The Cody enterprise and the Park County enterprise., September 20, 1922, Page SIX, Image 6

About The Cody enterprise and the Park County enterprise. (Cody, Wyo.) 1921-1923

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SIX
The Strength of the Pines
THE KILLER
SYNOPSIS.—At the death of his
foster father. Bruce Duncan, in an
eastert city, receives a mysterious
message, sent by a Mrs. Ross, sum
moning him peremptorily to south
ern Oregon—to meet "Linda.”
Bruce has vivid but baffling recol
lections of his childhood in an or
phanage, before his adoption by
Newton Duncan, with the girl Lin
da. At his destination. Trail's End,
news that a message has been sent
to Bruce is received with marked
displeasure by a man introduced
to the reader as "Simon.” Leaving
the train, Bruce is astonished at
his apparent familiarity with the
surroundings, though to his knowl
edge he has never been there.
On the way, "Simon” warns him
to give up bls quest and return
East. Bruce refuses. Mrs. Ross,
aged and infirm, welcomes him
with emotion. She hastens him on
his way—the end of "Pine-Needle
Trail.” Bruce finds his childhood
playmate, Linda. The girl tells him
of wrongs committed by an enemy
clan on her family, the Rosses.
Lands occupied by the clan were
stolen from the Rosses, and the
family, with the exception of Aunt
Elmira (Mrs. Ross) and herself,
wiped out by assassination. Bruce’s
father, Matthew Folger, was one of
the victims. His mother had fled
with Bruce and Linda. The girl,
while small, had been kidnaped
from the orphanage and brought
to the mountains. Linda’s father
had deeded his lands to Matthew
Folger, but the agreement, which
would confute the enemy's claims
to the property, had been lost.
Bruce's mountain blood responds to
the‘call.of the blood-feud. A giant
tree, the Sentinel Pine, in front
of Linda’s cabin, seems to Bruce’s
excited Imagination to be endeav
oring to convey a message. Bruce'
sets out in search of a trapper
named Hudson, a witness to the
agreement between Linda’s father
ami Matthew Folger. A gigantic
grizzly, known as the Killer, is the
terror of the vicinity.
CHAPTER XIV
Simon Turner had given Dave very
definite Instructions concerning his
embassy to Hudson. “The first thing
tills Bruce will do,” Simon had said,
“is to hunt up Hudson —the one living
man that witnessed that agreement
between Ross and old Folger. One
reason is that he’ll want to verify
Linda’s story. The next Is to per
suade the old man to go down to the
courts with him as his witness. And
what you have to do is line him up
for our side first.”
“You think—” Dave’s eyes wan«
dered about the room, “you think
that’s the best way?”
“I wouldn’t be tellin’ you to do it
If I didn’t think so.” Simon laughed—
a sudden, grim syllable. “Dave, you’re
a bloodthirsty devil. I see what you’re
thinking of —of a safer way to keep
him from telling. But you know the
word 1 sent out. ‘Go easy!’ That’s
the wisest course to follow at present.
The valley people pay more attention
to such things than they used to; the
fewer the killings, the wiser we will
be. If he’ll keep quiet for the hun
dred let him have it in peace.”
Dave hadn’t forgotten. But his fea
tures were sharper and. more ratlike
than ever when he came in sight of
Hudson’s camp, just after the fall of
darkness of the second day out. The
trapper was cooking his simple meal—
a blue grouse frying In his skillet,
coffee boiling, and flapjack batter
ready for the moment the grouse was
done. Dave’s thoughts returned to
the hundred dollars in his pocket—a
good sum in the hills. A brass rifle
cartridge, such as he could fire in
the thirty-thirty that he carried in the
hollow of his arm, cost only about six
cents. The net gain would be—the
figures flew quickly through his mind —
ninety nine dollars and ninety-four
cents; quite a good piece of business
for Dave. But the trouble was that
Simon might find out. The word had
gone out, for the present at least, to
“go easy.” Such little games as oc
curred to Dave now—as he watched
the trapper in the firelight with one
hundred dollars of the clan’s money
in Ills own pocket—had been prohibit
ed until further notice.
The thing looked so simple that
Dave squirmed all over with annoy
ance. It hurt him to think that the
hundred dollars that he carried was
to be passed oyer, without a wink of
an eye, to tills bearded trapper; and
the only return for it was to be a
promise that Hudson would not tes
tify in Bruce’s behalf. And a hundred
dollars was real money! Just a little
matter of a single glance down his
rifle barrel at the figure in the silhou
ette of the fire glow—and a half-ounce
of pressure on the hair trigger. Half
jesting with himself, he dropped on
one knee and raised the weapon. The
trapper did not guess his presence.
The blood leaped in Dave’s veins.
But he caught himself with a
wrench. He realized that Simon had
spoken true when he said that the old
days were gone, tlmt the arm of the
law reached farther than formerly,
and it might even stretch to this far
place. He remembered Simon’s in
structions. “The quieter we can do
these things, the better,” the clan
leader had said. “If we cun get
through to October thirtieth with no
killings, the safer it is for us. Go
.easy. Dave. Sound this Hudson out.
If he’ll keep still for a hundred, let
him have It in peace.”
Dave slipped his rifle Into the hol
low nf his arm and continued on down
the trail. He didn’t try to stalk. In
n moment Hudson heard his step and
looked up. They met in a circle of
flrellrht.
It Is not the mountain way to frater
nize quickly, nor are the mountain
men quick to show astonishment.
Hudson had not seen another human
being since his last visit to the settle
ments. Yet his voice Indicated no
surprise at this visitation.
“Howdy,” he grunted.
“Howdy,” Dave replied. “How about
gruh?”
“Help yourself. Supper Just ready.”
Dave helped himself to the food of
the man that, a moment before, he
would have slain; and in the light of
the high fire that followed the meal,
he got down to the real business of
the visit.
“I suppose you’ve forgotten that
little deed you witnessed between old
Mat Folger and Ross—twenty years
ago,” Dave began easily, his pipe be
tween his teeth.
Hudson turned with a cunning glit
ter in his eyes. Dave saw it and
grew bolder. “Who wants me to for
get it?” Hudson demanded.
“I ain’t said that anybody wants
you to,” Dave responded. “I asked
you if you had.”
Hudson was still a moment, strok
ing absently his beard. “If you want
to know,” he said, “I ain’t forgotten.
But there wasn’t just a deed. There
was an agreement,, too.”
“I know all about* that agreement,”
Dave confessed.
“You do, eh? So do I. I ain’t likely
to forget.”
Dave studied him closely. “What
good is it going to do you to remem
ber?” he demanded.
“I ain’t saying that it’s going to do
me any good. At present I ain’t got
nothing against the Turners. They’ve
always been all right to me. What’s
between them and the Rosses is past
and done —although I know just in
what way Folger held that land and
no transfer from him to you was le
gal. But that’s all part of the past.
As long as the Turners continue to be
my friends I don't see why anything
should be said about it.”
Dave speculated. It was wholly
plain that the old man had not yet
heard of Bruce’s return. There was
no need to mention him. “We’re glad
you are our friend,” Dave went on.
“But we don’t expect no one to stay
friends with us unless they benefit to
some small extent by it. How many
furs do you hope to take this year?”
“Not enough to pay to pack out.
Maybe two hundred dollars in bount
ies before New Year—coyotes and
wolves.”
“Then maybe fifty or seventy-five
dollars, w’ithout bothering to set the
traps, wouldn’t come in so bad.”
“It wouldn’t come in bad, but It
doesn’t buy much these days. A hun
dred would be better.”
“A hundred it is,” Dave told him
with finality.
The eyes above the dark beard
shone in the firelight. The money
changed hands. They sat a long time,
deep in their own thoughts.
“All we ask,” Dave said, “is that
you don’t take sides against us.”
“I’ll remember. Os course you want
me, in case I'm ever subpoenaed, to re
call signing the deed itself.”
“Yes, we’d want you to testify to
that.”
“Os course.”
They chuckled together In the dark
ness. Then they turned to the blan
kets.
“I’ll show you another trail out to
morrow.” Hudson told him. “It comes
dave Helped Himself to the Food of
the Man That, a Moment Before, He
Would Have Slain.
Into the glen that you passed to
night—the canyon that the Killer has
been using lately for a hunting
ground.”
CHAPTER XV
1—
The Killer had had an unsuccessful
night. He had waited the long hours
through at the mouth of the trail, but
only the Little People—-such as the
rabbits and •similar folk that hardly
constituted a single Wte In his great
Jaws —had come his way. Now it was
morning and it looked as if he would
have tv go hungry. He started to
stretch his great muscles. Intending to
leave his ambush. But all at once
"By EDISON MARSHALL
Author of “The Voice of the Pack”
he froze again into a lifeless gray
patch In the thickets. There were
light steps on the trail. Again they
were the steps of deer —but not of the
great, wary elk this time. Instead it
was just a fawn, or a yearling doe at
least, such a creature as had not yet
learned to suspect every turn in the
trail. The forest gods had been good
to him, after all.
He peered through the thickets, and
in a moment more he had a glimpse of
the spotted skin. It was almost too
easy. But even as the Killer watched,
the prize was simply taken out of his
mouth. A gray wolf —a savage qld
male that also had just finished an
unsuccessful hunt—had been stealing
through the thickets in search of a
lair, and he came out on the trail nbt
fifty feet distant, halfway between the
bear and the fawn. The one was al
most as surprised as the other. The
fawn turned with a frightened bleat
and darted away; the wolf «wung into
pursuit.
The bear lunged forward with a
howl of rage. He leaped Into the trail
mouth, then ran as fast as he could
In pursuit of the running wolf. He
was too enraged to stop to think that
a grizzly bear has never yet been able
to overtake a wolf, once the trim ’egs
got well Into action. At first he
couldn’t think about anything; he had
been cheated too many times. His
first impulse was one of tremendous
and overpowering wrath—a fury that
meant death to the first living crea
ture that he met.
But in a single second he realized
that this wild chase was fairly good
tactics, after all. The chances for a
meal were still rather good. The
fawn r«nd the wolf were in the open
now, and it was wholly evident that
the gray hunter would overtake the
quarry In another moment. It was
true that the Killer would miss the
pleasure of slaying his own game—
the ecstatic blow to the shoulder and
the bite to the throat that followed it.
In thig case, the wolf would do that
part of the work for him. It was Just
a simple matter of driving the crea
ture away from his dead.
But at that instant fate took a hand
in the merry little chase. To the
fawn, it was nothing but a sharp clang
of metal behind him and an answering
shriek of pain—sounds that In Its
terror it heard but dimly. But it was
an unlooked-for and tragic reality to
the wolf. His leap was suddenly ar
rested in mid-air, and he was hurled
to the ground with stunning force.
Cruel metal teeth had seized his leg.
and a strong chain held him when he
tried to escape. He fought it with
desperate savagery. The fawn leaped
on to safety.
But there was no need of the grizzly
continuing its pursuit. Everything had
turned out quite wey for him, after
all. A »vrlf is ever so much more fill
ing than any kind of seasonal fawn;
and the old gray pack leader was im
prisoned and helpless In one of Hud
son’s traps.
• • • •
In the first gray of morning, Dave
Turner started back toward his home.
"I’ll go with you to the forks in the
trail,” Hudson told him. “I want to
take a look at some of my traps, any
how.”
At the same hour—as soon as It was
light enough to see—Bruce was finish
ing his breakfast in preparation for
the last lap of his Journey. He had
passed the night by a spring on a long
ridge almost In eye range of Hudson’s
camp. Now he was preparing to dip
down into the Killer’s glen.
Turner and Hudson followed up the
little creek.
The first of Hudson’s sets proved
empty. The second was about a turn
In the creek, and a wall of brush made
it impossible for him to tell at a dis
tance whether or not he had made a
catch. But when still a quarter of a
mile distant, Hudson heard a sound
that he thought he recognized. It was
a high, sharp, agonized bark that
dimmed into a low whine, “I believe
I’ve got a coyote or a wolf up there,”
he said. They hastened their steps.
The whole picture loomed suddenly
before their eyes. There was no wolf
in the trap. The steel had sprung,
certainly, but only a hideous fragment
of a foot remained between the jaws.
The bone had been broken sharply
off, as a man might break a match in
his fingers. There was no living wolf.
Life had gone out of the gray body
many minutes before. The two men
saw ill these things ns a background
only—dim details about the central
figure. But the thing that froze them
In their tracks with terror was the
great, gray form of the Killer, not
twenty feet distant, beside the man
gled body of the wolf.
The events that followed thereafter’
came in such quick succession as to
seem simultaneous. For one fraction
of an Instant all three figures stood
motionless, the two men staring, the
grizzly half-leaning over his prey, his
head turned, his little red eyes full of
hatred. He uttered one hoarse, sav
age note, a sound In which all bls
hatred and his fury and his savage
power were made manifest, whirled
with Incredible speed, and charged.
Hudson did not even have time to
turn. There was no defense; his gun
was strapped on his back, and even
if it had been in his hands, its bullet
would not have mattered the sting of
a bee in honey-robbing. The only
possible chance of breaking that dead
ly charge lay In the thirty-thirty deer
rifle In Dave’s arms; but the craven
who held it did not even fire. He was
standing just below the outstretched
limb o/ a tree, and the weapon fell
from his hands as he swung up into
the limb. The fact that Hudson stood
weaponless, ten feet away In the clear
ing. did not deter him in the least.
No human flesh could stand against
that charge. The vast paw fell with
resistless force; and no need arose for
a second blow. The trapper’s body
was struck down as if felled by a
meteor, and the power of the impact
forced it deep into the carpet of pine
needles. The savage creature turned,
the white fangs caught the light in the
open mouth. The head lunged toward
the man’s shoulder.
No man may say what agony Hud
son would have endured in the last
few seconds of his life if the Killer
had been given time and opportunity.
His usual wWy was to linger long,
sharp fangs closing again and again
until all living likeness was destroyed.
He Opened His Eyes and Looked With
'Some Wonder Into Bruce’s Face.
The blood lust was upon him; there
would have been no mercy to the dy
ing creature In the pine needles. Yet
it transpired that Hudson’s flesh was
not to know those rending fangs a
second time.
On the hillside above, a stranger to
this land hud dropped to his knee in
the shrubbery, his rifle lifted to the
level of his eyes.. It was Bruce, who
had come in time to see the charge
through a rift in the trees.
The bear was on Hudson, and the
man had gone down, before Bruce
even interpreted him. Then it was
Just a gray patch, a full three hundred
yards away. His instinct was to throw
the gun to his shoulder and fire with
out aiming; yet he conquered it with
an iron will. But he did move quickly.
He dropped to his knee the very sec
ond that the gun leaped to his shoul
der. He seemed to know that from a
lower position the target would be
more clearly revealed. The Anger
pressed back against the trigger.
The distance was far; Bruce was
not a practiced rifle shot, and it bor
dered on the miraculous that his lead
went anywhere near the bear’s body.
And it was true that the bullet did
not reach a vital place. It stung like
a wasp at the Killer’s flank, however,
cutting a shallow flesh wound. But it
was enough to take his dreadful atten
tion from the mortally wounded trap
per in the pine needles.
He whirled about, growling furious
ly and biting at the wound. Then he
stood still, turning his ga»e first to the
pale face of Dave Turner thirty feet
above him in the pine. The eyes glowed
In fury and hatred. He had found
men out at last; they died even more
easily than the fawn. He started to
turn back to the fallen, and the rifle
spoke again.
It was a complete miss, this time;
yet the bear leaped in fear when the
bullet thwacked into the dust beside
him. He did not wait for a third. His
caution suddenly returning to him,
and perhaps his anger somewhat sati
ated by the blow he had dealt Hudson,
he crashed into the security of the
thicket
Bruce waited a single instant, hop
ing for another glimpse of the crea
ture; then ran down to aid Hudson.
But in driving the bear from the trap
per’s helpless body he had already
given all the aid that he could. Un
derstanding came quickly. He had
arrived only in time for the Depar
ture—just a glimpse of a light as it
faded. The blow had been more than
any human being could survive; even
now Hudson was entering upon that
strange calm which often, so merci
fully, Immediately precedes death.
He opened his eyes and looked with
some wonder into Bruce’s face. The
light in them was dimming, fading like
a twilight, yet there was indication of
neither confusion nor delirium.
There was, however, some indication
of perplexity at the peculiar turn af
fairs had taken. “You’re not Dave
Turner,” he said v vuderlngly.
Dim though '.be voice was, there
was considerable emphasis in the tone.
Hudson seemed quite sure of this
point, whether or nut he knew any
thing concerning the dark gates he
was about to enter. He wouldn’t have
spoken greatly different if he had
been sitting in perfect health before
his own camp Are and the shadow was
now already so deep his eyes could
scarcely jfcnetrate it.
“No,” Bruce answered. “Dave Tur
ner is up a tree. He didn’t even wait
to shoot.”
“Os course he wouldn’t.” Hudson
spoke with assurance. The words
dimmed at the end, and he half-closed
his eyes ns if he were too sleepy to
stay awake longer. Then Bruce saw
a strange thing. He saw, unmistak
able as the sun in the sky, the signs
of a curious struggle in the man’s
face.
The trapper—a moment before sink
ing into the calm of death —was flght
ing desperately for a few moments of
respite. There could be no other ex
planation. And he won it at last, —
an Interlude of half a dozen breaths.
“Who are your he whispered.
Bruce bowed his head until his ear
was close to the lips. “Bruce Folger.”
he answered, —for the first time In his
knowledge speaking his full name.
“Son of Matthew Folger who lived at
Trail’s End long ago.”
The man still struggled. “I knew
it,” he said. “I saw it —in your face. I
see —everything now. Listen—cun you
hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I just did a wrong—there’s a
hundred dollars in my pocket that I
just got for doing it. I made a prom
ise—to He to you. Take the money—
it ought to be yours, anyway—and
hers; and use it toward fighting the
wrong. It will go a little way.”
“Yes.” Bruce looked him full in the
eyes. “No matter about the money.
What did you promise Turner?”
“That I’d lie to you. Grip my arms
with your hands —till it hurts. I’ve
only got one breath more. Your fa
ther held those lands only In trust —the
Turners’ deed is forged. And the
secret agreement that I witnessed Is
hidden—”
The breath seemed to go out of the
man. Bruce shook him by the shoul
ders. Dave, still in the tree, strained
to hear the rest. "Yes—where?”
“It’s hidden —just—out—•”* The
words were no longer audible to Dave,
and what followed Bruce also strained
to hear In vain. The lips ceased mov
ing. The shadow grew in the eyes,
and the lids flickered down over them.
A traveler had gone.
Bruce got up, a strange, cold light
in his eyes. He glauced up. Dave
Turner was climbing slowly down the
tree. Bruce made six strides and
seized his rifle.
The effect on Dave was ludicrous.
He clung fast to the tree limbs, as if
he thought a bullet—like a grizzly’s
claws —could not reach him there.
Bruce laid the gun behind him. then
stood waiting with bls own weapon
resting In his arms.
“Come down, Dave,” he commanded.
"The bear Is gone.”
Dave crept down the trunk and
halted at its base. He studied the
cold face before him. “Better not try
nothing,” he advised hoarsely.
“Why not?” Bruce asked. “Do you
think I’m afraid of a coward?” The
man started at the words; his head
bobbed backward as if Bruce had
struck him beneath the jaw with his
fist
“People don’t call the Turners cow
ards and walk off with it,” the man
told him.
“On, thf lowest coward!” Bruce
said between set teeth. “The yellow
est, mongrel coward! Your own con
federate —and you had to drop your
gun and run up a tree. You might
have stopped the bear's* charge.”
Dave’s face twisted in a scowl.
“You’re brave enough now. Wait to
see what happens later. Give me my
gun. I’m going to go.”
“You dan go, but you don’t get your
gun. I’ll fill you full of lead if you
try to touch it.” '
Dave looked up with some care. He
wanted to know for certain if this
tenderfoot meant what he said. The
man was blind in some things, his
vision was twisted and dark, but he
made no mistake about tlie look on
the cold, set face before him. Bruce’s
Anger was curled about the trigger,
and it looked to Dave as if It Itched
to exert further pressure.
“I don’t see why I spare you, any
way,” Bruce went on. His tone was
self-reproachful. “God knows I hadn’t
ought to—remembering who and what
you are. If you’d only give me one
little bit of provocation—”
Dave saw lurid lights' growing in
the man’s eyes; and all at once a con
clusion came to him. He decided he q
make no further effort to regain tne
gun. His life was rather precious to
him, strangely, and it was wholly
plain that a dread and terrible passion
was slowly creeping over his enemy.
He could see it in the darkening face,
the tight grip of the hands on the rifle
stock. His own sharp features grew
more cunning. "You ought to be glad
I didn’t stop the bear with my rifle,"
be said hurriedly. "I had Hudson
bribed —you wouldn’t have found out
something that you did find out If he
hadn’t lain here dying. You wouldn’t
have learned—”
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2 0 1 9Z >
But the sentence died in the middle
Bruce made answer to it, a straight
out blow with bis fist, with all
strength behind it. in the very center
of his enemy’s face.
CHAPTER XVI
Dave Turner traveled hard and late,
and he reached Simon’s door just be
fore sundown of the second day.
Bruce was still a full two hours dis
tant. But Dave did not stay to knock.
It was chore-time, and he thought he
would find Simon in his barn, super
vising the feeding and care of the
live stock. He had guessed right, and
the two men hud a moment’s talk in
the dusky passage behind the stalls.
"I’ve brought news.” Dave said.
Simon made no answer at first. The
saddle pony in the stall Immediately
in front of them, frightened at Dave's
unfamiliar figure, had crowded, trem
bling, against his manger. Simon’s
red eyes watched him; then he ut
tered a short oath. He took two
strides Into the stall and seized the
halter rope in his huge, muscular
hand. Three times he jerked it with
a peculiar, quartering pull, a curbing
that might have been ineffective by a
man of ordinary strength, but with
the incomprehensible might of the
great forearm behind It was really
terrible punishment. Dave thought
for a moment his brother would break
the animal’s neck; the whites began
to show about the soft, dark pupils
of Its eyes. The strap over the head
broke with the fourth pnll; then the
horse recoiled, plunging and terrified,
into the opposite corner of the stalk
Simon leaped with shattering power
at the creature’s shoulders, his hug'*
arms encircled its neck, his shoulders
heaved, and. he half-threw it to the
floor. Then, as it staggerel to rise,
his heavy fist nailed against its neck.
Again and again he struck, and in the
half-darkness of the stable it was a
dreadful thing to behold. The man’s
fury, always quickly aroused, was
upon him; his brawny form moved
with the agility of a panther. Even
Dave, whose shallow eyes were usually
wont to feast on cruelty, viewed the
scene with some alarm. It wasn’t that
he was moved by the agony of the
horse. But he did remember that
horses cost money, and Simon seemed
determined to kill the animal before
his passion was spent.
The horse cowered, and in a mo
ment more it was hard to remember
he was a member of a noble, high
spirited breed —a swift runner, brainy
as a dog, a servant faithful and
worthy. He stood quiet at last, bis
head hanging low, knees bent, eyes
curiously sorrowful and dark. Simon
fastened the broken strap about his
neck, gave it one more jerk that al
most knocked the animal off his feet,
then turned back to Dav*». Except for
a higher color in his cheeks, darker
lights In his eyes, and an almost Im
perceptible quickening of his breath
ing, it did not seem us if he had
moved.
"You’re always bringing news," he
said. “If it’s as Important ns some of
the other news you’ve brought don’t
take my time.”
“All right,” the other replied sul
lenly. “You don’t have to hear It. But
I’m telling you it's of real importan
this time —and some time youUl find
out.” He scowled Into the dark face.
“But suit yourself.”
Dave walked clear to the door, then
turned. “Don’t be a fool, Simon." io
urged. “Listen to what 1 have to tell
you. Bruce Folger knows where thrt
secret agreement Is.”
For once In bls life Dave got a
response of sufficient emphasis to
satisfy him. His brother whirled, his
whole expression undergoing an im
mediate and startling change. If
there was one emotion that Dave had
never seen on Simon's face It was
sea he didn’t know for certain
that he saw It now. But there was
alarm—unmistakable—and surprls".
too.
“What do you mean?” he ’demanded.
“Out with it!” His tone was really
urgent now, not insolent as usual
“Good Lord, man, don’t you know
that If Bruce gets that down to th«»
settlements before the thirtieth of
next month we’re lost—and nothing
in this world can save us? We can t
drive him off, like we drove the
Rosses. There’s too much law down
In the valleys. If he’s got that paper,
there’s only one thing to do. Help
me saddle a horse.”
“Walt a minute. I didn't say he had
It. I only said he knew where It was.
He’s still an hour or two walk from
here, toward Little river, and If we
have to wait for him on the trail,
we’ve got plenty of time. And of
course I ain’t quite sure he does kin ”’’
where It is."
“Yes,” Simon echoed in a
strange half-whisper. “Let the
buzzards talk to him.”
(TO ns CONTINUED.)
Chalmers' Recipe.
The «grnnd essentials of happiness
are—something to do, something to
love and something to hope for. —Bos-
ton Transcript
Proper Definition of Valor.
Fear to do base, unworthy H>lnv<
Is valor; If they be done to us.
suffer them b valor, too. -Ben
son.