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The Cody enterprise and the Park County enterprise. (Cody, Wyo.) 1921-1923, January 18, 1922, Image 6

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PAGE SIX
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MlHttw HOftßrs 7JWM J _f'/.' . j>£ <■< . A I'll
PETER Af-.D ALIX.
Synops —U tor Strickland, Re
tired, Is Ivn in Mil* ". aiiej near
San Francis. His family con. Mata
of his daughters, Alix, 21, ai?
Cherry. IS, and Anne, his niece, 24.
Their closest friend is Veter Joyce,
a lovable sort of recluse. Martin
Lloyd, a visiting mining engineer,
wins Cherry, marries her and car
ries her off to El Nido, a mine
town. Peter realizes that he loves
Cherry. Justin Little woos Anne.
Cherry comes home for Anne's
wedding. Cherry realizes her mar
riage is a failure. Peter tells Cher
ry of his “grand passion,” without
naming the girl. Martin comes for
Cherry. Martin and Cherry drift
apart. Dr. Strickland dies. Peter
return." from a long absence.
CHAPTER X—-Continued.
“I can’t ie’.l you hot? surprised I
at Anne,” Peter said.
“Well, we all were!” Alix confessed.
“But it’s just Anne’s odd little self
centered way,” she added. “It was
here, and she wanted It. Well —I let
Hong go, and as soon as I can rent
this house, I’m going to New York.”
“Why New York, my dear girl?”
“Because I believe I can make a
living there, singing and teaching and
generally struggling with life!” she
answered, cheerfully. “Cherry gets
most of the money—they are always
somewhat in debt, and I imagine that
the reason she is able to have a nice
apartment and a maid now is because
she knows it is cooling—and I get the
house, and enough money to keep me
going—say, a year, in New York.”
“Do you want to go, Alix?” he said,
affectionately.
“Yes, I think I do,” she answered.
But her eyes watered. “I do—in a
way,” she added. “That is, I love my
singing, ahd the thought of making a
success is delightful to me. But, of
course, it means that I give up every
thing else. I can’t have home life, and
—and the valley—for years, four or
five anyway, I’ll have to give all that
up. And I’m twenty-seven, Peter.
And I’d always rather hoped that my
music was going to be a domestic va
riety—” She stopped, smiling, but he
saw the pain in her eyes. “George
Sewall most kindly asked me to moth
er his small son—” she resumed, cas
ually. “But although he is the dear
est —”
“Sewall did!” Peter exclaimed, rath
er struck. “Great Scott! his father is
one of the richest men in San Fran
cisco.”
“I know It,” Alix agreed. “And he
is one of the nicest men,” she added.
“But, of course, he’ll never really love
any one but Ursula. And I felt—oh,
I felt too tired and alone and de
pressed to enter upon congratulations
and clothes and family dinners with
the Sewalls.” she ended, a little drear
ily. “I wanted —I wanted things in
the old way—as they were—” she
said, her voice thickening.
p “I know—l know !” Peter said,
ayrii pathetically. And for a while
there was silence in' the little house,
while the rain fell steadily upon the
I' 1
■Io ttl
She Was Now Beside the Old Square
Piano.
dark forest without, and soaked
branches swished about eaves and
windows, “(’an you put me up to
night?” he asked, suddenly. He liked
her frank pleasure.
“Rather! I think Cherry’s room
was made up fresh last Monday,” she
told him.
She had risen, os If for good-nights,
•nd was now beside the old square
piano, where she had placed the lamp.
“1 haven’t touched It —since—” she
Mid. sadly, sitting on the stool, and
with her eyes still smiling on him,
I putting back the hinged cover. And a
| moment later her hands, wiL> the as
• surance and ease of the adept, drifted
into one of the songs of the old days.
“Do you remember the day we put
the rose tree back, Peter?” she asked.
“When Martin was almost a stran
ger? And do you remember the day
we made biscuits, over by the ocean?”
“I remember all the days,” he an
swered, deeply stirred.
“We didn’t see all this, then,” Alix
mused, still playing softly. “Anne
claiming everything for her husband,
you and I here talking of Dad’s death,
and Cherry married —” She sigliedi
“She’s not happy?” he questioned
quickly.
“She’s not unhappy,” she told him,
with a troubled smile. “It’s just one
of those marriages that don’t ever get
anywhere, and don’t ever stop," she
added. “Martin has faults, he’s un
reasonable, and he makes enemies.
But those aren’t faults for which a
woman can leave her husband. Oh,
Peter,” she added, laying a smooth,
warm hand on his, and looking into
his eyes with her honest eyes, “don’t
go away again! Stay here in the
valley for a week or two, and help me
get everything worked out and
thought out —I’ve been so much
alone!”
“Dear old Alix!” he said, sitting
down on the bench beside her and
putting his arm jibbut her. She
dropped her head on his shoulder, and
so they sat, very still, for a long min
ute. Alix’s hand went to her own
shoulder, and her fingers tightened on
his, and she breathed deep, contented
breaths, like a child.
“Somebody ought to wire Mrs.
Grundy, collect,” she said, after
awhile.
“W,e win defy Mrs. Grundy, my
Peter said, kissing the top of
a s<fft brown braid, “by trotting off
hand in hand tomorrow and getting
ourselves married. Why, Alix, he gave
us his consent -years ago—don’t you
remember?”
“He did wish it!” she said, and
burst into tears.
“I seem to be doing things in a
slightly irregular manner,” she said
to him the next day, when they had
gotten breakfast together, and were
basking in the sunlight of the upper
deck of the ferryboat, on their way to
the city. “I spend the night before
my marriage alone—in a small coun
try house hidden In the woods —with
my betrothed, and propose to buy my
trousseau immediately after the cere
mony !”
Her voice fell to a dreamy note, and
she watched the gulls, wheeling in the
sunshine, with thoughtful, smiling
eyes. The man glanced at her once
or twice, Jn the silence that followed,
with something like hesitation, or com
punction, in his look.
“Look, here, Alix —let’s talk. I
want to ask you something. There’s
never been anything—anything to tell
you—or your father, if he was here,”
I’eter said, flushed and a trifle awk
ward. “I’m not that kind of a man.
But there has been that one thing—
that one woman—”
Flushed, too, she was looking at
him with bright, intelligent eyes.
“But I thought she never even
knew—”
“No, she never did!”
Alix looked back at the gulls.
“Oh, well, then—” she said, indif
ferently.
“Alix, would you like to know' about
her?” Peter said bravely. “Her name
and everything?”
“Oh, no, please, I’d much rather
not!” she intercepted him hastily, and
after a pause she added, “Our mar
riage isn’t the usual marriage, in that
way. I mean I’m not jealous, and I’m
not going to cry my eyes out because
there was another woman—ls another
woman, who meant more to you, or
might have! I’m going into It with
my eyes open, Peter. I know’ you love
me, and I love you, and we both like
the same things, and that’s enough.”
Three weeks Inter he remembered
the moment, and asked her again.
They were in the valley house now,
and a bitter storm was whirling over
the mountain. Peter’s little cabin
rocked to the gale, but they were warm
and comfortable beside the lire; the
room was lamp-lighted, scented by
Alix’s sweet single violets, white and
purple, spilling themselves from a
glass bowl, and by Peter’s pipe, and
by the good scent of green bay burn
ing. The Joyces had had a happy
day, had climbed the hills under a
lowering sky, had come home to dry
clothes and do cooking, for Kow was
away, and had finally shared an epi
curean ineal beside the fire.
Peter w’as wrapped In deep content;
the companionship of this normal,
pretty woman, her quick words and
quick laugh, her music, her glancing,
bright Interest in anything and every
thing, was the richest experience of
his Ufa. She had said that she would
change nothing in hts home, but her
clever white fingers had changed
everything. There was order now,
there was charming fussing and dust
ing, there were flowers in bowls, and
books set straight, and there was just
the different little angle to piano and
desk and chairs and tables that made
the cabin a home at last. She wanted
bricks for a path; he had laughed at
her fervent, “Do give me a whole car
load of bricks for Christmas, Peter!”
She wanted bulbs to pot. He had
lazily suggested that they open the
town house -while carpenters and
painters remade the cabin, but 6he
had protested hotly, “Oh, do let’s keep
it Just as It always was!” Smiling, be
gave her her way.
CHAPTER XI.
’Cherry had a flat now In Red Creek
“Park.” It differed from an apart
ment because it Had no elevator, no
janitor, no steam heat. These things
were neither known nor needed in the
cmde mining town; the flat building
itself was considered a rather ques
tionable innovation. It was a wooden
building, three stories high, with bay
windows. Cherry had watched this
building going up, and had thought it
everything desirable. She liked the
clean kitchen, all fresh white wood
work, tiles, and nickelplate, and she
liked the big closets and the gas-log.
She had worried herself almost sick
with fear that she would not get this
wohderful place, and finally paid
twenty-five dollars for the first
month’s rent with a fast-beating
heart. .She had the center floor.
But after the excitement of moving
in died away, she hated the place.
She had enough money to hire a maid
HR ILW
Alix Met Her Sister at the Ferry.
now, and she had a succession of slat
ternly, independent young women in
her kitchen, but she found her freedom
strangely flat.
Now and then a play, straight from
“a triumphant year on Broadway”
came to town for one night; then
Martin took his wife, and they bowed
to half the men and women In the
house, lamenting as they streamed
out into the sharp night air that Red
Creek jlld not see more such produc
tions.
The effect of these plays was to
make Cherry long vaguely for the
stage; she really did not enjoy them
for themselves. But they helped her
to visualize Eastern cities, lighted
streets, restaurants full of lights and
music, beautiful women fitly gowned.
After one of these performances she
would not leave her flat for several
days, but would sit dreaming over the
thought of herself in the heroine’s
role.
One day she had a letter from Alix;
•t gave her a heartache, she hardly
knew’ why. She began to dream of her
own home, of the warm, sweet little
valley whose breezes were like wine,
of Tamalpais wreathed in fog, ami of
the ridges where buttercups and pop
pies powdered a child’s shoes with
gold and silver dust. She began to
hunger for home. Nothing that Red
Creek could offer shook her yearning
for the remembered sweetness and
beauty of the redwoods, and the
great shade of the mountain. She
wanted to s[tend a whole summer with
Alix.
She was athirst for home, for old
scenes and old friends and old emo
tions! She had only to hint to Alix
to receive a love letter containing a
fervent invitation. So It was settled.
With a sort of feverish brevity Cherry
completed her arrangements; Martin,
was to use his own judgment in the
matter of boarding or keeping the flat.
Some of their household goods were
stored; Cherry told him that she
would come down in September and
manage all the details of settling
afresh, but she knew that her secret
hope was that she might never see
Red Creek again.
Alix met her sister nt the ferry in
San Francisco on a soft May morning.
She was an oddly developed Alix,
trim and tall, prettily gowned and
veiled, laughing and crying with joy
at seeing Cherry again. Peter, she
explained between kisses, had had to
go to Los Angeles three days ago, had
been expected home last night, and
was not even aware yet that Cherry
was definitely arriving.
“Os course, he knew that you were
coming, but not exactly when,” Alix
said, as she guided the newcomer
along the familiar ferry place on to
the big bay steamer for Mill Valley.
Cherry drew back to exclaim, to mar
vel, to exult, at all the well-remem
bered sights and sounds and smells.
“Oh. Alix—Market street!’ she ex
claimed. “And that smell of leather
tanning, and that smell of bay water
and of coffee! And 100k —that’s a
cable-car!”
“We’ll come over to San Francisco
soon, and you’ll see the new hotels,”
Alix promised when they were seated
on the upper deck, with the blue wa
ters of the bay moving softly past
them. Cherry’s happy eyes followed
t a wheeling gull; she felt as if the
vyorld was suddenly sunshiny and sim
ple and glorious again. “But now, I
thought the best thing was to get you
home,” Alix went on, “and get you
rested."
“I can’t get used to the idea of you
and Peter—-iharried!’ Cherry smiled.
“We’re, well to it,” Alix de
clared. smiling, too. But a little sigh
stabbed through the smile a second
later. Cherry’s exquisite eyes grew
sympathetic; she suspected from the
letter Alix had written that there
would be no nursery needed in the
mountain cablp for a while, and she
knew that to baby-loving Alix- this
would be a bitter cross.
Sausalito, fragrant with acacia and
rose blooms, rose steeply into the
bright sunshine beyond the marshes
skirting the hay glittering in light.
Cherry’s eager eyes missed nothing,
and when they left the train at Mill
Valley, and the mountain air envel
oped them in a rush of its clear soft
ness and purity she was in ecstasies.
She gave an exclamation Y>f delight
when they reached the cabin. It was
a picture of peaceful beauty in the •
summer noon. There, were still butter
cups and poppies In the fields, and in
the garden thousands of roses were
growing riotously, flinging their long
arms up against the slope of the low
brown roof, and hanging in festoo’hs
from the low branches of the oaks.
Beyond the house the mountain rose;
from the porch Cherry could look
down upon the familiar valley, and
the rivers winding like strips of blue
ribbon through the marshes, and the
far bay. and San Francisco beyond.
Inside were shady rooms,-bowls of
flowers, plain little white curtains
stirring in the summer breeze, peace
and simplicity everywhere. Cherry
smiled at the immaculately clad Chi
nese stirring something in a yellow
bowl in a spotless kitchen whose Win
dows showed manzanita and wild lilac
and madrone trees; smiled at the big,
smoked fireplace where sunlight fell
on piled logs down the chimney’s
great mouth; smiled as she went to
and fro on journeys of investigation.
But the smile quivered Into tears when
she came io her own room. Just such
a room as little Charity Strickland had
had, only a few years ago. with white
hangings and unpuinted wood, fresh
air streaming through it, and red
woods outside.
Cherry stumbled into the airy, dark,
sweet 1 little bedroom, and somehow
undressed and crept between the cool
sheets of tiie bed that stood near
Alix’s on the wide sleeping porch.
Her last thought was for the heavenly
redwoods so close to her; she slept,
indeed, for almost twelve unbroken
hours.
"Oh, Sis, I do feel so deliciously
lazy and happy and rested and —and
everything J” said Cherry, as she set
tled herself at the .porch table where
service for one was suread.
“Cherry, you’re prettier than ever!”
Alix said, eyeing the white hands so
busy with blue china, and the bright
head dappled with shade and sun
shine coming through the green rose
vine.
“Am I?” Cherry said, pleased. “I
thought myself that I looked nice this
morning,” she added, innocently. "But
it Is really because the air of this
place agrees with me, it makes my
skin feci right and my eyes feel right;
it makes me feel normal and smoothed
out somehow!”
“Oh, there’s no place in the world
.like it!’ Allx agreed, rubbing some
dried mud from the back of her hand
with the trowel. “If Martin contin
ues to migrai. every little while, I
wish you could hove a little house
here. Then for part of the time, at
least, we could be together.”
“The old house,” Cherry said, dream
ily.
"Well, why not?" Alix echoed, eager
ly. "It’s in pretty had shape, after
being empty so long, but it would
make a darling home again! Would
Martin object?”
Cherry filled her coffee cup a sec
ond time, gave Kow an appreciative
smile as he put a hot French loaf be
fore her, and said, indifferently:
"Martin has a constitutional objec
tion to whatever pleases me, and would
find some objection to any plan that
gave me pleasure!” Her tone was
’light, but there was a bitter twitch to
her lips as she spoke.
“Oh, Cherry!” Allx said, distressed.
“However, I’m not going to talk
about Martin!” the younger sister de
creed, gaily, "I’m too utterly and ab
solutely happy 1”
There was a worried little cloud on
Alix’s forehead, but it lighted stead
ily, as the happy morning wore on,
and half an hour later, when she. and
Cherry were sailing a frog on a shin
gle, on the busy little stream that
poured down the hill near the cabin,
both were laughing like children
again.
She was youth incarnate,
palpitating, flushed, unspoiled.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Changes Come With Years.
A young girl should always remem
ber to the credit of her mother’s Judg
ment that “father” has changed con
siderably since he was a young man
and “mother" married him.—Leaven
worth Times.
MAKE MONEY IN
PRODUCING BEEF
Herd of Good Cows and Purebred
Sire of Prime Importance
in Making Start.
SELECT BEST HEIFER CALVES
Np Method Adapted to All Farm, and
Conditions as Much Depends on
Pasture Available and Nepr.
ness'of Market.
(Prepared by the United State, Department
of Agriculture.)
We are a nation of meat eaters. The
average Apt eri can eats more than 140
pounds of’this concentrated food each
year. The importance of treat, par
ticularly beef, is nowhere more era
phaticaily brought out than nt the
■treat central stockyards, some of which
cover nearly a square mile of ground.
To keep the supply of animals moving
through these yards, necessary to feed
the millions of people, requires the
raising of cattle, hogs, and sheep on
hundreds of thousands of farms and
ranches.
Improve Each Generation.
In profitable beef production a herd
of good cow’s and a good purebred
buli are of great Importance. Each
-
A High-Class Beef Breeding Herd,
generation of.cattle raised should be
better than the preceding one. This
can be accomplished by selecting the
best heifer calves each year to take
the place of barren, shy-breeding, and
old cow’s, and buying a better bull each
two or three years. All other calves
produced may be sold either as wean
lings at six or eight months old, ns
stackers or feeders at one or two years,
finished as baby beef at sixteen to
twenty months, or as fat steers nt an
ol'ler age. The system employed
depends largely upon the pasture
<nd feed available, transportation costs,
and the market price of milk and
cattle.
The systems of handling beef-breed
ing herds which are most extensively
practiced are "beef," “baby beef,” and
"dual-purpose.” In the first two sys- I
tern* calves run with their dams un- '
til weaned. the cows not being milked.
They differ in that cows intended for
producing calves for baby beef gen
erally receive better carp because their
calves are to be fattened shortly after
weaning, which makes It necessary to
give them a good, start on milk.
The straight beef system Is primarily
adapted to the range country of the
West and South, which is too rough,
dry, or sandy for cultivation. Where
the climate permits, pasture Is de
pended on the year round. Some cot
tonsed rake may he used during un
usually bad weather or periods of feed
shortage. Where snow covers the
range n part of the year, hay is put
up for winter feeding. Little grain Is
fed, except where grain sorghums can
be grown. From soul hern ranges the
cattle are usually sold as Stockers at
every ago from weaning time to ma
turity. Recently many fat calves have
been going to the slaughterhouses.
From the North and West a large part
of the rattle go to market grass-fat
as three-year-olds.
Baby-heef production is a highly
specialized business and Is adapted to
regions where there 1r n plentiful sup
ply of fattening feeds together with
good pasture for the summer main
tenance of the breeding herd and nurs
ing calves. The corn belt is the best
place for this system, but it Is prac
ticed to some extent In other places.
When to Finish Baby Beef.
If spring calves are to be finished as
baby beeves, they should be taught to
eat grain before they are weaned.
They should go into the dry lot nt the
end of the pasture season and be ready
for market by June or July. If possible,
they should have good pasture for a
couple of weeks after weaning. Fall
born calves should be kept on grain
when they are turned on pasture In the
spring. The quantity of grain should
be gradually Increased throughout the
summer and fall so that they will be
finished for market in December or
January. When the pasture falls, hay
and silage should be supplied;
Stocker calves require some meal or
grain during their first winter to keep
them thrifty and growing. They can
utilize to advantage much more rough
age, such as stalk fields, meadows,
silage, and straw than baby beeves.
As yearlings and two-year-olds they
may be wintered on roughage alone,
some clover or alfalfa hay being given
l’ avallubla.
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 18, 1922.
OVERFEEDING CAUSES
SHRINKAGE OF STOCK
Weakness in System of Co-oo
erative Shipping.
Partly Due to Dlepoeltlon of Some
Shipper* to Overfill Animal, Be
fore Loading—B.at Plan la
to Alwaya Play Fair.
(Pr«p,rM by th. Unit. ! Stale. Department
of Alfrlcuiturr )
Reports to thp effect that excessive
shrinkage on live stock nt central
markets frequently experienced are
sometimes received from members and
managers of co-operative live-stock
shipping associations by the United
States Department of Agriculture. In
some cases these reports take the
form of complaints, and at times the
shrinkage feature is pointed to as a
weakness in the whole system of co
operative shipping.
While many things can. and fre
quently do, result In excessive shrink
age In live stock. Investigations have
shown that at times It Is at least part
ly due to a disposition on the part
of some shippers to overfill their stock
before loading. This custom seems
to be a relic from the days before
co-operative Flipping came Into vogue
and when most small producers sold
their stock to country buyers. Under
the system of marketing wherein live
stock was usually sold on the basis
of home weights, or at most, shipping
point weights. It was usually to the
producer’s advantage to obtain a gen
erous "fill” on his stock before turn
ing It over to the country drover.
The co-operative system of shipping
live stock, however, practically elim
inates the Incentive to excessive home
or shipping point fills. Stock that
Is fed heavily Just before loading Is
not onlv quite likely to Sicken and
sometimes die while In transit, but
seldom takes a good fill when It ar
rives at market. Furthermore, where
co-operative shipments are graded at
the shipping point the man whose
stock has been given a heavy fill re
ceives more than his Just proportion
of the net returns. Home grading of
co-operative shipments Is. in most in
stances. highly desirable, but It can
be successful only where the individ
ual members "play fair” with each
other or. In other words, where they
really co-operate.
KEEPING CHICKENS IN YARD
Two-Foot Slats Nailed to Posts Will
Prove Effective—Fowls Are
Thrown Back.
Chickens can be kept In their pen
by nailing two-foot slats at an angle
to the posts and stringing a number
of strands of thin wire through them
ns shown In the drawing. The chick
ens do not see these wires and when
'
—jp'
‘"J®
Wires Stretched as Shown Here Will
Effectively Prevent Chickens From
Wandering Into th© Neighbors*
Yard.
they attempt to fly over the fence,
they strike the wires and fall back in
to their yard. After a number of
futile attempts, they will not try to
fly over again.—E. Bade, In Popular
Science Monthly.
GRAINS RELISHED BY FOWLS
Seed of Kafir and Rolled Oats Found
to Be Efficacious in Recent
Experiments.
The seed of kafir, one of the grain
sorghums, has been used ns u substitute
for corn in the scratch mixture used by
the poultry husbandry division of the
United States Department of Agricul
ture with good results, which indicate
about similar feeding value for these
two products. Rolled outs were found
preferable to ground oats for use In
a poultry mash, and resulted in siitH
clently greater egg production to Justi
fy the additional expense associated
with using this costlier fe<»d. The
hens ate the mash more freely and, al
though they consumed inure feed, their
egg yield was enough lurger to produce
greater profit.
SPROUTED OATS FAVOR EGGS
Without Succulent Sprouta All Other
Aids in Increasing Winter Pro
duction Would Fail.
Probably thf> greatest single discov
ery for the production of eggs during
the winter months was that Introduced
to the Industry by the sprouting of
grain, particularly oats, and feeding
the tender and succulent sprouts to
tne hens. Without sprouted oats, prac
tically all of our other aids in increas
ing winter egg production would full
by the wayside; at least, the results
they would obtain would be consider
ably less than Is possible where
sprouted oats are used Id the ratlou.

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