ordered liquor. The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men tilled up the gap; the Incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself to the stranger, and now both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity. “Wai, fer want of a better handle I’ll call you Dodge.” he said. “Dodge’s as good as any. . . Gents, line up again—an’ if you can’t be friendly, be careful!” Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord. Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At E! Paso he bought the ftnest horse he could find, and. armed and otherwise outfitted to suit, him. he had taken to unknown trails.. HO passed on leisurely, because he wanted to learn the ? way of the country, the work, habit, gossip, pleasures, and fehrs of the people with whom he came in contact. When he heafd Fletcher’s name and faced Knell he knew he had reached the place he sought, Deane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so. to Fletcher ami several other men disposed to talk and drink, and eat; and then, after having a care fpr his horse, he rode out of town a couple of miles to a grove he had market!, and there, well hidden he prepared to spend the night. This proceeding served a double purpose—he was safer, and the habit would took well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more in- ! dined to see in him the lone-wolf j fugitive. ihrng since Duane had fought out I

a battle with himself, won a hard- ’ earned victory, lie had assumed a task impossible for any man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow strangely and wonderfully, and through that flourished up consciousness of how passionately he now clung to this thing which would blot out his former infamy. He never forgot that he was free, strangely, too. along with this feeling of new manhood there gathered the force ot imperious desire, to run these chief outlaws to their dooms. He never called them outlaws —but rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers, criminals He sensed the growth of a relent less driving passion, anti sometimes he feared that, more than the. newly acquired zeal and pride in this .ratjgur service, it was the old. inherited killing instinct lifting its hydra-head in new guise. This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, mill against the golden-red of clear sky the bold, black head of Mount Ord reared itself aloft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small wonder that Duane 1 f r LLs'Wx 7 V '—

Here Colonel Webb Exploded. gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in Its corrugated sides or lost in a rugged canyon was hidden the secret stronghold of the master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from El Paso Duane had heard of Cheseldine. of his band, his fearful deeds, his cunning, his widely separate raids of his Hitting here and there like a Jack-o lantern; but never a word of his den, never a I word of his appearance. Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north, riding down a rough, slow-descending road that appeared to have been used occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden in from the west, this : northern direction led him into totally • unfamiliar country. While he passed I on. however, he exercised such keen ! observation that in the future he 1 would know whatever might be of j service to him if he chanced that way again. ~~ . After a couple of hours’ 'riding he entered a town which he soon dis- | covered to be Bradford. It was the I largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated must have i thousand or fifteen hundred inhabitants. not Including Mexicans. He decided this would be a good place for him to hold up for a while, being the nearest town to Ord, only forty miles away. So he hitched his horse in front of a store and leisurely set about studying Bradrord. Il was after dark. however, that Duane verified his suspicions concerning Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there was one long row of saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in full blast. Duane visited them all. and was surprised to see wildness and license equal to that of the old river camp of Bland’s in its palmiest days. Here it was forced upon him that the farther west one traveled along The river the sparser the respectable settlements, the more numerous the hard characters, and in consequence the greater the element of lawlessness. Duane returned to his lodging-house with the conviction that Mae Nelly’s task of cleaning up the Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet. he reflected. a company of intrepid and qniek-shooting rangers could have soon cleaned up this Bradford. The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long-coated and widesourhreroed Texan who reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man had penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable leaning toward companionship and mintjuleps. The gentleman introduced himself as t’olopel Webb, of Marfa, and took It as a matter of course that Duane made no comment about himself. Duane, ns always, was a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come out to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who had been n rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns. Fairdale by name. “Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave." sa.id Colonel Webb. “And I tell you. str, if hell’s any tougher than this Fairdale I don’t want to expiate my sins there.” “Fairdale. . . . I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,” replied Duane, trying not to appear curious. The Colonel swot* ’TStllx.

“What this frontier needs, sir, ta about six companies of Texas Rangers. A fine body of men. sir, and the salvation of Texas.” “Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion,” said Duane. Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his choice fur a chief executive of the great state. He talked polities for a while, and of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to get a benefit from Austin. Duane exerted himself to be agreeable and interesti ig; t and he saw presently that hen* was an opportunity to make a valuable acquaintauee, if not a friend. "I’m a stranger in these parts.” said Duane, t'wi«ly. “What is this outlaw situation you speak of?' “It's, danimible. str. ami unbelievable. 1 Not rustling any more, but just wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to l>e honest, are equally guilty with the outlaws. On tins bonier, you know, the rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to get rid of big bunches —that's Hu* hard job. The gang operating lu*twei’ii here ami Valentine evidently have not this trouble. Nobody know where the stolen stock goes. Bui I'm ; not alone in my opinion that most ot ‘ it goes to several big stockmen. They '• ship to San Antonio. Austin. New Orleans, also to El Paso." “Wholesale business, ch?” remarked Duane. “Who are these—er —!>!.< sti ek-bttyers?” Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt littery. He I bent his penet rating gaze upon Duan * and thoughtfully stroked his pointed heard. “Names, of course. I'll not mention. Opinions are one tiling..direct aceusation another. Tins is not a healthy country for I he informer." When it ttime to the outlaws themselves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk fr<*ely. The great mime along the .river was.Cheseldine, hut it seem* | ed to be a name- detached from an , individual. No person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had e* er seen Cheselfiine. Strange to say of an outlaw leafier, as there was no one who could identify him, so there was no one who could prove he had nclually billed a man. (TO BE CONTINUED.) AN ENGLISH TRIBUTE TO FOE

I De Maupassant and Kipling Owe SomeI thing to American Writer, Says Englishman. The detective story and the murder mystery are not forms of any great literary value, but I must confess u» predilection for stories about crime, and there is some authority for the view that “murder is the most gentlemanly crime that anybody can commit.” Those who share my taste for homicide in fiction—and 1 find it fairly wide-; spread—have reason to be grateful to Poe. His Lupin is a prince of detec-, fives and the father of an illustrious progeny; while such contemners of; the law of the land as Ratlies and I Arsene Lupin are Poe's illegitimate, children. Indeed. Poe’s influence in France has been greater than among ! the English-speaking people. Every 1 student of French literature knows that but for Poe, Baudelaire, Mallarine . and Villiers de I'lsle-Adam would have i fegfUt something very different from; what they were, and M. Remy de j Gourmont says in one of his penetrating essays that “Eugene Sue, Gaborlau and Dostoevsky, in 'Crime and Punishment,’ have all taken lessons from Poe.” It would be Interesting to study the . way in which his technique of the short story was adopted and. modified by Guy de Maupassant, ami how. after i having filtered through Maupassant’s mind, it has returned to English litem- ; ture through the medium of Mr. j Killing—“ Penguin.” in the London Na- i th Great Problem Solved. A street carnival now touring the ■ South is seemingly the repository of a most perplexing military secret. On a recent visit by this particular carni- i val to a Tennessee city a part of the attending throng heard n barker extol the clairvoyant powers of^Madafn —. ’ This goddess of wisdom, while thoroughly blindfolded, gave instant answers to any questions. The seeker after truth merely wrote on a slip of paper the question nearest his heart, which, being read out by the ba-ker in the hearing of all the erbwd, was as publicly answered. Whether Minnie still loved Ton. [ and where tlie>old hermit buried the gold wen- questions legitimate enough. ■ but that somebody had taken advan- ; tage of a lady’s trustful dis;»osition : her answer revealed when Madam — I was confronted with the query: “Where is Villa?” Her reply was: “Her real name is not Villa. It is ! Margaret, and she is now in Atlanta, i Ga.” —Saturday Evening Post. Testing Stetl Cars. The testing department of one eastern railroad ignited 200 pounds of oil- j soaked rags, shavings and wood, to ■ see the effect of the Hames upon the ; metal framework of a car. While the furnishings of the car were slightly damaged, the testing department found that the frame ot the ear resisted the heat. In Murder Trials. , “It’s bound to come.” “What is?” “The time when the beautiful actress, instead of telling the jury her life story, will have it shown to slow jnuslc as a film,” * — -

H®DC KEEPINS UP COUNTRY ROADS Road Drag, Applied at Right Time and in Proper Manner Will Do xr»«» Trick Every Tims. That country rmtas can be neps cueing most of the year equal to or better than pike*’ or macadam roads has been proved time and again. The road drag ■ ' .tie-! at the right time ami in tti*' tight way will do the trick every time. Os course, the road ipust be properly drained and rounded up first. But demonstrations all over the country have shown that in most instance i this can be done at a comparative.* small cost. Tim great need today is for the farmer to realize the vtdue of good riKids. The cost of pmir roads to the farmer in dollars and cents has been figure 1 out. Every rut and mud hole uses so much strength of the team mid wears out the wagon so much sooner than if the road was good. The size of the load 4s limitml by the piece of bad road or the hill which uses the strength of the team to the limit. A ren-mile haul may be limited l y an eighth of a mile of bad road. A two-ton load may have to be relayed to one ton because of a single hill. HIGH TEST OF CIVILIZATION ? Man Is Road Maker and Progressiveness of Community May Be Gauged by Its Highways. A man driving in the country came to a stone which had rolled into the road. He could have gone around the stone, but, instead of doing that, he stoppt'! and got out and rolled the stoue away; not for his own sake, for he never expected to i>ass along Hmt road again, but for the sake of others who would come after hiiu. “That man.” says Hie Fa"n\ and Fireside, which told the story, "responded to a high, very high test of civilization, lie felt socially.” Savages do not make roads; their paths follow the lines of least resistance and go around obstructions. Civilized man is a road maker, ami the progtvssivemss of a community may be gauged by its roads. The higher the state of civiliKittivn the better the roads, A man may be judged, too, by his attitude toward roads.

£ Good Roads Mean. | “ I Better farmers and greater B I S farm efficiency. -g Larger production, cheaper A distribution; hence cheaper com- d* modi ties. t S Purer milk and fresher vege* g : g tables. _ g i -ft More work accomplished and ; more time for pleasure. . g More tourists and more money i spent at home. , Less gasoline, less tire trou- & . $ ble, more comfort. g £ Better rural schools, better ; school attendance. * S Better rural churches and bet- i> ter social conditions;. More attractive rural homes, g ' and more boys staying on the I farm. ; Greater progress, better citi- v. zenship. ’ g Who can doubt the urgency of x> j an improvement that will tend g i v" toward these conditions?— S. E. ‘ £ Bradt. X . g ! -<x ■

ESTIMATE OF AVERAGE LOAD In This Country It Is About 1,400 Pounds, While Over Roads It is 3,300 Pounds. It is estimated that over our dirt ; roads, when level, the average load drawn by one horse is about 1,400 I pounds and, when the roads are hilly, i about 1,000 pounds. In France and Germany, with improved roads, the average load is about 3,300 pounds. Other estimates show that 5,000,000,000 tons of freight pass over the highways every year, with an average haul of less than ten miles. The average cost is 23 cents ; a ton « mile. On good roads the cost would not exceed eight cents a ton a mile. The greater part of such freight consists of farm products and the unnecessary cost of transportation is not only lost to the farmer but added to the cost paid by the consumers. Roads Are Not Fit. The farmer is good enough and often rich enough to ride in an automobile whenever he wants to, but the roads ; re not fit to ride over much of the time. Cultivation of Beans. Bo sure not io cultivate beans when they are wet. Such is likely to spread blight and anthracnose. Good Road Is Cheapest. A good country road costs less than doing without it. Lower GJade Price. It doesn’t pay to mix second grade wHh first grade because your first grade at once becomes second grade in the eyes of the purchaser and you get the lower grade price. Room for Vegetables. Do not grow vegtables i too thick. Give them plenty of room M full development. Potatoes for Planting. Select only the best potatoes for planing. ’ 1