& DUDE MMMMI
&V PETER B. KYNE si^vl^a
THE STORY THUS FAR: Mary Suth
erland, an eastern girl, Is lured to Art
sons by the advertisement! of the Wagon
Wheel dude ranch, operated by Ma and
Pa Burdan. She Is met at the station by
Lea Henley, rodeo rider, who tells her
that the Wagon Wheel has tone out ot
business. Len takes her to Phoenix,
where she meets Len's Annt Margaret
Maxwell. Hearing that the Wagon Wheel
If broke. Ham Henley, Len's dad, pur
chases the Burdan notes from the bank.
While at Phoenix Len enters the rodeo,
drawing a bronc known as Mad Hatter.
Ham Henley bet* his son three to on*
that be won't be able to *tay on tha
horse. At a dance Mary learns that Len
laves ber.
CHAPTER VII
"I don't know, Ham. I'm not as
smart as you on the woman ques
tion," she replied with profound
irony. He gave her a sharp side
long glance and decided that, like
most of her sex, she reasoned with
her emotions instead of her head.
After the parade had passed she
partook of a quick luncheon with
him and they drove out to the rodeo
field, arriving in their box in time
to see the colorful riders form on
the field in a long front. About twen
ty paces in advance Len sat his
horse. "Look at Len," Ham Hen
ley almost moaned. "Right out
where everybody can see him. Ain't
there no such thing as modesty left
in this world?"
Over the public address system
the announcer s'aid: "Ladies an' gen
tlemen, the show is about to start
with the bronc ridin'. This bein' the
flrsf show o' the year to be held un
der the auspices o' the Rodeo Asso
ciation of America, the rules o' which
will govern all contests at this show,
it is customary to announce the
champion cowboy of the world for
last year. There he is, out in front
—Len Henley, of Arizona. Take a
bow, Len." His horse genuflected to
the audience and Len lifted his som
brero. Instantly the ranks of rid
ers broke and with shrill yells gal
loped off the field. Mary dismount
ed and gave her reins to Len, who
cantered over to the chutes while
she crossed the field and entered a
gate under the grandstand. A few
minutes later she entered her box
and found Ma and Pa Burdan sit
ting there. She made them wel
come and a motion picture camera
man came into the box and set up
his equipment.
"Mr. Henley is the first rider up,
on Mad Hatter," she explained to
the Burdans. "It's to be his last pro
fessional ride so I thought he might
like to have it filmed for a souvenir.
The light is excellent and the opera
tor will use a telephoto lens."
Over in chute thirteen, Len Hen
ley and Pedro Ortiz were getting an
Association saddle on Mad Hatter.
This was an old experience with
Mad Hatter and he stood quietly
until Len drew the bucking strap
tight around him far back toward
his flanks and from the top rail of
the chute slipped into the saddle and
got set, the heavy rope halter shank
clasped in his left hand, his som
brero in the other. He wore leather
chaps, as required by the rules and
his long-shanked spurs were taped
until only the tips of the rowels
showed, in order that in raking the
horse the animal would not be cut.
"Ready!" He called to the an
nouncer on a platform built over the
chutes.
•'Len Henley of Arizona, cham
pion cowboy of the world, is com
ing out of chute thirteen on Mad
Hatter, champion bucking horse of
the world. He has never been rid
den and you will soon see why?
Here they come!"
Mad Hatter made his entrance ac
cording to formula. Mary could
have ridden him out of the chute,
forty feet out in the field he went
into his act. Three jarring jumps
high in the air. Lcn Henley stayed.
Then Mad Hatter towered—and Len
leaned forward, threw his weight on
the horse's withers to overcome any
tendency of Mad Hatter to lose his
balance and fall over backward—
and Mary saw him rake the horse's
flanks. Then Mad Hatter was prac
tically standing on his head—and
Mary saw Len lean far backward
and rake the horse's shoulders.
Again the horse repeated his sea
saw tactics and again Len Henley
raked him In flanks and shoulder.
But—he had five seconds to go be
fore the presiding judge should fire
the pistol. He had to "make time"
—and Mad Hatter had gone into his
whirling dervish routine. Four sec
onds for that. Len knew because he
had often clocked the start and fin
ish of it with a stop watch. ... He
counted the whirls, leaning right
with the force of gravity ... At
the beginning of the sixth whirl Len
leaned to the left and got set, his
taped spurs dug into Mad Hatter's
hairy sides. Simultaneously the
horse jumped to the left and Mary
gasped as daylight showed between
the saddle and the rider's posterior;
then Mad Hatter started to run and
pitch and Len got back in the sad
dle again and the girl heard the
sharp bark of the judge's pistol.
During the second trip around the
field Mad Hatter began to tire and
only pitched half-heartedly every
five or six strides; the third time
around he loped lumberingly and
vented his despair and anger in oc
casional grunts and squeals ... He
■lowed to a trot and just below the
box In which Mary sat with the Bur
THE DANBURY REPORTER. DANBIJRY. N. C.. THURSDAY. AUGUST 3. 1944
dans, he stopped. The crowd, sens
ing the horse was conquered,
cheered, but Len Henley did not
seem to notice the ovation. Mary
had expected he might wave his
hat, triumphantly; she saw, instead,
that he was weaving a little in the
saddle, that his head hung low, like
Mad Hatter's. It was time to dis
mount now but he did not seem to
realize this until with a supreme ef
fort the horse reared. He seemed
to balance a moment on his hind
legs—too late Len realized it was
time to leave him. He was sliding
down Mad Hatter's withers as the
horse went over backward.
Len fell clear. Evidently the fall
stunned Mad Hatter and he lay su
pine a few seconds, then turned over
and his hind legs lay across Len
Henley's body; he commenced kick
ing and scrambling awkwardly to
regain his feet and Mary saw all
four feet strike the fallen rider re
peatedly. The force of the blows
rolled Len over on his face and out
of range. He was lying very still
when the horse got up and walked
away.
Mary climbed over the front of
the box, clung a moment at arm's
length and dropped five feet into
the deep dust below. She landed
on her feet and ran to Len, knelt, got
her arms under him and lifted him
until his shoulders rested across her
knee and her left arm supported
his head.
He was limp and unconscious and
she saw a greenish hue creep over
his countenance—blood was trick
ling from the comers of his slack
"Len Henley of Arizona, champion
cowboy of the world."
mouth. Then Ham Henley was
kneeling opposite her, his mouth
twitching in a spasm of fear and
remorse and hate. "Give him to
me, you interferin' dude," he
cracked. "Between us we've killed
my son—for the triumph o' winnin'
a bet."
"No, no," she said, with amazing
steadiness, "I shall not give him to
you, because he belongs to me and
you don't deserve him. You never
did."
She bent and kissed one green
hued cheek; with her bandanna
neckerchief she wiped his bloody
mouth, she smoothed the black dis
ordered hair, dank with sweat, back
from his dusty brow, and she
crooned to him: "Well, you rode
him to a standstill, darling, and you
left him without the aid of the pick
up men. I'm sorry I didn't know
you'd be so exhausted you'd drop
with weakness and not be able to
roll out of his way. You were too
much of a man to tell me—and your
father wasn't . . . but we showed
him, didn't we? We had to kill you
to win but—we won—and now he
wants you." She glanced across at
Ham Henley and said: "Go away!"
Arrived at the hospital Mary went
up in the elevator with him and
saw him disappear into the operat
ing room. There was a bench out
side in the hall and she sat down on
it to wait. ... In about an hour an
interne came out.
"He's pretty badly mauled but not
necessarily fatally," he said. "A
broken arm, a broken leg, some bro
ken ribs and possibly internal in
juries—a rib has punctured his lung,
hence the hemorrhage from his
mouth. He has a cut alongside his
spine but we don't think the verte
bra is injured; his collar bone is
fractured and he has, possibly, a
basal fracture. He is unconscious,
of course, and will probably remain
so for a long time unless . . . I'll
report again after we've developed
more radiographs."
She nodded, descended to the lob
by and asked the girl at the switch
board to telephone for a taxi. She
went to her hotel and lay face down
on her bed and was very quiet when
Margaret Maxwell came in and
looked at her.
The older woman unbuckled the
waist strap of the girl's new chaps
and removed them; she pulled oil
the pretty little fancy-stitched cow
boy boots and untied the scarlet
neckerchief and washed the lovely
tear-streaked face.
"What time is it?" Mary tsked.
"Seven o'clock."
"Nearly six hours since he was
hurt." She had been oblivious to the
passage of time. "Has he died?"
"No, my dear, but he is still un
conscious."
"Where is his father?"
"At the hospital sitting by his bed,
staring at him."
"It's his right. I left the hospital
in order not to embarrass him. I
spoke to him rather cruelly this aft
ernoon—please telephone him, Mrs.
Maxwell, and say I'm sorry. . .
"I found this under your door,
Miss Sutherland. It was left at the
desk and a bell-boy brought it up."
Mary sat up and opened the long
envelope. It contained Hamilton L.
Henley's check for three thousand
dollars, signed by hfs executive sec
retary, Jess Hubbell. She tossed it
on the bureau. "We killed him for
that," she said drearily. "I'll send
it back. It's blood money, but his
father's guilt is greater than mine.
"He's a pretty sturdy human be
ing," the other woman defended. "A
long time ago I ceased condemning
human beings for making normal
errors. Len was a party to this. He
could have killed your bet by de
claring he would not fight that horse
to a finish. Had he been able to
stand when he left the horse he
would not have been hurt. But his
legs were numb from gripping the
horse; they buckled under him; he
wanted to rest a minute and he
was, for the moment, unable to think
as fast as usual, or he would have
rolled clear. It was one of those
things, my dear."
Len Henley was unconscious four
days, and it was characteristic of
him to take up his life at the point
where it had, temporarily, been
blacked out. Mary was standing
beside his bed when he said softly
but very distinctly and with some
irritation. "Somebody tail that horse
off me!" He did not open his eyes.
Mary said: "Here, you men, tail
that horse off him."
"Thanks," he murmured. "That's
better. Pretty big horse to hold in
one's lap."
He did not speak again for an
hour. Then he said, "I'll L>e darned
if I'll die."
Mary went to a telephone on the
desk of the floor superintendent and
called Ham Henley. "This is the
dude speaking," she said. "Your
son says he'll be darned if he'll die
and somehow I think he means it.
Anyhow, I'm not going to worry
about him further."
"Thanks for tellin' me," he an
swered coldly. "I'll quit worryin*
too. An' I wish you'd accept that
check. It ain't blood money now.
If I'd won from you I'd have sent
your check back but when you won
an' sent back mine you got under
my skin."
"Very well, send it back, if that
will relieve the itching."
He said with vast pride, "That
boy's some buckaroo, ain't he?"
"He's a real champion, Mr. Hen
ley. By the way, Mrs. Maxwell ten
dered you an apology from me at
a time I wasn't equal to doing it
myself. Now that I am, I want you
to know I'm truly sorry I was more
or less feline to you when Len was
hurt."
"Want to be forgiven, eh? Well,
I ain't the forgivin' sort."
"I don't require your forgiveness
any more than I'd require your per
mission to wash my hands. Telling
you I'm sorry for my intemperate
language merely cof?stitutes a
cleansing of my conscience and
that's all that interests me."
"At that I'm glad you're salty in
stead o' sickly sweet. You put over
plenty o' mischief in the first twelve
hours you knew my son, an' if, as
you claim, you got a conscience
maybe it could stand some more
clcanin'. I submit you'd ought to say
good-by to my son, Miss Sutherland.
He'll be flat on his back for three
months with nothin' to do but think
an' I'm bankin' he'll think straight
an' realize if he married you, or
any woman out o' your world, he'd
be messin' up his life for fair."
"Let me get this straight. Do you
disapprove of me as an individual
or as the representative of a class?"
"Both," he replied firmly. "Yoe're
a si-reen."
"You're precious," she said, an.'
hung up.
The following morning Len was
fully conscious and was declared
out of danger, whereupon, for the
first time since his son had been
Injured, Hamilton Henley's thoughts
returned to business—particularly
unfinished business. The rebuff he
had suffered from Ma Burdan had
not in the least ruffled him, be
cause he understood the reason back
of it; indeed, the thought had oc
curred to him at the time that he
had been too precipitate. He should
have given her time to cool off, for
he knew Ma was peppery and he
knew, too. Pa was bound to feel bad
ly at having been refused a helping
hand and would unload his grief on
sympathetic Ma. Well, thej had
had five days to think it over, and
five days of association with the
specter of want should have dulled
the edge of Ma's wrath.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
IMPROVED
UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL
SUNDAY I
CHOOL Lesson
By HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST. D. D.
Of Tht* Moody Bible Institute of Chicago.
lU'le.ised by Western Newspaper Union.
Lesson for August 6
Lesson subjects and Scripture texts se
lected and copyrighted by International
Council of Religious Education; used by
permission.
POWER THROUGH SELF-DISCI
PLINE (TEMPERANCE LESSON)
LESSON TEXT—Proverbs 1:710: Jere
miah 35:5-10: I Corinthians 9:24-27; I Thes
salonians 5:22.
GOLDEN TEXT—And every man that
striveth for the mastery Is temperate In all
things.—l Corinthians 9:25.
Discipline that word doesn't
sound exactly attractive, does it? It
makes us think of punishment for
wrongdoing, when in reality it is a
very helpful word which means
teaching. Disciples learn, and thus
are disciplined, so that life becomes
safer, simpler, and more efficient.
When the Morro Castle caught
fire, there was time for everyone to
escape, but 134 out of the 500 on
board perished because they fought
each other. When the President
Coolidge sank in the South Seas 4,500
soldiers escaped alive. What made
the difference? Discipline, that's all,
but it was enough.
There are many kinds of disci
pline, and all have their important
place in preparing men to live well
ordered and useful lives. The dis
ciplined life has power to meet trials
and temptations. We find in our les
son three kinds of discipline:
I. Home Discipline (Prov. 1:7-10).
The training received by the child
early in life from its parents is of
the utmost importance in forming
character. Children should learn the
true standards of life, and be held
to obedience to them if they are
later to walk in the right way.
It is here that they most effec
tively learn the danger of the use
of intoxicants and the Importance
of keeping their bodies clean and
strong for the service of God and
country.
Some parents (possibly misled by
attractive, but false theories of edu
cation) think that the correction or
punishment of a child is not to be
permitted. They assume that they
are being kind to a child by not
limiting his development, or trying
to direct it. These are the people
who "curse their children with kind
ness," which is in fact the greatest
of unkindness.
Only a fool (v. 7) will despise the
instruction of his parents, and only
a fool of a parent will fail to give
that training which is like "an orna
ment of grace" (v. 9) in the life of
the young man or woman.
But the discipline of the home
needs the support of
11. Social Discipline (Jer. 35:5-10).
The social order, which concerns
our relation to our fellow men, dis
ciplines each of us. It makes many
and what sometimes seem burden
some demands of us in order that
we, as well as those around us, may
have the privilege of living ordered
and useful lives.
Wise is the man or woman who
draws from his fellowship with oth
ers that helpful training which gives
him stability and grace.
The Rechabites had made a vow
that they would not drink intoxi
cants, and as a tribe they stood by
that vow even when tested by Jere
miah. (Note that we say tested, not
tempted. He knew they would
stand.)
Fine family traditions have great
value in guiding and controlling
young people. We should, like the
good man Jonadab (v. 6), establish
a tradition of abstinence from in
toxicants which will make all of our
descendants say, "No one in our
family ever drinks."
The training of home and of
society has one great goal and that
is
111. Self-Discipline (I Cor. 9:24-27;
I Thess. 5:22).
In the life of every one of us there
should be that determined purpose
that life shall not be lived in care
less disorder, or be permitted to run
out at loose ends.
We are all running a race (v. 24),
and it is for us so to run that we
may achieve success. We cannot
run with uncertainty (v. 26*. we
must know where we are going.
We are fighting a fight, and at
times it is a desperate, life-and
death struggle. We must not beat
the air (v. 26), but strike home the
telling blows which will bring vic
tory over our enemies, the world,
'.he flesh, and the devil.
To do this calls for training and
self-discipline. It means bringing the
body and ils demands into sub
jection. The man who runs in a race
does not destroy his chances for
victory by using intoxicants, or other
detrimental things. Surely we who
run the race for Christ must be
even more determined that self shall
be disciplined for God's glory.
The standard for the conduct of
the Christian is higher than is com
monly supposed, for he withdraws
himself from "every form of evil."
The disciplined believer knows
that sin is sin—that what looks com
paratively innocent often wears a
false face covering real wickedness,
or it is the first step on a downward
path. To start on that way is to in
vite disaster. A striking example ol
this is the social drink—the fashion
able cocktail—the friendly glass.
Abstain is the word—"abstain from
every form of evil."
P4TTERNSJL
SEWING CIRCLE,
8642 \vli^
12-42 * **"
Crisp House Frock
'"THE youthful capped sleeves
with their romantic little ruf
fled trim—the slim, sleek lines of
the front—the trim buttoned back
and the big tie-bow all add up to
as neat a bit of house dress charm
as you've ever encountered!
• • •
Pattern No. 8642 Is In sizes 12, 14. 16,
18. 20; 40 and 42. Size 14 requires 3 8 «
yards of 39-inch material; 3!i yards ma
chine-made ruffling trim.
aUOUSEHOID
atlinTs^
A coat of white shellac applied
to the cover of your cook book
keeps it looking like new.
• • •
A wet sponge within arm's
reach when ironing makes it easy
to dampen the spots which have
dried.
• • •
To fix window screens so you
can see out and the neighbors
cannot see in, paint the inside of
the screens with a thin white
enamel.
• • •
Take a large paper bag with
you when cleaning or tidying up
the living room. Into it empty con
tents of ash trays and wastebas
kets.
• • •
Reware of dusty shoulders. Cut
paper protectors to slip over
clothes hangers and onto your
dresses before hanging them
away.
• • •
The blunt end of a pencil may
be used to turn a fabric belt right
side out. And orangowood stick is
excellent for working the corners
out sharply.
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Flit it (udden death to all mosquitoes. Yeil v
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Three-Piece Play Sail
EfOR the newcomers who like to
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until supper time—a three-pieca
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• • •
Pattern No. 8663 Is in sizes 2, 3, 4, 5 and
6 years. Size 3, dress and panties, re
quires 2>'« yards of 35 or 39-inch mat*>
rial; bonnet, 3a yard.
Send your order to:
SEWING CIRCLE PATTERN DEPT.
330 South Wells St. Chicago
Enclose 20 cents In coins tor each
pattern desired.
Pattern No 5ize........
Name
Address
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