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THURSDAY, MAY 11, 1939 Mountain Man /I HanHe* tyictia* By HAROLD CHANNING WIRE ©H.C. Wire WNU Servte* (Conclusion) He was half an hour in climbing the backbone above Temple Mead ow, but when he reached the crest, he halted for only a moment. Far below, the whole Sulphur Flat was afire, though actual flames were hid den by an intermediate canyon wall. The sky was red for miles above the lower part of Sulphur Creek. Breck wheeled and crashed down, letting his swift descent pass the word to those below. Animals w-ere already being sad dled when he burst into camp. Si erra Slim had brought up Kit, while Cook packed a mule nearby. He rode to join them, plunging across the space that a few minutes earlier had held a laughing, dancing throng. “Fire’s in the Sulphur country,’* he told Dad Cook. “I guess the boy knew what he was talking about. Nesters have lighted the whole bot tom.” Cook nodded, throwing his lash rope over the mule. Breck caught it, made the loop, and passed one end back under the animal’s belly. A plan had been seething in his mind ever since he had left the ridge suddenly now it became clear. “Cook,” he asked, “is there any way the Tillsons can climb out of their hole to the north?” “No Kern Peak blocks them.” “That means with the fire driving them up, they’ve got to come out somewhere to the south and east of Sulphur Creek?” Cook came from his side of the mule. “All right, son, what’s on your mind?” “I’ve got the Tillsons’ back door spotted,” Breck declared. “They can’t climb to it before daylight— too rough—and by that time Slim and I can be there if we go ahead.” "Then go,” Cook ordered. “I’ll make up a crew here and meet you at Indian Rock. Slim knows where that is.” Sierra had vanished in the crowd, leaving Kit tied to a stump. Breck exchanged horses and was swinging into his saddle when Senator Suth erland rushed to him. “Here, my boy, here,” he cried, puffing with excitement. “A fire is it? Great stuff! Everyone going? Never saw a mountain blaze first hand. You wait now till I get my horse!” He dashed on. “Oh, Gordon!” Again Breck turned from mounting. Irene was running toward him. “Gordon, you’ll saddle for me? Is it a real fire? I don’t know where my horse is.” He lowered his foot to the ground. “You won’t need your horse. You’re not going.” “Absurd! Why am I not?” Breck waved a gloved hand to ward Temple’s cabin. “Because a man is in there badly hurt. You made a drunken maniac out of Till son. Now how big are you? Some one has got to keep him up till the doctor gets here tomorrow. He’ll get over the gunshot, but he’s the sort that goes straight to the devil when a woman takes his pride. Talk to him, Irene, lie to him, anything to explain yourself. For God’s sake that’s one thing you can do!” He swung to his saddle before she could reply, and hoped some bit of comprehension would move her to a decent act. Art might be his ene my, yet he had come to have some thing of Louise Temple’s sympathet ic understanding of him. He found Sierra roping up a fresh horse and gave his plan. The moun taineer listened, said nothing, and in a few minutes they rode together out past the clearing, where in the light of fresh logs more than twenty men were getting tools for the fire line. Among them Breck saw Lou ise. “Are you going?” he asked, halt ing at her side. “Why not? You’ll need all of us.” A swift admiration filled him. He was proud of her. Little thorough bred! Love welled in his heart. Then fear. But he knew she would scorn his thought of danger. Tom Temple hobbled over with a shovel and ax. “Be right with you, Ranger!” Breck saluted and loped on to overtake'Sierra. His veins tingled. There was something military about this night move—like shock troops breaking into action. He led, knowing the route to the spot where he had once seen Jud and Hep vanish down Sulphur Creek. He pushed Kit at a run. It would be almost daylight anyway by the time he and Slim could cover the range from Temple’s camp to the broken country. They left the blazed govern-rent trail at the spur where Breck had come down before, climbed it, and came at last to the brim that dropped a thousand feet into cliffs and falls and unmapped gorges. Firelight flooded the lower level. Roar of the blaze rose faintly. Breck halted. “You see we’ve come to sort of a blind trail, Slim. It dips over the ridge and crosses the head of Sulphur Canyon. That’s where we go down. I don’t know how far.” Sierra kicked his foot cut of one stirrup. “I’d say we leave the cay uses here and walk.” Breck agreed, pulled from the trail and tied his horse. Then to gether they walked on. The canyon was not far. It plunged away steep ly.. the stream cutting a sharp- banked gorge through the rock. Their path skirted the brink for two hundred yards, then curved around a brush clump. In another turn it ended against a blank wall. To the left was the mountain face on the right a sheer drop to the stream. Breck looked down at white water dashing through boulders. “What do you make of it?” he asked. Sierra did not answer. His head was tilted sidewise, attention cen tered above and behind them. “Hear that?” Breck listened, yet heard only the waterfall and roar of fire further on. “Nothing, Slim.” “Maybe not. How about your trail?” “We’ve slipped up somewhere.” “I thought so. It turns to the right back here.” Breck faced about dubiously. To the right meant a straight drop into the gorge. Sierra took a few steps and halted. Suddenly he motioned with his hand. Before them a nar row rock bridge spanned the chasm from rim to rim. Sierra stepped back behind a boul der and put his pistol on its flat top. “Pardner,” he said softly, “this looks like our place.” Breck stood with his gaze sweep ing up the granite barricade of Kern Peak. No chance of escape up there. He was satisfied. For Jud and Hep it was this way out or none. His hands tightened. A name flashed through his thoughts. Jim Cotter. Dawn came swiftly. With it a new sound broke the rumble of the falls. Breck met Sierra’s eyes and his question was acknowledged with a look. Horses were climbing along the far rim of the gorge, having 5* fh I Breck sprang up. difficulty in woods where night still lingered. One stumbled its shoes clattered. From behind the rock, Breck lev eled his gun on a black opening between two giant trunks that stood like gate posts at the opposite end of the bridge. Sound of approach came nearer. The riders would first pass through a hollow where trees grew thick. Abruptly a horse thrust its white face between the two trunks. It came on. Another followed. “Pardner!” “I see,” Breck whispered. He steadied his aim over the flat rock top. “Wait till they get on the bridge.” Sierra advised. “Call out once. If they move to break away, let ’em have it.” Breck watched behind his sights. Jud rode in the lead, straight, alert. Hep crouched in his saddle. They came upon the narrow bridge with horses walking nose to tail reached the center. Breck rose with a com mand that was never uttered. All in a split second the two horses were plunging on with saddles emp ty. Though watching the spot, Breck scarcely caught a glimpse of two bodies hurtling downward into the gorge. He whirled to Sierra. Sierra faced him. Neither had shot, yet the mountains still echoed to the crack of guns. “Rifles!” Sierra gasped. “Back of us!” Breck turned. “The nesters?” Up the bank behind them, horses were being hard-ridden to the crest. They passed over and the sound died. Sierra leaped from the rock. “No use following up there now! We’ve got to get out of here. That fire’s traveling!” “Wait,” said Breck. “I want to be sure of this.” “Them two didn’t live to hit bot tom!” Sierra flung out. “Come on!” But Breck ran to the bridge, knelt and peered over. Only white wa ter, foaming through jagged rocks of the gorge, met his eyes. He stared at it, drawn tense by a vision of Hep Tillson’s treacherous face. The man who had killed Jim Cotter was dead! “Pardner!” Breck sprang up. Sparks were eating the cloth of his shirt. A red wave curled over the opposite ridge. “We’ve got to move.” Sierra shouted. “Cook will be needing us bad!” CHAPTER XXIII Cook did need them. They climbed a ridge east of Sulphur and looked across to a small round meadow halfway up Kern Peak’s flank. Fire had already swept two sides of Indian Rock. The blaze corning up at their backs would soon complete the circle. All the country for miles both north and south lay under smoke. “Sierra swung from his horse. “Ought to begin here and make our firebreak on the way down,” he ad vised. It was past noon when they had finished a break and rode into camp. Cook was "Saw you coming,” he said brief ly. “It’s a good job you did yon der. How about the Sulphur busi ness?” “Nesters saved us a couple of shots,” was Sierra’s laconic report. “Where’s Louise?” Breck asked. “Gone out. It looked like we were going to be surrounded and some one had to reach a telephone. She’s trying to make it to your station.” “Rock House?” Breck gasped. “Good God!” He looked south into a pall of smoke. “That whole trail’s under fire!” “I know it,” Cook admitted. “Someone had to go, and she wouldn’t let me spare a man. Be sides that, she had to get old Tom and the Senator out.” He mounted, giving orders, “You ride that north canyon. JG and some of his boys are up there. Slim and I will go to a bunch working on Nine Mile. Do what you can God knows we’re blind without a wire to Kern Peak.” What they could do was little enough. Breck realized that when he came upon Jackson and a hand ful of cowpunchers. The cowman met him, grim faced, as he said, “We’ve done our damnedest, Rang er.” Breck took up his tools and plunged into the endless job of clear ing brush. But only a giant, able to tear trees by the roofs, could have held the blaze that swept steadily upward. Night came men had to sleep. They dropped on the ground for two-hour turns, Breck waiting until his legs collapsed beneath him. Dawn rose over that most desolate of sights—a mountain range being laid waste. Throughout the morn ing Breck flung his wearied crew against the line, yet they were blocked. Even as they built back fires in one canyon, spots flared fur ther on. Toward noon he rode to a bald knob, hoping to get some idea of their position. He was half an hour in climbing up and founh that the point which had seemed so high was still lower than those around it. He sat numbed in mind and body. In another day the whole South Sierra would be stripped. Only a miracle could save the forest. He did not believe in miracles, though as he rested on the knob there sounded a far-off droning. It puzzled him recognition of its mag ic came slowly. Then suddenly he knew. Not the miracle of rain from a cloudless sky, nor an unseen hand beating back the flames, but of a winged man. The droning surged into a roar as a white ship burst through rolls of smoke. It shot close over his posi tion and he read the letters: USFS. From somewhere word had gone outside! Swept with grateful impulse he lifted clasped hands high toward it. The plane banked as if answering, circled, and upon passing once more, dropped a long white ribbon. Breck rushed to it, found a small bag weighted with sand, then a tube of paper. “Relief,” it said, “coming in from Sequoia.” Swinging upon Kit. he raced from the knob and shouted the magic word to his men below. “They’ve got us located, boys. We’ll get re lief now.” The plane’s promise was not ful filled through the afternoon nor in the first hours of dark. But about midnight Breck saw back fires springing up over a ten mile front both north and south, and by morn ing the line was almost solid. Hun dreds of men must have poured up Kern River gap under the air pa trol’s direction. It was a little before mid-day that a lean, brown-faced man rode in at the head of an emergency crew. He halted among Jackson’s cow boys and swung off. "I guess you fel lows have had enough of it. Is Breck here?” Breck went to him. “I’m Green.” the man said, “from Sequoia. We’ll finish this. Cook says for you to meet him at Temple Meadow.” “Did you get the call through Rock House Station?” Breck asked, his first thought for Louise. “I don’t know,” Green answered. Fear shot strength into Breck’s deadened body. He threw on his saddle and rode at once. All the way as he climbed a summit then dropped into Long Canyon, a dread goaded him on. A familiar spot in the canyon momentarily turned his thoughts to another day. Here he had saved Louise from the cattle stampede. He had car ried her home in his arms. They yearned for her now. That day he had not known what it was to love. Desperation swept upon him. He could make life happy fcr her. She could paint. Thev would live below winters. But summers they must come back. Realization of that struck him forcibly. Bound into his love for Louise, growing out of it. was a love for the High Si erras. Temple Meadow, since he last saw it, had changed from fiesta grounds to hospital ward. He loped in before evening, coming among cots beneath the pines where men lay asleep with arms and faces in white cloths. Dad Cook came from a shed and hailed him. “Dam’ me if you don't look like an old-timer. Mountain man for sure! Son. you’ve earned a rest and you’d better grab it. Slim’s getting his.” “Louise here?” Breck asked, even before he reached the ground. “In the cabin. She’s all right. Been worried?” Breck dropped upon a log. relaxed tension suddenly leaving him un steadied. “Better turn in,” Cook advised him, “and count this iob done. We’ve got some black forest, but she’s otherwise cleaned up.” He paused, drawing an envelope from his pocket. “Here’s something for you. The Senator’s party went out with the first pack train. Had enough mountains, but he knows a sight more than when he came in. I think we’ll name a trail for him yelZL------------------------------- __ im|BfcCTCTON NBWS, BLUFFTON, OHIO Breck tore open the letter. It was from Irene. He expected some thing, not knowing exactly what. A change of some sort. But here was still the evasive writing, poured out in unfinished thoughts—until the end. There she wrote: “Arthur is a dear boy, Gordon. Don’t put him in jail. I lied to him beautifully. We quite understand each other now.” “What about Art?” Breck asked. “The doctor packed him down last night. He’ll pull through. “I mean what are we to do about him.” Without hesitation Cook answered, “Give him a chance. You’re fin ished with the Tillsons. Hep was the one. Ask Louy.” But when Breck found Louise, it was not to ask her that. She came from Temple’s shanty, softly clos ing the door. Her eyes welcomed him, yet were filled with trouble. “Your father is worse?” he asked. She nodded. “The fire was too much. He shouldn’t have gone.” They moved from the cabin and Breck led her into the pines where the words would not carry back. "Louise, I’m going to send your fa ther out. I know a surgeon. He’ll do wonders.” She stood with eyes averted, though one hand clasped his tightly. “While he is there,” Breck con tinued, “you and I will work two jobs—the forest and the ranch.” He hesitated. It had never occurred to him that it would be hard to tell this girl he loved her. Now he seemed wordless. He wished she would help. She looked up. “We?” That was enough. His arms swept her close. “We, yes, you and I to gether. Louise! I love you, want you always.” All at once words rushed too swiftly where there had been none. “We can live the life we have talked about. Outside, then here. You need not answer now— not until you know more of me.” "Know you!” Her eyes and her voice checked him. "Don’t I know you? Haven’t you shown me what you are, over and over again?” “But nothing of who I am,” he asserted. “And of course that matters!” “Doesn’t it?” “No.” Gently she lifted her hands to his face, drawing him down. “Not here nor any place I know of! And if you want my answer at all, take it now.” [THE END.] NOTICE OF APPOINTMENT Estate of Walter G. Hoffman Deceased Notice is hereby given that Ella Hoffman whose Poetoffice address is R. D. No. 2. Bluff tor’, Ohio. has been duly appointed and quali fied as administratrix of the Estate of Walter G. Hoffman late of Allen County, Ohio, deceased. Dated this 19th day of April 1939. RAYMOND P. Smith Judge of the Probate Court, THE DIM LANTERN Y TEMPLE BAILEY A beautiful love story by one of America’s best? known writers Allen County, Ohio 2 News want ads bring results. READ Every Thrilling Installment SERIALLY IN THIS PAPER STARTING NEXT WEEK ■s For Vigor and Health— include meat in your menu. Always ready to serve you. Bigler Bros. Fresh and Salt Meats jl K ... ....... .... Beaverdam Misses Nancy Jane and Helen Ann Williams spent the week end with their grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. J. R. Koontz at Findlay. Mrs. Tillie McDorman is spending a few weeks with Mrs. Cynthia Elliott. 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