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The Bluffton news. [volume] (Bluffton, Ohio) 1875-current, July 23, 1942, Image 7

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has decided to play a Ione hand against
Ben Herendeen, a rancher bent on run
ning the cattle country his own way. The
two men have been enemies for years,
having first fought over Clay’s wife,
Lila, who died hating him and believ
ing she should have married Herendeen.
Morgan is a solitary figure, devoted to
his nine-year-old daughter, Janet. Al
though two women, Catherine Grant
and Ann McGarrah, are in love with
him, they know he cannot forget Lila.
Of his former friends, only Hack Breath
itt has not gone over to Herendeen’s
side. Gurd Grant, Catherine's broth
er, hesitated about Joining Herendeen,
but became Morgan’s sworn enemy
when he discovered that Catherine had
been to his ranch. Hack Breathitt, seen
camping with Pete Borders, a rustler,
is being watched by Herendeen's men.
Learning that Government Valley, a
piece of land he and Herendeen both
want, is to be Suctioned at Sage City,
190 miles away, Clay rides all night
and arrives in time to outbid Charley
Hillhouse, Herendeen’s foreman. Then
he proves his generosity by letting the
Willings, a family of “aesters” threat
ened by Herendeen, stay in the Valley.
Knw with SiOFV.
Morgan was standing alone in
his kitchen, thinking of Hack Breath
itt. He refill'd his coffee-cup, stand
ing with his feet apart in the middle
of the kitchen light struck the sur
face of his eyes, setting up a quick
frost-glow. Restlessness turned him
out of his tracks and made him
gently circle the room. Breathitt,
he thought, would be sitting some
where in the hills, laughing at
the posses on his trail and ironically
amused at a world which could tujrn
him into a fugitive overnight. Mor
gan speculated on Breathitt’s possi
ble hideout. The three of them,
Breathitt and Hillhouse and himself,
had ridden this country for years
together and knew every hollow and
ravine and windfall pit.
He pulled the coffee-cup from his
lips and held it suspended, sudden
ly struck by a warning. If he were
familiar with Hack’s ways, so was
Morgan turned to the living room,
pausing there only long enough to
get his hat, his gun and belt, and
to lift a Winchester from the rack
near the door. He crossed the yard,
lugged his saddle gear from the
horse barn and roped a pony out of
the corral. Cap Vermilye and Harry
Jump strolled forward. In these
moonshot shadows they watched
him thrust the Winchester into its
boot beneath the saddle fender and
swing aboard. Harry Jump said,
gently: “Nice night for ducks.’’
“I’ll be riding around, here and
there,’’ explained Morgan. “Don’t
know when I’ll be back.’’
When he turned the prow of the
Moguls the lights of Long Seven
were cut off. The moon was at
three-quarter stage and so he trav
eled through shadows that had the
luminous, pearly shine of fog. Mo
gul’s summits were clear-black
against the sky as he rode over
the meadows he saw the blurred
shadow of himself go forward in
lengthening distortion against the
yellow grass. At the jump-off of
the meadow lands, where Mogul slid
a thousand feet through pine groves
into the narrow valley occupied by
Herendeen, he paused to take his
survey. Dell Lake was a silver cir
cle, half-down the incline. The val
ley itself, filled with this night’s fog
like mist, was a winding silver rib
bon. He followed its course with his
glance, catching the distant glitter
of Herendeen's lights, and then his
attention came back to the red-yel
low glow of a campfire in the pines.
Probably a posse.
The floor of the forest was thick
with needle droppings it absorbed
the footfalls of his horse complete
ly and so, gently walking the pony,
he drifted forward until he reached
the margin of light. Here he halt
ed, amused that none of the five men
crouched and lying by the fire yet
knew of his approach. Charley Hill
house squatted by the fire, idly feed
ing in pine branches. Two of the
other men were Herendeen riders,
one was Hamp Brigham, a smaller
rancher from the Cache Mountains
and the fifth, lying full length on the
ground, was Gurd Grant.
“Where you think you’ll find
him?” Gurd asked.
“Not on this side of the valley. I
know Hack pretty well. He likes
the Caches better.”
Morgan spoke from the protecting
shadows. “That's the way I figure
it, Charley.”
He had a swift sample of what
these men would do under strain or
surprise. Gurd Grant lunged to his
feet and Hamp Brigham and the
two men in the background were in
stantly up, Brigham reaching for his
gun. But Charley Hillhouse, cross
legged by the fire, only tilted his
head and stared over the point of
the flames.
Morgan said: “About Government
Valley, Charley. Your beef is still
in there. Send somebody over to
drift it back.”
Hillhouse remained humped over
the flame. He didn’t look up. “I’ll
get around to it in time, I guess.”
“The time,” decided Morgan, at
once matching Hillhouse's unfavor
able manner, “will be exactly forty
eight hours.”
He thought of this all up the trail,
having his small moments of com
prehension and sadness.
The slope of the mountain leveled
into a small meadow, across which
Vance Ketchell’s cabin lights
winked. Woodsmoke lay in curled
wisps on the still air. Going for
ward Morgan called: “Vance—hey,
He heard Vance’s boots drag over
the shanty's floor and pause. There
was this cautious interval and the
dimming of the light before Vance
Ernest Haycox
Morgan went forward until Vance
stood a*, the shoulders of the horse.
opened the door. He showed him
self vaguely in the doorway and
quickly stepped into the yard, his
bulk merging with the shadows of
the cabin wall. “Who’s that?”
“Morgan. Did Hack ride this
Vance delayed his answer. Then
he said in a lower voice: “Come
closer, Clay.”
Morgan went forward until
Vance stood at the shoulders of
the horse.
Vance murmured: “Herendeen’s
got somebody watchin’ me.” His
talk rubbed the shadows with a soft
ness that didn’t carry beyond Mor
gan. “Hack passed here Friday
night. Think he’s up in the hills
above Freeport.”
Vance said: “You’ll bump into
Ben’s riders along the trail.”
Morgan recrossed the clearing. A
quarter-mile southward he struck
the wide trail leading from War
Pass to Freeport and settled into a
run. Darkness packed the round
about trees but at intervals, as he
crossed an occasional small moun
tain meadow or the charred area
of an old burn, moonlight showed
all things pale and soft. In his
mind at the moment was a picture
of the section toward which Hack
Breathitt had apparently gone, and
a fairly definite idea of Hack’s pos
sible hideout had occurred to him
when the smell of dust brought him
out of his thinking he had pulled
the horse to a walk, deep in these
quilt-thick shadows of the forest,
when a man’s voice came from the
immediate foreground.
The man said: “Who is it?”
Morgan said, “You go to hell,
“Oh, Morgan,” grumbled Bones
“Get out of the trail.”
McGeen thought about that, and
didn’t like it. For he said: “You
can go around me, I guess.”
Morgan matched insolence with
insolence. “I guess not, Bones. Hack
saw the color of your tail, and I
think I’ll see it.” He hit his pony
with the spurs, driving it forward
at a long jump. It carried him
against McGeen, his knee jamming
McGeen’s knee. McGeen’s shoul
ders turned and one arm lifted sud
denly—all this was a dull, shape
less scene in the black—and Mor
gan, bending in the saddle, knocked
that swinging arm down with his
hand and caught McGeen around
the waist. Both horses were mill
ing across the trail. McGeen shout
ed, “By God—!” His gun’s explo
sion was like a dynamite racket in
the settled stillness of the hills. The
shot struck somawhgre in the high
trees. Morgan used his spurs, still
holding McGeen. He dragged Mc
Geen out of the saddle as he plunged
forward he carried McGeen like
this, McGeen slipping lower and
lower in his arms until the man’s
feet were hitting the ground. Mor
gan’s pony broke into a run, ex
cited by the bumping of McGeen’s
legs, and at last rushed down the
trail at a dead bolt. McGeen stran
gled up a yell and made a huge ef
fort to get free, which was the
moment Morgan let go, dropping
McGeen flat. He was a hundred
yards away before McGeen tried a
shot. The bullet slashed into a pine.
Bones’s cursing rose to a fever
Morgan called back, “The ride
was free, Bones.”
There was no foot of this section
he didn’t know. Now, making a
quick guess, he began to climb
through the hills by one narrow
trace and another. He came to the
head of a gulch, fell into it and
rode sightlessly along for a half
mile. A steady current of wind
came against his left side, cold as
ice-water. At this point he swung
the pony and scrambled half up the
ridge to a kind of stony shelf. The
draught of air poured out of a deep
recess here facing it, Morgan spoke
against the night.
“Hack—it’s me. Morgan.”
He had no answer but he sat the
a long while, once repeating the
call. There was no smell of smoke
and no sound at all except for the
cow-like waunnk of a bull-frog near
by. Presently Morgan dismounted
and walked deeper into a natural
rock fault, against a steady play of
wind. He dropped to his knees and
felt the flooring with his hands.
There had been a fire here but when
he lighted a match he saw that the
ashes were old. He had made a bad
He climbed over the ridge and
took another trail downgrade until
the lights of Freeport showed again.
There was a rutted wood road at
this point which dropped circuitous
ly off the hills into the end of a
narrow street. When he reached
this street-end Morgan paused to
have a look, turned cautious by the
night’s events. For he now knew
there was no longer any safety
riding alone. Thus had the country
changed in the space of a week.
Morgan reached the general store,
left his horse and walked into the
half-gloom, into the stagnant com
pound of old store smells. A stove
in the middle of the room showed its
fire through square isinglass eyes a
man stood bowed over a counter, his
lips silently framing words as he
read a paper. Morgan's presence
pulled him from this chore. He said
idly: “Hello, Morgan.”
Morgan said: “Shank of a busy
evenin’, Kern.”
Kern Case was huge-bellied and
high and round-shouldered from all
his weight. He was younger than
he looked but he had the moon
shaped ungiving face of a man to
whom silence was important. “Thin
shank,” he said.
They knew each other pretty well,
yet there was always a reserve to
keep, a roundabout way of talking.
Out in the hills were a hundred men
who stayed there for the profit of
it in this town now were other
men who would fade through rear
doors at the sound of swift-coming
horses. Kern Case, himself an hon
est man, held the secrets of these
others in his head. They trusted
him and he kept his mouth shut,
o when Morgan asked his question
it was not a question at all but a
“Pretty dark to be chasing through
the hills.”
“Maybe,” said Kern Case, “you
went down the wrong canyon.”
“I could ride this country asleep.
But maybe I guessed wrong.”
“Sometimes,” said Kern Case, “a
man gets tired of sleepin’ on the
“Maybe,” agreed Morgan. He
turned the remark over in his head
it meant something but he didn’t get
it. He backed to the stove and
warmed himself, gently rubbing the
seat of his pants. Kern Case didn’t
show any change on his face, though
his eyes were laughing at Morgan.
“You’re a long way from the ranch.
Ridin’ back tonight?”
“Never gave it a thought.”
Case started to speak and changed
his mind. Somebody came quickly
into Freeport, a horse beating out a
rhythm on the dust of the street's
far end. Case folded his hands on
the table, serenely incommuni
cative, listening to the horse haul
up. Morgan said, “Hell of a lot of
traffic for a dead burg,” and moved
idly to awdrthe door.
“Twenty years ago,” said Kern
Case, “you’d of got shot for a re
mark like that.”
Paused by the door, Morgan
watched the newcomer swing off his
horse in front of the hotel. He
looked around at Case. “Times
change. So do visitors.” He stepped
into the store, turning to the stove.
He wheeled when he reached it,
keeping his eyes on the door. The
newcomer’s steps faded from the
street and the silence thickened
across the town. Morgan’s face was
olng and still his lips were flat,
their edges pushing together. A flare
of light showed in his eyes and he
stood straighter than before, he
stood balanced and attentive. The
newcomer’s steps broke the still
ness again, heavy and loud and com
ing rapidly forward. Case stared
at Morgan, reading what was to be
seen. In a way it was information,
for when the storekeeper put his
attention to the door and saw Ben
Herendeen there he wasn't greatly
surprised. Morgan’s expression had
been in the nature of warning.
Corporal Walter Williamson of
Meridian, Miss., is spending a few
days at the home of his parents, Mr.
and Mrs. D. D. Williamson.
Marilyn and Howard Klingler of
Ada were over-night guests Friday
with their grandmother, Mrs. Ami
Miss Mary Hammerick and Arthur
Cook of Burgettstown, Pa., spent a
few days last week at the Mrs. Em
maline Nonnamaker home.
Jack Koontz of near Findlay is vis
iting at the home of his grandmother,
Mrs. Anna Koontz.
Union prayer service will be held at
the Olive Branch church, Thursday
The funeral of H. Edward Nonna
maker was largely attended by rela
tives and friends Sunday afternoon at
the residence. His passing leaves his
brother Charles alone at the family
residence. Sen-ices were in charge
of Rev. Inrin Kauffman of Mt. Cory.
Mr. and Mrs. W. A. Nonnamaker of
Mt. Cory called at the Ami Nonna
maker home, Saturday afternoon.
Kaye Nonnamaker spent Sunday
with Jeanette Basinger at the Lendon
Basinger home.
Corporal Walter Williamson of
Madidian, Miss., Miss Betty Maskers
of Detroit, Mies., Rev. and Mrs. Her
bert Graham, son David and daught
er, Sharren of Rushylvania D. D.
Williamson and wife were entertained
Sunday at the home of Mr. and Mrs.
Wade Marshall.
Lost and found columns of
Tokio newspapers are crowd
ed these days. Every time an
American buys a War Bond,
the lose face. Buy your
every pay day.
Courtesy—Standard O.I of Ohio
When Lord Dunmore glanced
around the circle of Indians meet
ing with him at Camp Charlotte,
near Circleville, on that bright
fall day in 1774, one of the most
influential was missing Chief
The campaign which history
calls Dunmore’s War was over.
The Indians were defeated. A new
peace was to be made.
But peace could not be made
Without Logan. He was a great
Ohioan—in the days before there
was an Ohio.
Logan, born in Pennsylvania in
1725, had been a friend of the
white man named Logan in
honor of Pennsylvania’s Secretary.
He came to Ohio and dealt with
his white friends.
Then affection turned to hate.
A party of Indians, including all
of Logan's relatives, were at the
mouth of Yellow Creek, near
Steubenville. Roistering whites
across the river sent an invitation
to the Indians to join them. Men,
women and children were wan
tonly murdered.
Logan became an avenger.
Other Indians joined him and
Observations ... it wasn’t the
heat, it was the humidity that’s
why you were so hot from Friday
to Sunday altho the thermomet
er never reached the 100 mark
Art Amstutz at Band's’ whistling
lustily despite the heat how
does he do it dull summer for
fishermen since the National quarry
is closed presumably for the dura
tion nothing worthwhile in Riley
creek say anglers golfers tee
ing off at McComb and Findlay
since the course here is abandoned
great growing weather for to
matoes, pickles and soybeans
oats may not be as good as earlier
The front yard of the Cleon Trip
lett residence on South Main street
seems to be a favorite spot for
automobile accidents. One which oc
curred there Saturday night when a
light delivery pickup truck from
Lima went over the curb and crash
ed into a tree was the third smash
up in the past several years. The
location is in the middle of a block,
away from intersections and why it
should be the scene of so many
crackups is unexplainable.
Allen Beeshy, Bluffton gardener
than whom there is none whomer is
expecting a big sweet potato crop
this year. Allen has 1450 of some
of the best looking plants we’ve
seen all coming along lustily. He is
cultivating two patches, one in the
garden at his home on Riley street
and the other in Bert Watkins’
vacant lot across the road.
We hadn’t noticed it, but Seth
Basinger of the Morning Star cider
press tells us that there are few
apples on the west side of the trees
in the district northwest of Bluffton.
Reason is the heavy hail and wind
storm that swept in from the west
over that area several months ago.
Growers are expecting about half a
crop, he says.
In spite of wars and disrupted
transportation schedules, the Bluff
ton News still gets around to some
of the far corners of the earth—
altho a little late, but nevertheless
welcome. Maurice Boutwell, son of
Fred Boutwell of Orange township,
stationed in Hawaii usually gets the
News a month after it is printed.
Rev. E. B. Steiner, missionary in
northern India near the
Tibet border
is not so fortunate—he usually waits
about six months to read about
Bluffton relatives and friends.
We knew it was important when
we saw Jacob Nusbaum waving a
cablegram at us the other day and
we were right. It was a greeting
from their son Donald in the navy.
Says he is in good health and feel-
HORSES $6.00
COWS $4.00
(of size and condition)
23221—LIMA, OHIO
Reverse Tel. Chargee E. G. Buchiieb, Inc.
Logan's Elm, 6 miles south of
Dunmore’s War blazed in bloody
reality. And now peace was be
ing made, and Logan was miss
An emissary found Logan under
a great elm—Logan’s Elm, near
Circleville. The Mingo chief spoke
to the messenger in what Theo
dore Roosevelt declared to be,
“perhaps the finest outburst of
savage eloquence of which we
have any authentic record.”
“I appeal to any white man,"
said Logan in part, “to say if ever
he entered Logan’s Cabin hungry
and he gave him not meat if ever
he came cold and naked and he
clothed him not ... I had thought
to have lived with you ... Colonel
Cresap, the last spring, in cold
blood and unprovoked, murdered
all the relatives of Logan, not
even sparing my women and chil
dren. There runs not a drop of
my blood in the veins of any liv
ing creature.”
Peace was made. Logan’s friends
died. He wandered from village
to village, dejected, solitary and,
He was murdered one evening
in 1780 as he sat before a lonely
camp fire.
Today, .Logan’s Elm still stands
—a state monument to a heroic
Ohioan, perhaps one of the oldest
livifig things-within the state.
ing fine. The message came from
Groat Britain.
Shortages of materials because of
the war effort are daily coming home
to the man in the street. Lee Gred
ing, in the hardware business for
the pas' thirty years says this is
the first time he has ever been sold
out of lawn mowers. Prospects of
getting a new stock are not prom
To say that Mrs. Ernest Gratz
was surprised Monday would be
putting it mildly—when her brother,
David Boegli of Centralia, Wash.,
whom she had not seen for 28 years
unexpectedly dropped in to call. Mr.
Boegli with his parents, the late
Mr. and Mrs. Solomon Boegli moved
from Pandora to Washington in 1914
and this is the first time he has been
back. He expects to remain for
about ten days visiting relatives.
Most Bluffton residents should be
glad for the drive by the American
Legion for old phonograph records
starting on Friday of this week.
Except for some of the classical
numbers, a phonograph record is
something that after a year or so
one tires of and opportunity is now
given to put the record to good use
in the service of the country.
Several members of the Bluffton
radio club enjoyed a week end out
ing at Indian Lake at the cottage
belonging to Don Ream’s father.
Swimming proved to be the princi
pal attraction. Enjoying the outing
were: Nelson Herr, Maynard Geig
er, Bob Benroth, Fred Herr and
Don Ream.
One of the camp rules at the G.R.
Camp at McCutchenville attended
last week by the Bluffton high school
girls was that no food would be per
mitted to be sent into the camp. If
any food did come in thru the mail
it was held at the office until the
conclusion of the camp period. One
of the girls received a box of choco
lates which several days of warm
weather made a grand conglomera
tion of black and white.
Rationing of tires and gasoline
has hit the tourist trade a hard
wallop along the eastern seaboard,
says Franz Herr who with his wife
stopped off here to visit his brother
Frederick the other day. Franz and
the Mrs. were returning to their
home in Toledo after a motor trip
thru Virginia and North Carolina.
High Quality
West Virginia
See me before placing your
R. E. Trippiehorn
Phone 396-W
He reports that in 174 miles along
the fa.ned scenic skyline drive he
encountered less than a dozen cars.
■Several nights found them the only
ones in large tourist camps. Many
proprietors are expecting to close
their camps for the duration.
Gerald Swank, North Main street
barber lor the past seven years in
the spot formerly occupied by the
late Budd Dillman has closed his
shop so many Saturday nights at the
end of a week’s work that it has be
come a routine matter. But this
Saturday night it’s going to be dif
ferent. When Gerald finishes his
last customer he will hang a flag in
the window, turn out the lights and
lock the door—for the duration. He
will leave next Tuesday for service
in the navy—good luck Gerald—
maybe it’ll take a Yankee barber to
give the Japs a good trimming.
We couldn’t help overhearing it
the other night on the street as
some of the younger generation
drifting between the News office
and Hankish’s were reviewing the
war when the leader of the discus
sion exclaimed “Sure, the Mediter
ranean and the Red sea are con
nected by the Sewage canal.”
If the killing of hen pheasants,
intentional or otherwise could be
avoided, there would be twice the
crop for future seasons, says the
state conservation department.
It didn’t take long for the news
to get around Tuesday night after
Jess Basinger of Jenera, former
Bluffton barber hooked four big bass
at the Buckeye quarry. The largest
one measured 18 inches and weighed
3S pounds. And this makes 25
bass which Barber Jess has taken
out of the Buckeye this summer.
That it’s a small world was again
demonstrated the other night when
a station wagon with a Massa
chusetts license pulled up at Han
kish’s for refreshments. The car
bore the name of an Attleboro,
Mass., screw machine plant and the
representative, John Holden said he
knew Wm. (Bill) Plattner, prominent
in neighboring North Attleboro, and
a former Bluffton resident. The
plattner family resided on South
Main street in the property now oc
cupied by Ray Patterson. Bill was
manager of the municipal light plant
here in the early days some thirty
five years ago.
Carolyn Carey of Lima spent sev
eral days the past week with her
aunt Mrs. W. E. Marshall.
Mr. Harvey Bowers who has been
residing in the house in Rockport
recently purchased by Miss Elnora
Marshall will move to one of his
apartments in Findlay in the near
Mr. and Mrs. Frank Kerst, Mr.
and Mrs. Raymond Kerst and
children, Mr. and Mrs. Clarence
Hedapohl and children, Mrs. Sophia
Geiger, and the Misses Cleola Kerst
and Emma Lutz all of Wapakoneta
spent Sunday in the home of Mr.
and Mrs. Lawrence Begg and two
Mrs. F. C. Marshall was among
the guests at a party in honor of
Mrs. Walden Hilty of West Orange,
New Jersey given at the home of
Mrs. D. C. Steiner and daughters
Tuesday evening of last week.
Mr. and Mrs. Cecil Palmer and
children Dan and Sue of Columbus
spent the week end in the home of
Mr. and Mrs, Walter Cupp and
family. Dan and Sue Palmer re
mained here and are spending the
week in the Cupp home.
Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Marshall
were Sunday dinner guests in the
home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs.
our appointment as
distributors of
Bird’s Eye Products
(Frozen Foods)
We carry Vegetables, Strawberries, Cut Corn and
Frosted Fish, High Grade Foods with all the Delicious
Freshness and Flavor Frozen in.
Jack Pugh in Beaverdam.
Members of the Friendly Neigh
bors club and their families will en
joy a picnic next Thursday at the
home of Mrs. Matt Stewart in
Orange township.
Donald Rockhill and Warren Spic
er were among the Allen County
group that left for camp last Thurs
Miss Jean Marshall was a week
end guest of Mr. and Mrs. R. E.
Sears at their cottage at Mentor-on
the-Lake, near Cleveland.
Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Sylvester
and sons Dwain and Buddy of Ft.
Wayne, Ind., spent the week end
with Mrs. Mary Sylvester and Mr.
and Mrs. Glen Huber and family.
Mrs. Sylvester returned to Ft.
Wayne with her son where she will
spend several weeks.
Mrs. Howard Bassett and daugh
ter Alice Jean of near Lima spent
Thursday afternoon in the Walter
Marshall home.
Miss Jeanette Huber is spending
the week at Russels Point where she
is the guest of Miss Doris Gerde
mann of Beaverdam.
Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Sylvester
and children of Ft. Wayne, Ind., and
Mrs. Mary Sylvester were Sunday
dinner guests in the home of Mr.
Ed and Miss Ella Reichenbach near
Mrs. Claude Meyers attended a
luncheon meeting of the Loya!
Daughters class of the South Side
Church of Christ in Lima, Friday.
Mr. and Mrs. F. C. Marshall and
Dr. M. R. Bixel of Bluffton attended
funeral services for Edison Sprunger
of Berne, Ind., Monday of last week.
Mr. and Mrs. Tom White enter
tained a group of friends in their
home Saturday evening.
Mrs. Claude Meyers spent Satur
day with Miss Saunders in Lima.
Prices for finished cattle dropped
in June and July, although the nor
mal tr nd is for these prices to turn
upward at that time. Only a limit
ed number of feeder nattle were of
fered for sale in that period and
those offered were bought at strong
prices. No one knows what will
happen to the price of feeder cattle
when larger numbers are sold.
Back lard Picnics
To save on tires this summer and
still have the fun of family picnics,
consider the possibilities of a fire
place in the back yard. A picnic at
heme may be even more comfort
able than one in the open among the
chiggers, ants, mosquitoes, ticks and
flies that sometimes detract from
full enjoyment of the scenery—along
with nearby poison ivy.
Your Support Will Be
Charles W. Lora
Basinger Bros.
Meat Market
Democratic Candidate for
County Commissioner
Subject to Primary Election,
August 11, 1942
Charles W. Lora, Richland Township
R. R. No. 2. Columbus Grove, Ohio

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