CHAPTER V
When Ralph Rowland went to
war, his sister, “Rusty," was left
in charge of the ranch. Soon
black market operators got busy
and slaughtered some of her
cattle. She called Ladue Decker,
a neighboring rancher, to come
over, but he laughed at the idea
of gangsters and proposed to her.
Rusty turned him down. While
ranch vigilantes were being org
anized at Rusty’s place, a report
came over the telephone that
Decker’s ranch had just been
raided. The ranchers left tor
Decker’s at once, and Rusty cal
led Dr. Herb Westmore, a vete
rinarian whom she greatly ad
mired, to tell him the news. Dr.
Westmore, she thought, ac'/.'d
rather strangely.
A short meeting was held after
supper. Each ranch appointed
someone to represent it at an
other meeting to be held Sunday
afternoon, with the sheriff pre
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siding, for much to Uncle Jed’s
with the law.
“Start out with our hands tied j
right at the beginning,’’ he com-i
plained to Rusty later,“Cain’t do;
this and can’t do that, cause itj
ain’t in the statues. How’s a man
to catch criminals effen he don’t
git himself down to their level?”
“Their level might be dead le-1
vel and the lot of you dead, if
you tried to play their game," j
Rusty comforted him.
Sooner he laid out, decent,
than livin' a sucker to cityi
slickers,” the old fellow grunted,
“doin' t’ turn in. Night, Rusty,
“Good night, Uncle.”
Rusty made her way to the
brooder pen with food for her
new kitten. Fatso ate, then stood
up on her hind leg's, inviting:
Rusty to pick her up.
“Come on, I really need some
one I can talk to
In her room, she placed the
kitten on the floor, but Fatso
jumped to the bed to await her
new mistress.
“I wish," Rusty told her, ‘that
yoh could talk. You. lived asounn
the Westmores long enough to
pick up a few facts, didn't you?”
Fungi poising. Just why had
Miss YVestmore given her that
lecture on that peculiar phase o^
ptomaine-poisning, To fool who
ever was listening in from the
hospital? Hut why should she
want to deceive anyone And
why had Herb YVestmore ordered
her not to answer the door? Had
they expected someone other
than becker and his men?
“I’m right back where I start
ed," she complained, “and too
tired to figure it out.”
In the morning, when Rusty
went downstairs, she found her
mother standing in the center of
the living room. looking per
"Xow what,' inquired Rusty to
her mother. "This house was
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Pqrf 2 of a grand homecoming • •>
Part I is up to us!,
—-..c-—
Long before his troubles vanish in her warm
embrace . . . long before he sees home again,
he can be there—if yon will help him.
The first thought of thousands of weary men,
now landing in the South, is to rush to the
telephone and call home.
What a disappointment if they find all long
distance lines busy and they can’t get their
calls through.
Your telephone company is doing all that 1|
humanly possible and you can help, too, by
skipping all unnecessary calls—and by cut*
ting short the essential ones.
If you find '.his inconvenient, just remember
what that first rail home mM"> to returning |
service men.
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INCORPORATED
built for so many, and so few are
left.”
“Muc, look here, wh;» don’t we
shuff off everything downstairs
except the living room and kit
chen? We could eat in the kit
chen; plenty of people do.”
“Standards—” protested Mrs.
Rowland faintly.
“Standards don’t hold in war.”
Rusty spent most of the morn
ing in the house, devising ways
and means of cutting actual liv
ing chores to a minimum.
(Shortly befoiV noon, a car
drove up to the house, and two
men came to the door. Rusty
recognized them as dealers from
the city’s largest packing house.
“Young Mr. Ralph said you'd
have the final say," one said,"so
we’re putting it up to you, Miss
Rowland . There in our city,
we’ve thousands of war workers
to feed and no meat to feed
eight hundred head ready in two
weeks and you’re sending them
to the feeder’s, Why not switch
them to us? We’ll pay you ceiling
price.”
“So will the feeder," remarked
Rusty.
“It’s your patriotic duty, Miss
Rowland,” said the second dealer.
“You've got to realize the men
building planes and tanks need
proteins to keep their production.
Rusty interposed. “What about
next winter when they're going
to need more than they do now?
Suppose all of us sell our young
stock for immediate slaughter?
Where will you get your supply
in the fall and winter? There
won't be any,”
“Miss Kusty.,—the man took
a new line—"you want to save
this ranch. Now we know the
rustlers have marked it as free
game because there's a kid— beg
pardon, a young girl running it.
Who's your beef feeding when
it's killed? And when the war's
over, what will your brother find,
a ranch sunk into debt or riding
free? We can’t offer you more
than ceiling price, but there are
such things as a bonus for im-1
mediate delivery, or say—”
"I'm sorry," Rusty interr upted. I
"I appreciate your offer, but ij
can't accept it. It won't help any-]
one to burn the bridges ahead.!
That's what selling your stock!
would be doing. As for loising the
Double R— well, my grandfather
and his father fought through the
reconstruction period after the
Civil War. they had ‘slim pickings
but they pulled through. My own
father fought through the re
First World War, the depression,
and he pulled through. Surely, 1
can fight through, the present
war to give Ralph something to
come home to when ihe war is
Rusty found Unde Jed over
seeing a new line of fencing.
To think,” he l timed, as she
rode up, "that I’d live to see the
day we got to keep our cattle
ife from highway rulin' rustlers:
What brings you out?”
When Rusty was through with
her story, Jed raged.
ou up and throw away a
chance like that! Suppose the
feeders go out o' buisness like
they’re threatning to do and we
have to do the fattening.”
Let’s worry about that when
it happens.”
“When—" roared the old man.
"Heck, girl, it has happened. The
price feed is, feeders can't af
ford to hold cattle till the price
gets up to where they kin break
even. And the packers ain’t goin’
to relieve them by payin more
than they kin get, or are allowed
to get. Tou've got to make up
your mind to use the methods
forced on us.”
“Unc,” said Rusty, "it seems to
me the problem’s bigger than the
Double R. Our part in it is to pro
duce as much beef as we can. ‘As
much’ means weight. If the feed
ers can’t handle our young stock,
we will.”
“We will!" he roared. ‘’How?”
“You know that branch of the
Big Sandy which runs under
ground on a stony strech. We’ve
kept it clear of cattle because we
were afraid they’d bog in a fresh
et. I’ve a hunch we can grow our
winter feed on that.”
“You’re crazy as a —”
“Loon,” supplied Kusty. “’But
its worth trying. ‘Bye, now.”
Red Star was off, but now
Rusty had caught his rhythm and
sat secure, confident, her mind
whirling with pictures.
There'd been a time when the
Double R had been self- support
ing, when nothing but coffee and
spicer and calico had been brought
in from the town.
If only her mother would a
She told the outline of her plan
to her mother, and Mis. Rowland
listened with interest.
“We had to do that in Virginia
after the Civil War,” she said.
Rusty rode into the late after
noon, went on across the fields
until she found the barley deci
pherable trail which led up the
Nopocos. Somehow she thought
better when she was up above
things.
Red Star snorted Impatiently
as Rusty led him in over the shale
which marked the beginning of
the incline. His mighty muscles
scorned a slow pace on the up
ward trail.
The prairie was a sea of amber
light. Rusty dropped rein, and
Red Star grazed contentedly. At
the edge of the ledge one could
catch a fairly comprehensive
panorama of the spread of the
Uouble R. __
Rusty pulled Ralph’s last
letter1 from her pocket and read
it.
“When you realize what an
infinitesimal part of the armed
are here at this camp,” he wrote,
“and yet w'hat an amazing
amount of food it takes to keep
the men in prime form, you rea
lize how important every ranch,
every farm, even every backyard
garden can be.
“I’ve talked to some boys
Who’ve served overseas. Rusty,
if you could know what food can
mean to a man fighting, you would
you would appreciate the weapon
you are producing there at the
Double R. Don’t sell out, kid.
Even if we lose the ranch, we’ve
food for the boys who need it.”
Red Star came up to give
nudge. The swift twilight of the
southern plains was falling.
“Even we lose the ranch, we’ve
won—•”
They needn’t lose it.
As Red Star started down, the
trail, Rusty talked to him. “Look,
you bull-headed rascal, all we
have to do is stick to our main
trail no short cuts—”
Wasn’t that what she had to do,
stick to the main trail as she had
been doing? |
As Rusty reached the foot of'
the trail, another horse and rider
emerged from the blue shadows
Rusty held Red Star in.
Then she saw that the rider was
Herb Westmore.
"Miss Rusty,” he called, as he
neared her,” your mother said I’d
iind you here. . , Why, what’s
Rusty was staring at him, realiz-'
ing suddenly she had seen ami-'
ther man ride as he did.
"Your sister,” she said auto-1
maticaily, "said you’d been de
fei red from active service. Once,
when 1 was fourteen, a man rode1
in asking for work. My father
watched him ride and then took
him to the Fort. He was a de
serter. Only cavalrymen ride the
way you do."
“uo on — say it,” Westmore’s
voice was bitter.
“My brother, who managed
this ranch which could provide
thousands of pounds of fighting
food for fighting men, could not I
l>e defferred.”
The horses unmindful of the
way in which a man rode, as long
as he proved himself master,
touched noses, then swung to
gether to start back to where there
there would be food
Kusty glanced at the man
riding beside her, who cocked a
red eyebrow at her.
“Suspicioning, always suspicion
ing," he accused her. “i know;
it was like that at home. For
eigners came in, men who spoke
with a different accent, walked
with a different gait—’’
They rode on. Rusty, far from
satisfied, pondered.
“You brought Babe with you?”
“No. She's fine, but I thought
we owed her a few more days in
the straw. I had business out this
way.”
Rusty, despising subterfuge, de
cided to bring her questions into
the open.
“Last night on the phone, your
sister gave me a lecture on fungi
poisoning. I didn’t know why, 1
did overhear someone , I presume
in your office, asking you to tre^t
a bullet wound, not sutfered by
an animal.”
•Whereupon,” Westnvore picked
"P her thoughts,"you decided 1
ded I was treating some black
market rustler who was afraid to
go to a legitimate surgeon.”
He swung in his saddle, and the
starlight revealed the intentness
of his gaze.
“You do question me,” he said.
"I do,” she returned.
Westmore sat stiffly in his sad
dle. “That's to bad. I’ve yet to
see the person, male or female,
to whom I felt I had to account.
1 still contend there is an under
ground river of understanding
which unites those who think
along the same channel. I’ve had
the misfortune of banking on your
being in that channel.
Rusty waited only to say, I’ve
never had any faith in things
underground.” Then she dug her
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COUNTRY P«»ce
Now that the war is over, that
yen of city people to move to the
country seems to have become
stronger than ever.
Maybe it is the general shifting
around of employment and new
kinds of work to be done—maybe
it’s an after-effect of war weari
ness—-but whatever the reason,
any real estate man will tell you
that the demands of city people
for a place in the country has
reached an all-time high.
During the war the move
ment of people was definitely
away from the farms and to
the cities where lucrative war
jobs were available. Some of
the men and women who left
the rural communities may
not return for some time to
come. The total rural popula
tion may be a long time in
reaching its prewar figure.
For many of the farm-raised
By DON ROBINSON
heels into Red Star and shot
ahead of her guest.
Fatso sat on the back terrace
awaiting her. She wound herself
about Rusty’s boots and purred.
“You,” stated Rusty, lifting her,
“are an ingratiating wretch.
You’ve the mark of the West
more kennels on you in spite of
yourself.”
She went on into the kitchen.
“Where is the young man?” in
quired Mrs. Rowland. “Will he
mind sitting at a kitchen table?
He seemed such a gentleman.'
‘ “Rusty barked uncle Jed,
“about the underground channel:
of the Big Sandy—”
Rusty stood arrested. She had
planned on using that under
ground stream to feed the roots
of the crop she was going to
plant; yet she’d told Westmore
she’d never “had any faith in
in things underground.”
“Yes,” she questioned her
uncle.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
ciljr work ea»ier, more re
munerative and more advent
Those who have lived on
farms and left for the city proba
bly won’t return until employ
ment and high wages in the cities
are difficult to obtain, it is the
men and women who have always
lived in the cities who aie cla
moring for country life—for the
peace, the independence and the
slowei pace of living whicn they
picture as existing in th quiet ru
ral communities.
MONEY . . enjoyment
This desire for the rural lile
seems to exist more among the >
educated and well-to-do people’
than among the poorer classes.
Or at least it is more evident
among the better-off people who
are able to get the money to
gether to make the down-pay
ment on a farm.
I know one man who makes
about $20,000 a year as manager
of a large company who is right
now' dickering to “retire” at the
age of 41, to a farm-life in an
unpopulated but beautiful sec
tion of Pennsylvania. He has
carefull worked out the details
of his postw'ar farm life and
figures that, if all goes well, he
will be able to earn $2,500. a
year in addition to supplying his
family with food.
A lot of hi* friend* can’t un
derstand why he would be will
ing to give up an income of $20,
000 a year for an uncertain one
of $2,500, but he is glad to ex
plain, to anyone who will listen,
that it i» infinitely more worth
while to enjoy life than to devote
all of your waking hour* to earn
ing a good living.
He hopes, when he has his farm,
to have plenty of time for hunt
ing and fishing and riding. He,
thinks it will be a fine thing for
his children to have a healthful,
outdoor life. And he likes the idea
of being entirely independent—>
of having his success or failure
depend entirely upon his own ef
forts.
I am summarizing this man’s
outlook, because I think it is typi
cal of the outlook of thousands of
city business men who are right
now flirting with the farm idea.
There is only one big diffi
culty that stands in their way,
most of them don’t know the
first thing about farming.
ADVICE .... danger
During the past few years doz
ens of books and magazine arti
cles have been written to instruct
these would-be farmers on what
they are facing. Some of the
books tell how families have left
the city and managed to make
a success of farming. Others warn
that farming is one of the most
difficult and hazardous methods
of existence and that any man
who doesn’t have a farm back
ground is facing almost certain
failure and disappointment if he
pulls up stakes and heads for the
farmlands.
But among the would-De Tann
ers, the hooks which sell best are
those which take the optimistic
viewpoint-which say, “It can be
Probably, in the final analfsis,
it depends on the individual.
There are certainly many cases
where a city buisness man who
happens to know how to use his
hands, who understands machi
nery, who is willing to work hard
and learn hard, and who takes
the advice of his more experi
enced neighbors, has made a suc
cess of farming. But there are
also countless examples of the
man who “retired” to the coun
try ,put in a couple of the hard
est and most discouraging years
of his life at unsuccessful farm
ing was only too glad to return
to the city when an opportunity
presented itself.
There is no question that city
life is becoming less and less
attractive to the those who live
and work in cities. The noise, the
hustle, the severe competition,
the sharp buisness methods are
unnerving and taxing the consti
tution of more atul more people.
But it is very much of a ques
tion whether the grass is really
greener in rural America for
these over-taxed people, or whet
her a flight to the farmlands will
just he a matter of jumping front
the frying pan into the fire.
The sounder answer might he to
make city life more attractive
to decentralize industry—to get
rid of giant metropolises and add
a more rural touch to urban life.
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