The Meridian Tribune (Meridian, Tex.), Vol. 45, No. 42, Ed. 1 Friday, March 10, 1939 Page: 3 of 8
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Friday, March 10, 1939
THE MERIDIAN TRIBUNE
PAGE THREE
LOUNTAIN MAN
Needlework at Its Finest
© H. C. Wire—WNU Service
A Banner Viction Serial
By HAROLD CHANNING WIRE
bound to attract attention. Pat-
tern 1960 contains a transfer pat-
tern of 18 motifs ranging from 2
by 3 inches to 2 by 15 inches;
materials required; illustration
of stitches.
Send 15 cents in coins for this
patternto The Sewing Circle,
Needlecraft Dept., 82 Eighth Ave-
nue, New York, N. Y.
ACTS FAST
TO BRING RELIEF
FROM COLDS
This Simple Way Eases
Pain with Amazing Speed
SYNOPSIS
Jim Cotter, forest ranger, had been
mysteriously killed in the pursuit of his
duties. Gordon Breck, his best friend,
takes over Cotter’s job, hoping to avenge
his murder. "Dad" Cook, forest super-
intendent, warns Breck that the Tillson
brothers, mountain moonshiners, are apt
to give him trouble. Before leaving, for
his mountain station, Breck buys an out-
fit arid decides to attend the public dance
run by the Tillsons in Lone Tree. At the
dance Breck dances with Louise Temple,
pretty “cowgirl” for whom he takes a
liking. Unknown to Breck, she is being
courted by Art Tillson, youngest of the
three Tillson brothers. Angered by
Breck’s attentions to the girl, he picks a
fight which ends indecisively when some-
one sets fire to the hall. Breck and his
chief set out for the mountain station.
“I know," said Breck, remember-
ing his slip before the grocer in
Lone Tree. “I’m wise,” he added.
“Now I see it this way; I’ll have to
force an issue with the Tillsons in
line with my job, and settle for Cot-
ter when I settle that.”
Cook nodded. “You’re beginning
to open your eyes, son.”
“I ain’t,” Sierra muttered, rising,
“I’m shuttin’ ’em tight. And don’t
you all disturb my beauty sleep!”
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER IV—Continued
——
For an hour Cook and Breck rode
up a long gradual slope that shelved
out from the wall of the Sierras.
The town of Lone Tree dropped be-
hind them and then was lost in the
desert sink.
Toward noon they had climbed the
desert shelf and were near the
road’s end, where Breck saw some
sort of camp along a willow creek.
A corral enclosed one end of a box
canyon further on, and from this
rose a cloud of dust. He glimpsed
a herd of animals racing before a
lone horseman, then caught a deep
voice, slow and good-natured in
spite of the curses it uttered.
“That’s Sierra Slim,” Cook ex-
plained, ‘‘one of my forest guards.
: Must have seen us coming and has
wrangled up the pack train. You’ll
meet a real moss-back mountaineer
in Sierra. He’s going to be your
partner until you’re well broke in.”
They stopped their truck under
the trees; climbed out, and a mo-
ment later Breck watched a lank,
loose-jointed figure amble down
from the corrals. He wore a black
Stetson of the cow country, limp-
brimmed, with its high crown
knocked into a peak. The rest of
his costume was equally haphaz-
ard; flannel shirt with bright red
and black checks, gray jeans, shoes
with golf soles.
“Slim,” said Cook, “this is Breck.
He’s going up with us to take over
Rock House station.”
“Glad to know you,” he declared
perfunctorily. “Goin’ to take Cot-
ter’s place, eh? Well, for me now. I
can’t see myself doin’ .it. Under-
stand, I ain't exactly sayin’ I
wouldn’t. And again, that don’t
mean I would!”"
Glancing beyond Sierra Slim,
Breck caught a twinkle in Dad
Cook’s eyes. A little later when Si-
erra had wandered off, saying he
would rustle ' some grub, Cook
laughed. “Slim’s meaning is hard
to get at sometimes, but don’t let
that bother you. He isn’t half as
confused as he makes out.” .
After noon chuck they all turned
to the job of packing for an early
start tomorrow. Everything had to
be stowed in the leather kyaks, that,
two for each mule, must be nicely
balanced in weight. Breck had once
gone through the experience of hav-
ing a load kicked to pieces when
it turned under his mule’s belly, so
calculated his outfit carefully now.
“Of course,” Cook said, grinning
as he stood up from a pile of tele-
phone insulators, “you can hang a
rock on one side or the other to
even it up. I’ve seen that done!”
Breck left his work for a time
and surveyed the equipment at
Cook’s feet. “Seems to me,” he ob-
served, “that most of your load has
to do with telephones."
“It has. That will be your first
job—two hundred miles of line and
most of it torn down by fallen trees
or snowed under. Like that every
spring; You wait, son! Two weeks
of climbing those giant fir will tell
what you’re made of.”
Just before evening Sierra Slim
dragged a dozen pack saddles from
under a tarpaulin, inspected them,
then uncovered more riding gear.
By sundown they had twenty-four
kyaks filled and standing two by two
under the trees. Pack saddles rest-
ed in a row on a log, lead ropes
coiled nearby. Each man’s riding
. gear lay close to the spot where he
had unrolled his bed. It was the
camp of a pack train ready to hit the
trail at dawn.
A cobl wind from over the moun-
tains forced down the desert heat.
Cook built a campfire, and in the
hour before turning in all three sat
with the red glow upon their faces;
their shadows flickering off to min-
gle with the canyon blackness. The
time had come for pipes, and far-off
thoughts, and words slowly spoken.
Talk drifted inevitably to the Till-
sons. Cook made a remark. Sierra
Slim delivered his non-committal
speech. But he remained silent him-
self, thinking of his purpose in com-
ing to these mountains.
“I did imagine my business would
be a simple matter,” he confessed
at last. “Just find out who killed
Cotter and then—” He paused,
brushing his hand through the fire-
light. “—wipe him out. But this
isn’t that kind of war.”
“You don’t know your man,” Cook
affirmed, “and until we learn more
you had better not do any advertis-
ing. So far I’ve passed Cotter’s
death as an accident. Shot by deer
hunters.”
“Roll out, Ranger!”
Words roaring through a heavy
sleep. Smells of bacon and coffee
mingled with smoke. Breck opened
his eyes.. It was still dark.
Rising upon one elbow, he saw
Dad Cook holding a pot over the
fire. The old man jerked his head
sharply. “Up and at it!"
Breck obeyed. This was business.
As he started down to the creek he
heard a rush of animals in the cor-
ral, the sudden squeal of horses,
then Sierra Slim’s gentle cursing. A
wash in water that was only a few
miles from snow aroused him thor-
oughly and brought a wolfish appe-
tite. Cook and Sierra were already
eating when he returned to camp..
He squatted down beside them.
Fried meat, fried potatoes, thick
slices of bread, and coffee of the
Noon passed; and then one o’clock
before Cook halted the train for half
an hour’s rest. Breck dismounted,
stiff in the legs and glad to walk.
Sierra Slim boiled a gallon pot of
water and threw in a fistfull of tea.
That, with whatever food each man
had cared to put in his saddle bags,
was lunch.
It was while they squatted near
the fire, warming their hands and
eating, that Breck heard a clatter
of hoofs somewhere below. He
looked down into a narrow canyon
that cut the mountains to the south
of Farewell Gap. A second trail led
up there and presently two horse-
men appeared on it. He waited un-
til they crossed a treeless area be-
fore shifting his scrutiny from them
and back to Cook and Slim. They
too were watching.
Another rider came some distance
behind the first two, as if a rear
guard for them; all three passed up
the canyon, unencumbered by pack
animals. With them was a gray,
wolf-like dog. They were half a
mile distant, yet their tall figures
and their alert seat gave identity.
Coming onto a shelf they put their
horses in a jog trot and vanished at
a point where the two tails joined.
“That.” said Sierra Slim, “ain’t
noways hard to read!”
“They might be riding in to es-
tablish their cow-camp,” Cook of-
From the rear of the train Sierra
yelled, "Fish!"
Cook chuckled. “New hand
catches trout for supper/’ he ex-
plained. “So grab a line first thing,
Breck, and get us a mess.”
Oldest to Greatest
CHAPTER VI
Again that call bursting through
the dawn: “Roll out, Ranger!”
Breck threw back the hood of his
tarp and looked up. Overhead, pine
branbhes waved against a sky that
still held a few stars. At his right
Dad Cook was crawling from his
own cocoon-like bed, while to the
left Sierra Slim had dressed as far
as trousers, and now sat morose and
silent, staring at the ground.
Breakfast was a wordless meal.
But as Sierra finished his third cup
of coffee, he shoved back his bench
and at once resumed his good na-
ture.
“Well chief,” he asked, “where
do we head first?"
Cook rose and gathered the dishes
into a pan with one sweep of his
arm. “You and Breck,” he said,
“will take the Little Whitney and
Kern River line going out. Then
come back by Sulphur Canyon. Un-
less the wire is all down you ought
to be here again in a week. I’ll
go south to Temple Meadow.” ,
He turned gravely to Breck. “If
you live through a week of Slim’s
dutch-oven bread you’ve got a tin
gizzard!”
Pattern No. 1960.
Cutwork’s just buttonhole
stitch! -And even if you’ve never
tried it, you’ll find these simple
designs so lovely on scarfs,
towels, pillow cases. They’re
So greatly did the German Em-
peror, Frederick the Great ad-
mire George Washington that he
sent him his portrait with the in-
scription, “From the oldest gen-
eral in Europe to the greatest
general on earth.”
44
The time had come for pipes.
sort that carries authority for the
rest of the day. Dawn was in the
canyon as they finished.
“Now boys,” said Cook, “let’s get
along. No telling how much snow
we’ll have to buck on top and I
want to make the station before
dark.”
He pointed to a line of animals
that Sierra .had brought to the tie
rack. “Breck, those horses on the
end are yours. The gray is Custer;
the black’s Kit. Better saddle Kit.
We’ll cinch a load of nails on Cus
and let him take a fling at that if
he feels ornery. Yonder’s a mule—
God knows he’s a mistake, but you
fall heir to him. His name is Goof.”
For proof he gave the switch tail
a yank that ought to have pulled the
thing from its socket.
Breck went on to his horses, sad-
dling first the black, a truly beauti-
ful animal, tall and spare-bodied,
legs not too slender for mountain
work, and a sensitive, intelligent
face. The gray was old and showed
a disposition that had been ruined
in his first handling. Upon him he
lashed the two pouches full of nails
and let him have his morning buck.
He loaded Goof more carefully.
First the kyaks, hooked on the pack
saddle forks and hanging down, one
on either side, then his bedding, dou-
bled. and laid crosswise, and over
all a waterproof tarpaulin.
Morning in the High Sierras! Dew
along the stream bottom and the
sharp tang of sage. Creaking of
leather and jingle of spurs. The
muffled pad of mules, broken by
the ring of their shoes on rock. The
sigh of wind in pines further up.
And then the red sun bursting like
a prairie fire over distant desert
hills.
The trail climbed rapidly. Soon
the desert had fallen into a deep sink
where floes of salt on a dead lake
reflected the changing colors of sun-
rise. Up and up! At times the train
was like a line of ants clinging to
the sheer granite face. Again, si-
washing, Breck looked down at the
string doubled four times upon it-
self.
At eleven o’clock they reached the
first summit, and through Farewell
Gap he gazed back for his last view
of that land so far down. When he
turned west again a cold breeze
blew on his face, fresh from snow
fields that glittered in the sun. Now
as far as he could see lay a country
of pine ridges and barren rock peaks
interlaced through meadows of bril-
liant green. Here was the roof of
the High Sierras.
CHEST COLDS
Here’s Quick Relief from
Their DISTRESS!
The annoying discomforts of a cold in
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Better than a mustard plaster, Mus-
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He probably will tell you to con-
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This simple way, backed by
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15 FOR 12 TABLETS
2 FULL DOZEN 25c
fered, though without a tone of be-
lief.
“Ah sure,” Sierra scoffed. “And
they might be in to see how the
trout is bitin’! There’s just three
trails into these parts. We’ve got
the North. Them Tillsons have come
up the Quakin’ Asp, seein’ no one
else is ahead of ’em. And what
will you bet that their rot-gut ma-
chinery hasn’t used the South Sum-
mit, probably last night?”
Cook nodded, but said nothing.
Breck stared at the spot where the
three brothers had vanished.
Tn a minute Sierra stood up,
stretched his lank frame and let it
settle again. “Ah shucks!” he said
dismally. “I’m agoin’ to quit this
forest service. Things is startin’ to
pop too early!”
Through the afternoon they fought
snow drifts over the roof, crossed
wind-swept ridges, plunged into
swollen streams of ice water. Mules
lagged. Men hunched in their sad-
dles. But when, an hour before sun-
down, a green, fenced meadow
came into sight, mules picked up
their pace; men straightened. .
Gruelling work filled the days that
followed, yet for Breck they were
strangely satisfying. Work oriented
his life. It was like the magnetic
pole that holds a compass needle
steady.
Work went on. From headquar-
ters station he and Sierra followed
a single strand of wire hung from
tree trunks, part of two hundred
miles that radiated like a spider’s
web over the mountain range. It
knew no trail, but climbed walls
and plunged across canyons in its
direct course from point to point.
As days passed with long hours of
work and hardship mutually shared,
Breck felt a bond growing between
himself and Sierra. Over the night’s
campfire, with the mountain silence
about them and only their own
thoughts to break it, their compan-
ionship strengthened . into confi-
dences, and their separate natures
began to unfold. In these hours
men are apt to bare their best and
their worst, and show traits that
would have remained hidden during
years of acquaintance in the cities
below.
Talk drifted to Lone Tree, and
men, and girls. “Slim,” Breck
asked. “Why haven’t you ever mar-
ried?’*
Sierra screwed his mouth side-
wise. “Ah shucks!' What’d I do with
a woman? How so’d I pack her
around these sand hills? Besides,
I never seen any in my life that
I’d trade a mule for, except one.
And she wouldn’t want my kind.
Fact, is I wouldn’t try to make her
want me.”
He looked up from a close sur-
vey of the coals. “Maybe you seen
her at the dance. I wasn’t there
myself. Old man Temple’s kid.”
The name jolted Breck from quiet
musing. “Louise?”
“Yeah. Louy. There’s a girl!”
Sierra rolled another smoke.
“Most of the cowhands hereabouts
is spreadin’ their ropes for her,” he
went on. “The dam’ fools! Trying
to tie her in some shanty cookin’
their greasy grub!”
“I saw her in Lone Tree,” Breck
admitted. “Doesn’t she belong in
the cow-country?”
Sierra nodded. “You’d say so,
sure you would!”
Breck laughed, recognizing the re-
buke,
(TO BE CONTINUED)
CHAMPION
The Onl
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NEW SAFETY-LOCK CORD BOD
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NEVER before in our experience has a tire
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Humans Have Same Homing Instincts
As the Pigeon, an Authority Asserts
Man, who marvels at the manner
in which homing pigeons wing their
unerring way hundreds of miles to
their own lofts, has the same hom-
ing instinct as the pigeon and
doesn’t know it. It lies latent in
many of us, and only needs prac-
tice to develop, declares Noel Mac-
beth, of Chelmsford, Essex, says
Pearson’s London Weekly.
The instinct arises from “terres-
trial magnetism,” linked up with
the water diviner’s power of.detect-
ing water beneath the ground. Ac-
cording to Macbeth this power is
far more common than is generally
supposed. Approximately four men
out of ten and six women out of
ten have it. ,
Macbeth’s theory is that every
object not radio-active has a wave-
field, and by holding something in
one’s hand with the corresponding
wave-field one can detect that ob-
ject.
For instance, with a hazel rod,
which has a corresponding wave-
field to water, one can detect wa-
ter. An authority under whom Mac-
beth studied in France, by using a
bird’s feather as a divining rod.
can detect game from a greater
distance than can gun-dogs.
The same principle applies to pig-
eons. They become impregnated
with the “magnetic smell” of their
loft and, as they circle in the air,
they feel the magnetic pull in one
direction and fly that way.
This sense of direction, due to
magnetic pull, was widely held by
the ancients, Macbeth says. We
have lost it today through lack of
use. There are still aborigines, how-
ever, who can tell where the south
lies by instinct, and a few Euro-
peans can find north without a com-
pass.
Where Pearls Come From
The trade name usually applied to
all natural salt-water pearls is “Ori-
ental.” Fresh-water pearls usually
lack the fine color seen in those
from salt water, although one pearl
found in a New Jersey creek brought
the price of $10,000 and finally be-
came the property of the Empress
Elizabeth. Green-black pearls come
from the waters of Tahiti and Mex
ico. Gray pearls are rare and value
able.
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More Non-Skid Mileage. The new Safety-Lock cord
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Firestone CHAMPION
Firestone HIGH SPEED
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6.00-16. 15.95
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6.00-18.$17.15
6.25-16. 17.95
6.50-16. 19.35
7.00-15. 21.35
7.00-16. 21.95
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5.50-16. 12.75
5.50-17. 13.20
6.00-16. 14.35
6.00-17. 14.85
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6.25-16. 16.15
6.50-16. 17.40
7.00-15. 19.20
7.00-16. 19.75
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This amazing
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___support the car until
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Firestone CONVOY
4.50-21. $8.35
4.75-19.
5.00-19.
5.25-17.
8.60
9.35
9.65
5.25-18.10.00
5.50-16.$10.60
5.50-17. 11.00
6.00-16. 11.95
6.25-16. 13.45
6.50-16. 14.50
TRUCK TIRES AND OTHER PASSENGER CAR SIZES PRICED PROPORTIONATELY LOW
Listen to The Voice of Firestone with Richard Crooks, I Listen to The Firestone Voice of the Farm-Everett
Margaret Speaks and Alfred Wallenstein, Monday • Mitchell interviews a Champion Farmer each week
evenings over Hationwide N. B. C. Red Hetwork. • daring noon hour. See local paper for station and time.
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The Meridian Tribune (Meridian, Tex.), Vol. 45, No. 42, Ed. 1 Friday, March 10, 1939, newspaper, March 10, 1939; Meridian, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1631730/m1/3/: accessed May 22, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Meridian Public Library.