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WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE’S Ride the RiveiMH COPYRIGHT WILLIAM MACLKOD RAINS—WNU SSRVICI _ __ SYNOPSIS Ruth Chiswick of L C ranch, obsessed by fear of danger to her outspoken and bull headed father, Lee, from a band of lawless rustlers headed by Sherm Howard, decides to save him by eloping with young Lou Howard. Sherm't son, and cornea to the town o* Tall Holt to meet him. While in Yell Sanger'a store, a crook-nosed stranger enters, sizes up the situation, and when a drunken cowboy. Jim Pender, rides In and (tarts shooting, protects Ruth, while Lz>u Howard hides. Disgusted with Lou's cow ardice, Ruth calls off the elopment, and sends the stranger for her father at the gambling house across the stTeet. There the stranger, calling himself Jeff Gray, meets Morgan Norris, a killer. Curly Con nor. Kansas. Mile High, Sid Hunt, and other rustlers, and Sherm Howard. Lee Chiswick enters, with his foreman. Dan Brand, and tells Sherm Howard of his or ders to shoot rustlers at sight. Jeff Gray returns to Ruth and coldly reassures her of her father's safety. CHAPTER II—Continued “I’m grateful to you for your ad vice, sir, and I’m sure Father will be,” she said, the sting of a small whiplash singing in her voice. He disregarded her jeer. Appar ently he was as oblivious of her an noyance as he was of the pristine glamor of her vital, youth. “Bull-headed was the word you used,” he went on evenly. "It suits Lee Chiswick fine. When Pender busted into the Golden Nugget, yore father was reading the riot act to a dozen scalawags waiting for the Bignal to cut loose at him.’’ “Whose signal?” she asked, the blood driven from her face. “Seemed to be Sherm Howard’s say-so. Get me right. I’m playing my own hand, and I don’t give a cuss whether you smile or snap. I’ll tell the old man his dear daugh ter is here, and you can feed him any story you’ve a mind to, at any time. If he goes back across the road and gets rubbed out, it is none of my business." She had lorded it over Boys with a high hand. That she could not break through his callousness irri tated her. Surprisingly, she felt young and immature, was moved by an impulse to defend herself. “I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done,” she said, bridling. “That’s nice. Tell him you came to town to buy a paper of pins.” “You’re impudent.” “Am I?” He faced her anger with a long look of amused scorn, then turned away, insolently indifferent. The girl wanted to call him back, to lash out at him with pelting words that would sting, but she was aware that nothing she could say would pene trate his impassivity. His opinion of her had not been swayed by any personal pique. Gray walked back into the gam bling-hall. Sanger had the floor. “Who did this, Curly?” he asked. Curly pushed a hand through his black hair. "Couldn’t tell you for sure, Yell. Half a dozen of us took a crack at him. He rode in asking for trouble and got it. Blazed away with his rifle and handed in his checks pronto. Maybe you better make yore verdict read, commit ted suicide while temporarily in sane.” Morris volunteered miormauun, slanting a sneer at Chiswick. “No pbjections anywhere, I reckon. We ban be bullied just so far." “No objections from me," Sanger agreed. ■ “Pender came In on my horse Black Diamond, so if you want to make the killing more legal you can claim he was a horse-thief,” Curly suggested humorously. “Or self-defense,” Sanger amend ed seriously. "Who cares how legal it was?” Norris said. “No four-flusher can come in here and hurrah me." Dan Brand recognized this as a personal challenge flung at his em ployer. “Only a crazy fool would try, Morg,” he answered amiably. “You don’t need to be carrying a chip on yore shoulder, Morg,” How ard said, with a warning glance. “If there is rustling going on, we all want to back up Lee." “Did you say ‘if’ there was any rustling?” Chiswick inquired, harsh irony in his voice. Howard laughed without mirth. “You’re hard to please, Chiswick. I don’t pick my words like a pro fessor. If you’re not on the prod, as Brand claims, you sure have a funny way of being pleasant.” “Did I say I was aiming to be pleasant?” The cattleman let his hard gaze shift from Norris to How ard. "Someone ran off a bunch of 50 of my cows last night. If you expect me to grin and say, ‘Help yourselves, boys,’ you can have an other guess. I’m going to fight.” “When a bull gets to pawing the ground he most generally gets ac commodated,” Norris insisted, not shifting his narrowed gaze from the owner of the LC. “Shut up, Morg,” interposed Cur ly affably. "Can’t expect a man to sit quiet while he is being stole blind. Tell you what, boys. Some of us will be heading into the hills soon. We’ll keep our eyes skinned. Like as not some of us will spot thin bunch of L C stuijf.” "I wouldn’t wonder if some of you did,” Chiswick said bluntly. The cattleman turned to leave the saloon. Gray stopped him with a gesture. “Just a moment, Mr. Chiswick." “What you want?" the ranchman Gray lowered his voice. “There’s a young lady over at Sanger’s who says she is yore daughter. She would like to see you right off.” “My daughter? What's she doing here?” “Better ask her.” The red-headed man had nothing more to say. He turned to the bar and ordered a schooner of beer. Chiswick and his foreman walked out of the place. Out of the corner of his mouth Mile High said to his chief, “That’s the guy I was telling you about.” Howard nodded. He observed that Curly was sauntering to the bar. So was Norris. The big black-haired man gave an order to the bartender. “A Curly special.” Selecting a bottle, the man in the white apron pushed it across the top of the bar. Curly poured a drink and tossed it down his throat. “Hot enough to melt the tallow Chiswick offered his hand. off'n a guy taking a long ride," he said amiably to the stranger. “Sure is," agreed Gray. "Expect you’re spittin’ cotton." “I can stand a beer." “In the cattle business?" “More or less. At loose ends right now. Kinda lookin’ around." “My name is Connor,” said Curly. “This is Mr. Norris.” “Glad to meet you. I’m Jeff Gray. A stranger in these parts." Norris rolled a cigarette. “Tough Nut is a good town,” he said. “Booming these days. Mines are do ing fine. Plenty of money there." “I’m not a miner,” Gray told him, recognizing the invitation to move on, but disregarding it. “Fact is, I’m not much of a town man anyhow, except when I drift in to blow my savings. I’ve been in the cow business all my life.” “In Texas?" Norris asked with a casual manner. "Here and there.” "Noticed wnen 1 was ouisiae mat you’re riding a Brazos saddle. My choice, too, especially when I’m riding a long ways." Gray remarked non-committally that a saddle made a lot of differ ence to a rider's comfort. "Been dry in West Texas for quite a spell, I read,” Curly volunteered. "So the papers claim.” "Thought maybe you had come from down that way? Try one of my specials, Mr. Gray.” “May I have another beer in stead, Mr. Connor?” Gray asked. “I certainly swallowed a lot of dust today.” Norris strolled across to Howard. "This sorreltop is on the dodge, looks to me,” he said. "Mighty care ful to give no information.” Lee Chiswick caught sight of his daughter standing in front of Sang er’s store and strode across the street to her. “What are you doing here?" he demanded. Evading his question, she said, "I’ve been worried about you.” "What for?” “When I heard the shooting, over in the Golden Nugget, I thought. . ." Her voice faltered. No need to tell him what she had thought. He knew. The cattleman spoke more gen tly. “You knew I was there?” "Yes. I saw you and Dan go in. I hadn’t time to stop you." “Stop me?” He frowned. “I’m not so feeble I need a girl to look after my doings.” Already Chiswick had jumped to tho conclusion that she had followed him to town because she was afraid he would get into trouble with the rustler group. "I know, but—you’re so bull-head ed, Fatherl” "Nothing of the kind,” he protest ed hotly. “You wouldn’t expect me to let these dirty thieves drive off a bunch of 50 cows at one crack with out a squawk, would you?” She shuddered. “When all those guns roared—” “They weren’t shooting at me, honey.” His mind harked back to the reproof she needed. “You hi-1 no business coming to town—not te Tail Holt. We stay away from this place. You know that.” “You didn't.” “Dad gum it, girl, I’m your fa ther. You don’t have to tell me what-all I can and can’t do." He slammed his fist down into the palm of the other hand. “You act like you rule the roost. Well, you don’t. Not by a jugful. Understand?" “Yes,” she said, with more humil ity than was customary, since her mind was still full of the crazy thing she had done. Ruth was still thinking of her escapade with Lou Howard. She could not understand how it had ever gone so far. She knew now she did not love him, never had. That she had not seen through his shallow weakness earlier hurt her pride. Later she knew she would flog herself with her own scorn. She was a lying little cheat for not tell ing her father the truth. But she dared not confess without preparing his mind first. It would be like Lee Chiswick to walk across to the Gold en Nugget to have it out with Sherm Howard. “We’ll go over to Charley Wong’s restaurant for supper,” Lee Chis wick said. “Dan is waiting for us over there.” Back of the restaurant they found a bucket of water, a tin pan, a thin piece of dirty soap, and a roller towel much the worse for use. The cattleman called Wong. “This towel has half of Arizona on it, Char ley. Bring a new one—and another piece of soap.” xne umnaman grmnea. vsuj good,” he said. Inside the restaurant Dan Brand was waiting at a table in a corner. Across the aisle from him sat Gray. Ruth touched the cattleman on the arm by way of calling his attention. “This is Mr. Gray, Father. When that drunk man came shooting into Sanger’s store he looked after me.” “Looked after you—how?” asked Chiswick. “Pushed me back of some sacks of potatoes and stood in front of me.” Chiswick offered his hand. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Gray. I reckon my daughter has thanked you, but I’ll do it again.” “Nothing worth mentioning what I did, but she thanked me proper,” the crook-nosed man, said dryly. “Since you haven’t eaten yet, won’t you join us?” the cattleman invited. Gray moved to the other table. “My foreman, Dan Brand,” Chis wick introduced. "Dan, this is Mr. Gray." The two men shook hands, esti mating one another with their eyes. Chiswick motioned Gray to the va cant chair beside his daughter. They fell at first into casual talk of cows, grass, markets. “Looks like a country of small ranches,” Gray said presently. “Yes,” Chiswick confirmed. “Plenty rough in these hills. Cut up by gulcfies and canyons where nest ers have settled.” “Your ranch is lower down?” “Yes. Runs up from the Sweet Spring valley into the hills.” “From what I heard at the Gold en Nugget I gather the L C Is a big outfit." “My brand is on a lot of stock—or was," the cattleman said grimly. "Still is," Brand amended. "I reckon." Anger flamed in Chis wick's tanned face. “Won’t be long unless we can stop this big steal that is going on. A few of those rustlers will have to be strung up as a warning.” “Better not talk,” advised Brand in a low voice. “Why shouldn’t I talk?” Chiswick demanded. “This is a free country, and I’ve never yet seen the/ color of the scoundrel’s hair that could keep me from soring my mind.” “You don’t mean red particular ly, do you, Father!” Ruth asked, slanting impudent eyes at Gray. “Or do you?” The cattleman smiled, ruefully. “Figure of speech, Mr. Gray. No, I don’t mean red.” He turned to his daughter. “You little minx.” “None of my business, Mr. Chis wick,” Gray said bluntly. “But what Mr. Brand says is good medicine. Why talk any more? You’ve said yore little piece. I’m an outsider, and never saw one of those gents at the Golden Nugget before. But there were some present who didn't take yore remarks kindly. I am of opin ion that the chuckle-headed false alarm who rode in and got filled with lead did you a considerable service.” “His chunk sure went out sud den,” Brand commented. “I wouldn’t say you're not right, Mr. Gray. While Lee was on the prod I didn’t feel anyways lead immune myself. They’re not bad boys, in a way of speaking, but they are some quick on the trigger.” 1NU, Uicjr 1C liUfc uau, replied scornfully. “Practically all of them are thieves, and some are killers, and a few have robbed trains and stages. Maybe 40 per cent of them have shot down Mexi can vaqueros who were defending their masters’ herds. But what is a Mexican here and there? Remem ber the Alamo! Yes, sir. Just * bunch of nice cowboys who take no pleasure In killing unless someone gets in the way of what they want” The summit of Mule mountain j had been a crag of fire In the sun set when they had gone into the restaurant. As they came out Ruth noticed that the crotches between the peaks were lakes of imperial purple. Soon darkness would sift down from the hills. “We’re out of coffee and baking soda,” Ruth told her father. "Bet ter get some while we’re here, don’t you think?” "Yes. Enough to last us till some one can get to Tough Nut. Any thing else you need?" “I’d like some nutmegs, and a box of matches.” Chiswick asked the foreman to get Ruth’s cow-pony and tie it at the hitchrack with the other two. Gray walked with the father and daughter as far as Sanger’s store. “I’fl be saying adios,” he told them, and added, bis ironic smile on Ruth: “Nice to have met up with you.” She said the pleasure was hers, said it very coolly, and turned into the store. The place was lit by two coal-oil lamps suspended from the ceiling. Near the rear some tiling covered by a sheet lay on a cot. Ruth guessed that what was resting there so still had been rear ing with drunken life less than an hour ago. Two customers were in the store. One was a slim, graceful, fishy eyed man, neatly dressed, with a silk bandanna tied loosely round his brown throat. His companion called him Morg. The other she had met at a dance. He was a fine figure of a man, slender and broad-shoul dered, with black, curly hair that had given him his nickname. Con nor, she had heard him called, and she knew that Curly was his cog nomen among the cowboys. (TO BE CONTINUED) Logging Great Industry in Canadian Woods; Thousands of Workmen Employed __ i Logging in the woods in Canada provides employment for about 240, 000 workers on a part-time basis, or for an average of about 84,000 men yearly. Logging operations are generally conducted in unsettled or sparsely settled country at considerable dis tances from the ordinary routes of travel. In the typical logging camp in eastern Canada there are usually from 30 to 75 men. 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The Transylvania Times (Brevard, N.C.)
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April 28, 1938, edition 1
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