WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE’S
Zg Ride the Rivei With
COPYRIGHT WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE—WNU SERVICE
SYNOPSIS
Ruth Chiswick of L C ranch, obsesaed by
fear of danger to her outspoken father, Lee,
from a band of lawless ruatlers headed by
Sherm Howard, decides to save him by elop
ing with young Lou Howard, Sherm's son,
and comes to the town of Tall Holt to meet
him. While In Yell Sanger’s store, a crook
nosed stranger enters, sizes up the situation,
and when a drunken cowboy, Jim Pender,
rides in and starts shooting, protects Ruth,
while Lou Howard hides. Disgusted with
Lou’s cowardice. Ruth calls off the elope
ment. and sends the stranger for her father
at the gambling house across the street.
There the stranger, calling himself Jen
Cray, meets Morgan Norris, a killer. Curly
Connor, Kansas. Mile High. Sid Hunt, and
other rustlers, and Sherm Howard. Lee
Chiswick enters, with hts 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 or
her father’s safety. At supper. Ruth intro
duces Jeff to her father and Brand, and In
Sanger’s store later she speaks cordially to
Curly Connor. Coming out of the store, they
are greeted by sudden gunplay. Lee w
wounded, and Jeff Gray appears with a
smoking revolver. Two cays later. Ruth
tells her father of her projected elopement
and her disillusionment. Later. Ruth meets
Jeff Gray, whom she thinks tried to kill her
fether. When he tries to hold her bridle.
Ruth accidentally presses the trigger of her
2un, and wounds Jeff. She takes him to
Pat Sorley’s camp.
CHAPTER IV—Continued
‘ Must I?” He grinned at her with
cheerful effrontery.
“Of course you must." Ruth al
most stamped her foot in exaspera
tion. “If you didn’t do it, who did?"
"I wouldn’t knew."
She took that up triumphantly.
“Neither vou nor anybody else.”
“But I could guess.”
“Who, then?" she demanded.
“If I ever mention it, probably it
w ill be to the gent himself,” he said
softly.
“I thought so.”
Gray turned to the line-rider.
“Two shots w-ere fired before Mr.
Chiswick’s friends took a hand. I
fired the second. Point is, who cut
loose with the first’”
“If you weren’t in it, why did you
ihoot at all?” Ruth asked.
“I’ve asked myself that two-three
times since,” ho replied suavely.
“Plumb dumb of me. For 20 years
1 ve been minding my own busi
ness exclusive, yet soon as I hit
Tail Holt I butt into yours, not only
once but se-ve real times. I wouldn’t
know why, unless I’ve gone loco."
“You beat around the bush with
out telling anything,” the girl
charged.
“By your own story you shot at
the boss onct." Sorley snapped.
“Right after you'd eaten supper
with him and Miss Ruth.”
“Who said that was my story? I
don’t recollect ever telling it.”
Ruth stared at the hardy scamp,
her eyes dilating with excitement.
“You mean you didn’t fire at Father
at all, but at the villain who was
trying to kill him?"
“Go to the head of the class,
Miss,” Gray said, with a grim ironic
smile. “It's the best story I could
think up after three or four days,
so I thought I would come back and
try it on Lee Chiswick. ’Course
you’re smart as a whip, and I
wouldn’t expect to put it across with
you.”
A queer lift of joy sang in the
girl’s blood. She knew this was the
truth. It explained everything. He
had fired on the assassin and run
forward to protect her father from
any others who might turn their
guns on him while he was defense
less. Naturally his purpose had
been mistaken. The fire of Dan
and Curly had driven him away.
He had no time to explain. If he
stayed, he would be shot down.
There was no chance to show his
weapon, with only one chamber
empty. Now he had no evidence to
back his story.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?’
she cried.
“You and yore friends are so
handy with guns I never get time to
make oration,” he said dryly.
Distress flooded her. She had shot
him, after he had perhaps saved
the life of her father.
“His story don’t look good to me,”
Sorley said coldly. “I would say he
was runnin’ a whizzer on us, Miss
Ruth."
“No. It’s true.” The girl drew a
deep breath of relief. “I’m awf’ly
glad it is.”
The wounded man looicea ar ner.
••What difference does it make to
you whether I or someone else shot
him?” he asked.
Her eyes met his, the color on
her cheeks hot beneath them. “I
don’t like you a bit. I think you are
hateful. But I didn’t believe you
were a low scoundrel until—what I
saw at Tail Holt. Now I know
you’re not that kind of man. You
saved my father’s life. I don’t know
how to thank you ... or to tell
you how sorry I am that I hurt
you.”
“So now it’s all right,” he jeered,
“and I ought to tell you how grate
ful I am for the lead pill you gave
me.”
“I’ve told you I’m sorry, and that
I didn’t mean to do it,” Ruth said.
“That’s fine. You just pointed
yore popgun at me to make Fourth
of-July fireworks. I’m lucky you
picked only a leg to puncture.”
Ruth felt anger stir in her, but
she kept it down. “If there’s any
thing I can do for you while you’re
here—anything I can bring you,”
she said in a carefully even voice.
“I’m going to see you again, am
I? How nice! There are several
things you can bring me. One is
some tobacco. I’d like two-three
books, and the latest newspaper you
have. Also, bring Lee Chiswick.
I want a powwow with him.”
“I’ll 'send the books with my fa
ther,” she said.
Lee Chiswick broke into his
daughter’s story excitedly.
"He's hanging around waiting for
a chsnce to dry-gulch me."
Ruth shcok her head. "I thought
so at first. I don’t row. Listen."
"Lucky the wolf didn’t do you a
meanness when he had a chance."
The strong jnw of the cattleman
set. "I’ll have him rounded up and
rubbed out before lie’s 24 hours old
er.”
"You won’t need to round him up.
I can teli you where he is. My
story isn’t finished. Do you want to
hear it or not?"
"Where is he?” demanded Chis
wick.
"He’s at the rirr.rock line-camp,
with a bullet-hole in his leg.”
“Did Pat gee him?"
"No. I did.”
"You what?”
"I shot him.”
Her father stared at her with
blank astonishment. “Good God,
girl! What do you mean?"
"I tried to pass him. He caught
at the bridle rein. I don't know why.
Perhaps he couldn’t get out of the
way and didn’t want Blue Chip to
“What name shall I say?” asked
Reynolds.
trample him down. Somehow my
gun went off and hit him. I didn’t
want him to die before he could
get help, so I took him to the camp.”
“Why didn’t you come and get
some of us?” he asked, his voice
sharp with anxiety. “He might have
shot you down on the way.”
“I was as safe with him as I
would be with you, Father," she
said. “He isn’t that kind of man.
I don’t like him. He’s . . . insult
ing. But he is not the kind of ruffi
an who would hurt a woman or
would take advantage of a man in a
fight. He didn’t shoot you. Some
one else did.”
“That’s crazy talk!” Lee shouted.
“We saw him do it.”
“We thought we saw him do it,”
she corrected. “But we didn’t. He
saw someone fire at you and shot at
the man. Then he ran forward to
protect you, and we all thought he
was the killer. Think it over, Fa
ther. From the position you were
standing the bullet that creased you
must have been fired in the alley,
but this Gray came another direc
tion.”
“Got it all figureu out, naven i
you—with his help?” Lee said an
grily.
“If he had been the man, would
he have run forward into the nest of
us? It isn’t reasonable. He was
taken by surprise when Dan began
shooting at him. I could see that.
To save his life he had to get out."
“What’s he doing here, then?”
“He wants to see you. I don’t
know what about. He insisted on
my bringing you."
“He’ll see me, all right,” the cat
tleman said, his voice harsh and
grim.
“My opinion is that he saved your
life, after he had already taken care
of me when a crazy man was on
the shoot. Then I put a bullet in
him, and now you want to finish
him.” Ruth spoke with sharp bitter
ness.
“I’ll listen to him," Lee told her.
“I’ll hear what he has got to say.
Maybe you are right, but I don’t
believe it. If he comes clean and
tells me what he is doing here—
and if what he says satisfies me—
he’ll be as safe with me as In God’s
pocket. I’ll have him brought to
the house and we'll take care of him
here. But he can’t pull the wool
over my eyes. He has got to be
straight goods.”
’’That’s fair,” Ruth agreed. “I
don’t know anything about who he
is. Maybe he’s an outlaw on the
dodge. He’s as hard as Iron and he
may have gone bad. But there’s
something clean about him. He
wouldn’t shoot a man in the back.
I’d stake everything I had on that.”
Chiswick nodded. “I would have
said that myself, and I’m not often
wrong about a man. When he ran
at me with his gun smoking, I was
sure surprised. Maybe you’re right,
daughter. He’ll get a chance to tell
his story.”
“May I ride up to the line-camp
with you?" Ruth asked.
“Not" he exploded, and slammed
a fist down or. the breakfast-table
to emphasize his decision. "You
can’t go with me. Whst’s the mat
ter with you, girl? You head for
trouble like a thirsty steer for wa
ter. First, you run off with s no
’count scalawag not worth a hill of
beans, then you shoot another and
tote him to hospital without asking
! me a by-your-leave. That’s no way
j for a lady to do. No wonder folks
| think you’re a wild young hellion.
You are grown up now. You got
| to learn to act geniee;.
“Would it be unladylike for me to
go down with you and take some
fried chicken and biscuits to a sick
man?" she wanted to know.
"You fix up this fried chicken and
I’ll take it down,” Lee said firmly.
"I aim to be reasonable, but I’m
through letting you behave so
crazy.”
Ruth gave up. She packed the
tobacco, the books, and the food.
For Pat she put in a corn-cob pipe
to replace the broken clay one..
Knowing her father’s impulsive
nature, she was full of misgivings.
Over his shoulder, as he started,
he called back a word of reassur
ance. “Don’t you worry, daughter.
I’m not going oil half-cocked. If
this Gray can show me he's -not a
yellow coyote, I’ll not harm him.”
In a natural meadow half a mile
from the house he stopped to give
Dan Brand instructions about the
drive of yearlings sold to Broder
ick. This done, he told his son
Frank and the foreman what he
had just learned from Ruth.
Frank asked to ride with him to
Sorley’s camp.
The Chiswicks rode up to the rim
rock and skirted the edge of it un
til they reached a break. Through
this they climbed to the lip of the
park where the linercamp lay.
From the chimney of the cabin a
thin trickle of smoke drifted.
“Pat is probably line-riding and
has left this fellow alone,” Frank
said.
As they drew closer, Lee hulloed
the house. From the boulder field
back of it an echo came back to
them. No other answer sounded. A
second time he shouted, still without
response.
"Get your gun out, ooy, ne or
dered grimly. "1 don’t like this."
He swung from the saddle and
drew the rifle attached to it. Frank
dismounted hurriedly, his horse be
tween him and the house.
“I sure don’t want to get blasted
out of my saddle," he said.
The two men worked toward the
cabin, using their horses to screen
them as much as possible from any
sharpshooters who might be in the
building or among the rocks above.
Nobody stirred except themselves.
Frank felt a strange prickling sen
sation run up and down his spine.
Any moment there might come a
crash of guns.
Lee maneuvered close to the door,
then made a bolt for it. His son
was inside scarce a second later.
The cabin was empty.
"Where’s the fellow gone?” Lee
asked.
"I reckon he wasn’t as bad hurt
as he was making out,” Frank said.
“What’s this?"
Lee picked a piece of wrapping
paper from the table. He read aloud
something that had been scrawled
on it with a pencil. "Much obliged,
Doc, for fixing my leg. See you
later maybe.”
Jeff Gray rode into Tail Holt two
days after leaving the rimrock line
camp. His broad shoulders sagged
with weariness. The eyes of the
man were sunken. The lean face
was haggard and unshaven. At the
Alamo corral he dismounted stiffly.
The owner of the place, Jim Rey
nolds, squinted an .unspoken ques
tion at him from under slanted eye
brows. There was an arresting
quality ahout Gray that held atten
tion. The fatigue, the stain3 of trav
el, did not conceal his dominant
force. He unsaddled the sweat
streaked roan gelding with a compe
tent economy of motion. When he
moved, a pantherish ripple ran
wavelike through his well - packed
muscles.
"Yore bronc some gaunted," Rey
nolds said.
borne, Gray agreed.
He watered and fed the animal
himself. Reynolds watched him, ob
serving that he knew how to treat a
hot, tired horse. The corral-owner
wondered who this stranger v/as.
“I’ll put up at Ma Presnall’s if
she has room for me,” Gray said.
“Could you send word to Sherm
How ard-that I’m there and want io
see him?”
"What name shall I say?” asked
Reynolds.
“Jeff Gray. I’m obliged, sir.”
Gray limped up the street toward
the boarding-house.
Ma Presnail had her muscular
arms bare to the elbows. There was
a splash of flour on one temple.
She had been baking. Her face was
leathery and wrinkled, the challenge
of her washed-out eyes direct and
hard. For twenty years she had
lived in frontier camps and held
her own.
He couid have a room and board,
she said, for a dollar a day or five
dollars a week. Strangers paid in
advance. A flve-dollar bill passed
from Gray to her and she led him
to his room.
After washing the caked dust from
face and hands, he lay down on the
bed. The wound in his leg was
throbbing. For the better part of
sixty hours he had been in the sad
dle and he was almost worn out.
When the opportunity came he
would bathe and dress the hurt. Just
now he had not time. He was ex
pecting a visit from Sherman How
ard and perhaps from others. It
was unfortunate that his entry into
Tail Holt had been so melodra
matic. Probably he would have to
light out again, if they gave him
a chance to go.
With his pocket-knife he ripped
open the lining of his vest and drew
out a folded paper. He expected to
need it shortly. The paper was a
printed poster offering a reward of
2,000 for the capture of Clint Doke,
the leader of a band of outlaws who
had held up and robbed the Texas
and Southern Flyer. A description
of the desperado was given. With
it was a picture taken from a cut.
The face that looked back from the
poster at Jeff Gray was his own.
Through the door Ma Presnall
called information. "Some genta to
see you."
"Who are they?” Gray asked, put
ting the paper in his vest pocket.
“Sherm Howard, Curly Connor,
and Morg Norris.”
There was a barely perceptible
pause before Gray said, "Ask them
to come up, Mrs. Presnall, if you
will."
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Cross Wheat and Couch Grass to Halt
Shifting of the Farm Soil in Canada
In some parts of Canada a serious
problem has been confronting farm
ers for many years now—one with
which no English farmer is likely
to be faced. Their farms won’t stay
put.
On the wide prairies of North
America acres of loose soil shift
each year, through the action of
wind and rain. Up to the present
there has been nothing to prevent
it. Farmers simply had to sit and
watch the fertile top soil wash away
in the heavy rains of the spring and
autumn, and blow away when, in
the summer, the burning sun dried
it up into fine dust.
Thus, every year, says a writer in
London Answers Magazine, the land
was impoverished, and no amount
of manuring or careful cultivation
on the part of the farmer served
him in what seemed to be a hope
less battle against Nature.
In the last year or two the trouble
has been intensified, and consider
able tracts of land have been laid
waste.
But the scientist can sometimes
(
find a weapon which will turn defeat
into victory, and the Biological In
stitute of Svaloef, South Sweden,
hopes before long to put a stop to
this constant disappearance of valu
able soil.
They are crossing wheat with the
farmers’ old enemy, couch grass,
and they have every reason to hope
that the result will be a useful crop
of grain, provided by a plant whose
clinging roots will bind together the
shifting soil.
Canadian farmers will have much
to thank the scientists for when they
plant this grain, and another on
which the scientists are working
now.
The latter is a cross between
wheat and rye, which, it is hoped,
will be capable of withstanding the
bitter cold of the long northern win
ters, and of producing a useful crop
at the same time. The Canadian
farmers’ continued prosperity de
pends on some such type of grain.
At present the yield is too small
to be useful, but in the future, no
doubt, it will be a standard crop.
*
|MPR0VED-J|uh
UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL
SUNDAY I
chool Lesson
of Chicago.
C Weif rn Nawpapar jlnlon.
Lesson for May 22
SERVING THROUGH CHRISTIAN
CITIZENSHIP
LESSON TEXT—Mark 11:13 17, 28-34.
GOLDEN TEXT—Thou Shalt love thy
neighbor as thyself.—Mark 12:31.
PRIMARY TOPIC—A Sermon on a Penny.
JUNIOR TOPIC—A Sermon on a Penny.
INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOPIC—
Loyalty to God and Country.
YOUNG PEOPLE AND ADULT TOP2C
ObUgatlens of Christian Citizenship.
“For God and Country" is a rally
ing cry that well summarizes the
spirit and duty of the Christian cit
izen. So clear and inspiring are the
teachings of God’s Word regarding
the relationship of the Christian to
his country that one marvels that
national leaders who are seeking to
stimulate civic loyalty do not pro
mote a revival of the study of the
Bible. Dr. Moore is right when he
say3, “No bad citizen is a good
Christian and no good Christian is
a bad citizen.” The solution of our
nation’s problems would be a great
evangelistic campaign from coast to
coast A man like Moody would
then appear in his true position as
a great patriot. The soul-winner
would be more important than the
vote-getter. Why not try it?
Our lesson presents our Lord on
Tuesday of His passion week, when
He met Hi3 adversaries in their
cunning efforts to entrap Him in
His words so that they might con
demn Him. The two incidents be
fore us have broader application
than to citizenship alone, but we
may well consider them in that
light, for they reveal that the citi
zen who is right with God will be
right with the nation and with his
own neighbors.
I. The Chris tiau Citizen Loves His
Country (w. 13-17).
The Pharisees, who hated Rome
for its domination of Palestine, and
the Herodlans, who supported Rome
in its control of the land, were ene
mies, but they joined forces to tempt
Christ. They knew that if Ke said
“Yes” to their question the Jews
would be angry, and if He said "No”
He could be condemned a3 a trai
tor to Rome.
The trap was set. but ic caugm
only the crafty hunters. Taking their
own pocket money he declared that
if they used Caesar’s money they
ought to pay taxes to Caesar. The
coin stood for an orderly govern
ment, benefits of which they en
joyed and which they ought to sup
port.
II. The Christian Citizen Loves
God (w. 20-30).
Although this point comes second
in our lesson it comes first in expe
rience. It is the man who renders
unto God the love of the heart, soul,
mind, and all of his strength (v. 30)
who is ready really to love his coun
try as he should.
The scribes loved to dispute about
which was the greatest of the 613
commandments which they recog
nized. Jesus astonished them by
referring to the passage of Scripture
most familiar to the Jews (Deut.
6:4, 5), which declares the unity and
absolute exclusiveness of the Lord
our God. It may be well for us to
stress this truth even in our time,
for most folk regard the worship and
service of God as optional.
III. The Christian Citizen Lovei
His Neighbor (w. 31-34).
The scribe 4id not ask for the sec
ond commandment but Jesus pre
sents it as an unavoidable corollary
of the first. The man who really
loves God will love his neighbor.
Every social injustice would be
wiped out and every cause for strife
removed if all men loved their fel
low-man as they love themselves.
Such a condition will never prevail,
however, until men love God. It is
too much for the flesh to put others
before self. Only the grace of God
is sufficient for that. Hence the real
solution of the problems of capital
and labor, the "haves’’ and the
"have nots" is to win the men and
women on both sides of the struggle
to a true love for God through Jesus
Christ our Lord. In other words, we
come again to the inevitable conclu
sion that whnt our nation needs ii
a revival.
Social panaceas, revolution either
by force or by law, dictatorships,
all these are destined to failure.
Men must learn to know and love
God supremely and thus come to
love their neighbors as themselves.
The crossroad Sunday - school
teacher, the missionary in the city
slums, the preacher of the gospel,
whether in the great city or on the
the countryside, the faithful Chris
tian living out the love of Christ
daily iri kindly word and deed—
these are the real forces for social
as well as spiritual good. Let us do
all we can to prosper their ministry!
—
Sufficient Unto the Day
Do not look forward to what might
happen tomorrow; the same ever
lasting Father who cares for you
today will take care of you tomor
row, and every day.
Living Wisely
Let no one think that the way to
gain the next world is to despise this
one.
Little Courtesies
tfhthe stir and hurry of life how
C|^Bss we are of little courtesies!
pppampn
agents
True Courtesy Is
Consideration in Action
Between merely formal cour
tesy and heart-inspired kindness,
there is as much difference as be
tween a wax model and a real
woman.
Even formal civility, however, is
invariably preferable to “brutal
frankness.”
The harder It is for a person to
be decent in society, the more he
should practice the social “nice
ties.” The best place to practice
kindness is in one's home. If one
trains himself to be polite to his
relatives, he need not fear that
he will make any serious social
blunders.—James Warr.ack in Los
Angeles Times.
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The Uusocial Oce
Society is no comfort to one not
social.—Shakespeare.
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Don’t Neglect Them I
Nature designed the kidneys to do a
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flowing blood stream free of an excess of
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