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THE HOLBROOK NEWS, HOLBROOK, ARIZ., JUNE 23, 1922.
GOOD ROADS MAKE TESTS ON BATES ROAD 4, The Big-Town Round Up $ I a, Kb wuiMcLcodiu, By WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE i BACK TO NATURE AND THE SIMPLE LIFE The slapping of the wind against the tent awakened Beatrice. She could hear it soughing gently through the branches of the live oaks. An out flung arm discovered Clay missing. Her questing glance found him busy over the mesquite fire upon which he was cooking breakfast. She watched him move about, supple and light and strong, and her heart lifted with sheer joy of the mate she had chosen. And she was amazingly, radiantly happy. What did motor cars or wine suppers or Paris gowns matter? they were the trappings that stressed her slavery. Here she moved beside her mate without fear or'doubt in a world wonderful. Eye to eye, they spoke the truth to each other after the fashion of brave, simple souls. Glowing from the ice-cold bath of water from a mountain stream, she stepped down the slope into a slant of sunshine to join Clay. He looked vp from the fire and waved a spoon gayly at her. For he, too, was as jocund as the day which stood tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. They had come into the hills to spend their honey moon alone together, and life spoke to him in accents wholly joyous. Hi-yi-ya-al Ride him, Cowboy I Tbit is a cowboy yarn, with reverie English. In other words it is an Arizona cattle-puncher who brings off a round-up in little old New York. And say the adven tures he has I And the girl he wins I The extract quoted, is right at the end ot the story. Isn't right to tell how it ends? No harm done at all. H pleases the ladies, who always read the end first. Beside, this isn't a mystery storyj tt s action, action, action! Anyway, who wants a story that doesn't come out right? Read the foreword right on this same page and you'll get a glimpse of four of the principal figures of the yarn, the hero, the girl, her father and the villain-riral. 'Twas one way at the Arizona round up of cattle; 'tis another in the New York round up of humans except that the girl is as lovely as ever and the cowboy just as efficient. Beside, in the end country wins over city the simple life over a life too complex to be sane, safe or sober. And this pleases a lot of us. The author? Why, none other than William MacLeod Raine, writer of half-a-dozen stirring western stories that 'most everyone knows and like. FOREWORD The driver of me biff car throttled down. Since he had swung away from the dusty road to follow a wagon track across the desert, the speedom eter had registered many miles. His eyes searched the ground In front to see whether the track led up the brow of the hill or dipped Into the -sandy wash. On the breeze there floated to him the faint. Insistent bawl of thirsty cattle. The car leaped forward again, climbed the hill, and closed in upon a remuda of horses watched by two wranglers. The chauffeur stopped the machine and shouted a question at the nearest rider, who swung bis mount and can tered up. He was a lean, tanned youth In overalls. Jumper, wide sombrero, blgh-lieeled boots, and shiny leather chaps. A girl In the tonneau appraised with quick, eager eyes this horseman of the plains. Perhaps she found him less picturesque than she had hoped. He was not there for movlng-plcture purposes. Nothing on horse or man held Its place for any reason except utility. "Where's the round up?" asked the driver. The coffee-brown youth gave a little lift of his bead to the right. He was apparently a man of few words. The car moved forward to the edge of the mesa and dropped Into the val ley. The girl In the back seat gave a little scream of delight. Here at last was the West she had read about in books and seen on the screen. This was Cattleland's hour of hours. The parada grounds were occupied by two circles of cattle, each fenced by eight or ten horsemen. The nearer one was the beef herd, beyond this and closer to the mouth of the canyon from which they had nil recently been driven was a mass of closely packed cows and calves. Several men were busy branding and marking the calves dragged to them from the herd by the horsemen who were roping tlie frightened little blat ters. With a movement of her wrist the girl opened the door and stepped down from the car. A man sitting beside the chauffeur turned In his seat. "You'd better stay where you are, honey." He had an Idea that this was not exactly the tx'ene a girl of seventeen ought to see at close range. T want to get the kinks out of my mnscVes, Dad," the girl called back. "I'll not go far." She walked along a ridge that ran from the inesa Into the valley like an outstretched tongue. There was a touch of unstudied jauntiness in the way the tips of her golden curls es caped from beneath the little brown toque she wore. A young man guard ing the !eef herd watched her curi ously. Something In the poise of tle light, boyish figure struck a ppatt from his Imagination. ' . - -' As she stood on the spit of tbeidgp, a slim, light figure silhouetted", against the skyline, the young "rnai guarding the beef herd called something to her that was lost In the bawling of the cattle. From the motion of his hand 6he knew that he was telling her to get back to the car. But the girl saw no reason for obeying the orders of a range-rider she had never seen before and never expected to see again. No body had ever told her that a rider Is fairly safe among the wildest hill cat tle, but a man -on foot is liable to at tack at any time when a henl is ex cited. - A shout of warning startled her. Above the bellowing of the herd she beard another yell. "Hi-yi-ya-a!" A red-eyed steer, tall up, was crash ing through the small brush toward the branders. There was a wild scur ry for safety. The men dropped Iron and ropes and fled to their saddles. De flected by pursuers, the animal turned. By chance it thundered straight for the girl on the sand spit. She stood paralyzed for a moment. Out of the gathering darkness a voice came to her sharp and clear. "Don't move! It rang so vibrant with crisp command 'bat the girl, poised for 1 1 flight, stood still and waited In white terror while the huge steer lumbered toward her. A cow pony, wheeled as on a ' dol lar, jumped to an instant gallop. The man riding it was the one who had warned her back to the car. Horse and In (lino pounded over the ground toward her. Each stride brought them closer to each other as they converged toward the sand spit. It came to her with a gust of panicky despair- that they would collide on the very spot where she stood. Yet she did not run. The rider, lifting his bronco forward at full speed, won by a fraction of a second. He guided In such a way as to bring his horse between her and the steer. Without slackening his pace In the least as he swept past, the man stooped low, caught the girl beneath the armpits, and swung her in front of him to the back of the horse. The steer pounded past so close behind that one of its horns grazed the tall of the cow pony. It was a superb piece of horseman ship, perfectly timed, as perfectly exe cuted. The girl lay breathless In the arms of the man, her heart beating against his, her face burled In his shoulder. She was dazed, half fainting from the reaction of her fear. Tlie next she remembered clearly was being lowered into the arms of ber father. He held her tight, his face tortured with emotion. She was the very light of his soul, and she had shaved death by a hair's breadth. A miracle had saved her, but he would never forget the terror that had gripped him. The girl snuggled closer to him, her arms round his neck. A young man descended from the car, handsome, trim, and well got up. He had been tailored by the best man's He Guided in Such a Way a to Bring His Horse Between Her and the Steer. outfitter in New York. Nobody on Broadway could order a dinner better than he. The latest dances he couioTdo perfectly. He had the reputation of knowing exactly tlie best thing to say on every occasion. Now he proceeded to say it. "Corking bit of riding never saw better. I'll give you my hand on that, my man." The cowpuncher found a bunch of manicured fingers In his rough, brown paw. He found something else, for after the pink nond had gone there remained a fifty-dollar bill. He looked at it helplessly for a moment; then, beneath the brown outdoor tan, a Hush of anger beat into his face. Without a word he leaned forward and pressed the note Into the mouth of the bronco. The buckskin knew its master for a very good friend. If lie gave it some thing to eat well, there was no harm In trying It once. The buckskin chewed placidly for a few seconds, de cided that this was a practical joke, and eject! from its moutli a slimy green pulp that had recently been a treasury note. The father stammered his thanks to the rescuer of the girl. "1 Oon't know what I can ever do to let you know . . . I don't know how I can ever pay you for saving . . ." "Forget It !" snapped the brown man curtly. He was an even-tempered youth, as genial and friendly as a half grown pup, but just now the word "pay" irritated him as a red raw does a sulky bull. "If there's anything at all I can do for you " "Not a thing." The Ne Yorker felt that he was not expressing himself at all happily. What lie wanted was to show this young fellow that he had put him un der a lifelong obligation he could tiev er hope to wipe out. "If you ever come to New York " "I'm not liable to go there. I don't belong there any more than you do here. Better drift back to Tucson, stranger. Take a fool's advice and hit the trail for town pronto before you bump into more trouble." The rider swung round his pony and cantered back to the beef herd. He left behind him a much-annoyed cJubmun, a perplexed and distressed father, and a girl both hurt and In dignant at his brusque rejection of her father's friendly advances. Tlie episode of the fifty-dollar bill had taken place entirely under cover. The man who had given tlie note and the one who had refused to accept It were the only ones who knew -of It. The girl saw only that this splendid horsemnn who had snatched her from under the very feet of the lndino had shown a boor ish discourtesy. The savor hud gone out of her adventure. Her henrt was sick wltn a'suppointmeut and Indignation. CHAPTER I A Street Twelve Miles Long. "I like yore outfit," Red Hollister grumbled. "You're nice boys, and good to yore mothers what few of you ain't wore their gray hairs to the grave with yore frolicsome ways. You know yore business and you got a good cook. But I'm darned If I like this thing of two meals a day, one at a quarter to twelve at night and the other a qunrter past twelve, also and likewise at night." Bed's grumbling was a pretense. He would not have been anywhere else for twice the pay. This was what he lived for. Johnnie Green, commonly known as "the Runt," helped himself to another flank steak. He was not much of a cow-hand, but when It came to eating Johnnie was always conscientiously on the Job. "These here New Yorkers must be awful hardy," he ventured, apropos of nothing. "Seems like they're night birds for fair. Never do go to bid, far as I can make out. They tramp the streets all day and dance at tnem cabby-rets all night. My feet would be all wore out." Stace Walils grinned. "So would my pocketbook. I've heard tell how a fel low can pay as high as four or five dollars for an eat at them places." Clay Lindsay laughed. "You boys know a lot about New York, Just about as much ns I do. I've read that a guy can drop a hundred dollars a night In a cabaret If lie has a friend or two along, and never make a ripple on Broadway." "Well, I read there's a street there twelve miles long. If a fellow started at one end of that street with a thirst he'd sure be salivated before he reached the other end of It," Stace said with a grin. "Wonder if a fellow could get a Job there. They wouldn't be no use for a puncher, I reckon." Slim drawled. "Betcha Clay could get a job ail right," answered Johnnie Green promptly. "He'd he top lrand any where. Clay would." Johnnie was the lost dog of the B-in-a-Box ranch. It was his nature to follow somebody and lick hi hand whenever it was permitted. The some body he followed was Cloy Lindsay. MANY LEGENDS Tree's Grandeur and Beauty Seem to Have Impressed Each Ancient Race in Turn. The ancient races, struck with the noble aspect of the oak, have in all ages enveloped It in the clouds of their legends and carried It back to the re motest antiquity. Of this class was the holm oak, which in the days of riiny still existed near Rome, on the trunk of which was an Etruscan In scription in letters of brass stating that before the existence of the Eternal city It was already tlie object of popu lar veneration. Tlie Roman naturalist also asserts that In the environs of Heracles, in tlie kingdom of Pontus, there was a tradition that two oaks which overshadowed the altar of Jupi ter Stragius had been planted by Her cules. The origin of certain trees is lost in even remote antiquity. The Imposing terror of the Her- cynian forest has deeply Impressed all those who have described Germany, and Pliny nnd Tacitus especially. The aged oaks of Its somber vales, where wandered the elk and the aurochs, es pecially aroused the admiration of the Roman historian. "The majestic gran deur of the oak In this forest," he says. surpasses all Imaginable belief; this tree has never been touched with the ax; it is contemporary with the crea tion of the world and appears to be the symbol of Immortality" Mind-Laziness. Most of us have, or have had, a ten- dewy to be lazy about thinking. That, Johnnie was his slave, the echo of his opinions, the booster of his merits. He asked no greater happiness than to trail In the wake of his friend and get a kind word occasionally. The Runt had chosen as his Admir able Criehton a most engaging youth. It never had been hard for any girl to look at Clay Lindsay. His sun tanned good looks, the warmth of his gay smile, the poise and the easy stride of him, made Lindsay a marked man even In a country where men of splen did physique were no exception. His eyes now were watching the leap of the fire glow. The talk of New Y'ork had carried him back to a night on tlie round-up three years before. He was thinking about a slim girl standing on a sand spit with a Wild steer rushing toward her, of her warm, slender body lying In his arms for five Immortal seconds, of her dark, shy eyes shining out of the dusk at him like live coals. He remembered and it hurt him to recall it how his wounded pride had lashed out In resentment of the patron age of these New Ycrkers. The young er man had Insulted him, but he knew in his heart nv that tlie girl's father had meant nothln;; of the kind. Of course the girl had forgotten him long since. "Question is, could you land n job In New Y'ork if you wanted one," ex plained Stace to the dreamer. "Jf it's neck meat or nothin' a fel low can 'most always get sometliin' to do," said Lindsay In the gentle voice lie used. Tlie vague impulses of many days crystalized suddenly Into a reso lution. "Anyhow I'm goln' to try. Soon as the rodeo is over I'm goin' to hit the trail for the big town." "Tucson?" interpieted Johnnie dubi ously. "New York." The bow-legged little puncher looked at his friend and gasped. Clay flushed on him tlie warm smile that endeared lilra to all his friends. "I'm goin' to ride down Broadway and shoot up tlie town, Johnnie. Want to come along?" CHAPTER II Clay Appoints Himself Chaperon. As he traveled east Clay began to slough the outward marks of his call ing. He gave his spurs to Johnnie be fore he left the ranch. At Tucsou he shed his chaps and left them In care of a friend at the Longliorn corral. The six-gun with which he had shot rattlesnakes he packed Into his suit case at El Paso. His wide-rimmed felt hat flew off while the head beneath It was stuck out of a window of the coach somewhere south of Denver. Be fore he pussed under tlie Welcome arch In that city the silk kerchief had been removed from his brown neck and retired to the hip pocket which formerly held his forty-five. The young cattleman began to flatter himself that nobody could now tell he was a wild man from the hills who had never been curried. He might have spared himself the illusion. The lightness of his stride, the breadth of the well-pucked shoulders, the frank ness of the steady eyes, all advertised him as a son of Arizona. It was Just before noon at one of the small plains towns east of Denver that a girl got on the train and was taken by the porter to a section back of Clay Lindsay. The man from Arizona no ticed that she was refreshingly pretty in an unsophisticated way. A little later he had a chance to confirm this judgment, for the dining car manager seated her opposite him at a table for two. When Clay handed her the menu card she murmured "Thank you !" with a rush of color to her cheeks and looked helplessly at tlie list in her hand. Quite plainly she was taking her first long Journey. Tlie cow puncher helped her fill the order card. She put herself entirely in his hands and was willing to eat what ever he suggested unbiased by prefer ences of her own. She was a round, soft, little person witli constant Intimations of a child hood not long outgrown. During the course of lunch she confided that her OF THE OAK in Itself, is not dangerous; a tendency can be overcome if we are Interested in overcoming it. But many people, not realizing what is the matter with their minds, let lazy thinking habits develop unchecked. The slipshod mind has always an excuse ready. It says. "I'm too tired to work now. What I need is a thorough rest to fit me for thinking. Tomorrow I shall be able to do this work easily." Sometimes the excuse is genuine, but we must be on our guard to see that the tired feeling really means overwork. We must be 011 the lookout for the idle brain that couipluins of being exhausted. Rules Laid Down by Old Masters. A Brazilian art scholar asserts he has discovered how the old masters of painting nnd sculpture worked, ne has taken the pictures and shown, by drawing lines and angles on them, how the artists gave their composi tions strictly mathematical founda tions. Ancient EgyptlaE artists had a rule of proportions based on the length of the middle finger, the dis tance of which was contained nine teen times in the length of the whole body. Greek artists adopted these proportions until It was established that the face must be a tenth part and the head an eighth part of the total height of the body. The face was divided Into three equal parts from the roots of the hair to the root of the nose ; from the root of the nose to Its point, and from the end of the nose to the chin. name was Kitty Mason, that she was an orpnun, and thct she was on her way to New York to study at a school for moving-picture actresses. "I sent my photograph and the man ager wrote back ti.ut my face was one hundred per cent perfect for the movies," the girl explained. It was clear that she was expecting to be manufactured into a film star in a week or two. After they had finished eating, the range-rider turned in at the smoking compartment and enjoyed a cigar. I! fell into casual talk with an army ofti cor who had served in the Southwest, and it was three hours later when he returned to his own seat In the cur. A hard-fuced man in a suit of checks more than a shade too loud was sit ting In the section beside the girl from Brush. He was making talk in tin as sured, familiar way, and the girl was listening to him shyly and yet eagerly. The man was a variation of a type Kitty Was Lost to Any Memory of Those About Her. known to Lindsay. That type was tlie Arizona bad-man. If this expensively dressed fellow was not the eastern equivalent of the western gunman, Clay's experience was badly at fault. Clay had already made friends with the Pullman conductor. He drifted to him now on the search for informa tion. "The hard-fuced guy with the little girl?" he asked casualty after the proffer of a cigar. "The one with the muscles bulging out all over him who is he?" "He comes by that tough mug hon estly. That's Jerry Durand." "Tlie prize-fighter?" "Y'ep. Used to be. He's a gang leader in New York now. Runs a gambling house of his own, I've heard, l'ou can't prove It by me." When Lindsay returned to his place he settled himself with a magazine in a seat .where he could see Kitty and her new friend. The very vitality of the girl's young life was no doubt a temptation to this man. The soft, rounded throat line, the oval cheek's rich coloring so easily moved to ebb and flow, the carmine of the full red lips; every detail helped to confirm the impression of a sensuous young crea ture, innocent as a wild thing of the forests and as yet almost as un splritual. Durand took the girl In to dinner with him and they sat not far from Lindsay. Kitty was lost to any mem ory of those about her. She was flirt ing joyously with a sense of newly awakened powers. The man from Gra ham county, Arizona, felt uneasy in his mind. The girl was flushed with life. In a way she was celebrating her es cape from the narrow horizon in which she hud lived. In her unsophistication danger lay. For she was plainly easily influenced, and In the beat of her healthy young blood probably there was latent passion. They left the diner before Clay. He passed them later in the vestibule of the sleeper. They were looking out to gether on the moonlit plain through which the train was rushing. The arm of the man was stretched behind her to the railing and with the motion of the car the girl swayed Dack slightly against him. Again Clay sought the smoking com partment and was led into talk by the officer. It was well past eleven when he rose, yawned, and announced, "I'm goln' to hit the hay." Most of the berths were made up and it was with a little shock of sur prise that his eyes fell on Kitty Mason and her new friend, the sleek black head of tlie man close to her fair cuns, his steady eyes holding her like a charmed bird while his caressing voice wove the fairy tale of New Y'ork to which she yielded herself in strange delight. "Don't you-all want yo berth made up, lady?" It was the impatient porter who in terrupted them. The girl sprang up tremulously to accept. "Oh, please. Is it late?" Her glance swept down the car and took in the fact that her section alone was not made up. "I didn't know why, what time Is It?" "Most twelve, ma'am," replied the aggrieved porter severely. She flashed a look of reproach at her companion and blushed again as she fled with her bag to the ladies' dressing room. The train was rolling through the cornfields of the Middle West when the Arlzonan awoke. He was up early, but not long before Kitty Mason, who was joined at oice by Durand. "Shucks! Nothln' to it a-tall," the range-rider assured himself. "That UT girl must have the number of this guy. She's flirtin' with him to beat three of a kind, but I'll bet a dogie she knows right where she's at." Clay did not in the least believe his own argument. If he had come from a city he would have dismissed the mat ter as none of his business. But lie came from the clean Southwest where every straight girl is under the pro tection Oj. every decent mun. If she was in danger because of her inno cence it was up to him to look after her. There was no more competent man in Graham county than Clay Lindsay, but he recognized that tills was a delicate affair In which he must move wirily. On lils wny to the diner at noon the range-rider passed her again. She was alone for the moment and as she leaned back her soft round throat showed a beating pulse. Her cheeks were burning and her starry eyes were looking into the future with a happy smile. "You pore little maverick," the man commented silently. The two had the table opposite him. As tlie wheels raced over a culvert to the comparative quiet of tlie ballasted track beyond, the words of the man reached Clay. ". . . and we'll have all day to see the city. Kid." Kitty shook her head. There was hesitation In her manner, and the man was quick to make the most of it. "And it won't cost you a cent, girlie, he added. But the long lashes of the girl lifted and her buby-blue eyes met his with shy reproach. "I don't think I ought she breathed, color sweeping her face in a vivid flame. "Y'ou should worry," he scoffed. Lindsay knew the girl was weaken ing. She was no match for this big, dominant, two-fisted man. The jaw of 'the cow puncher set. This child was not fair game for a man like Durand. When Clay rose to leave the diner he knew that he meant to sit In and take a hand. The train was creeping through the thickly settled quarter where the poor er- people are herded when Clay touched Durand on the shoulder. . "Like to see you a moment In tlie vestibule," he said in his geiltle voice. The eyes of tlie two men met and the gambler knew at once that this man and he were destined to be en emies. No man had ever said that Jerry Durand was not game. He rose prompt ly and followed the westerner from the car, swinging along with the light, cat like tread acquired by many pugilists. The floor of the vestibule had been raised and the outer door of the car opened. Durand found time to won der why. The cowpuncher turned on him with an abrupt question. "Can you swim?" The eyes of the ward boss narrowed. "What's that to you?" he demanded truculently. "Nothin' to me, but a good deal to you. I'm aimin' to drop you in the river when we cross." "Is that so?" snarled Durand. "You're quite a joker, ain't you? Well, suit me. But let's get thla clear so we'll know where we're at. What's ailin' you, rube?" "I don't like the color of yore hair or the cut of yore clothes," drawled Lindsay. "You've got a sure-enough bad eye, and I'm tired of travelin' in yore company. Let's get off, me or you one." In the siltted eyes of the Bowery graduate there was no heat at all. They were bleak as a heavy winter morn. "Suits me fine. You'll not travel with me much farther. Here's where you beat the place." The professional lashed out sudden ly with his left. But Clay was not at the receiving end of the blow. Always quick as lightning, he had ducked and clinched. His steel-muscled arms tight ened about the waist of the other. A short-arm jolt to the cheek h? disre garded. Before Durand had set himself to meet the plunge he found himself fly ing through space. The gambler caught at the rail, missed it, landed on the cinders beside the roadbed, was flung instantly from his feet, and rolled over and over down an Incline to a muddy gully. Clay, hanging to the brass railing, leaned out and looked back. Durand had staggered to his feet, plastered witli mud from head to knees, and was shaking furiously a fist at him. Tlie face of the man was venomous with rage. The cowpuncher waved a debonair hand and mounted the steps again. The porter was standing in the vesti bule looking at him with amazement. "You throwed a man off'n this train, mistah," he charged. "So I did," admitted Clay, and to save his life he could not keep from smiling. The porter sputtered. This beat any thing In his previous experience. "Hut but it ain't allowed to open up the cah. Was you-ill liavin' trouble?" "No trouble a-tall. He bet me a cigar I couldn't put him off." Clay palmed a dollar and handed it to the porter as he passed into the car. The eyes of that outraged official rolled after him. Tlie book of rules did not say anything about wrestling matches In the vestibule. Besides, It happened that Durand had called him down sharply not an hour before. He decided to brush off his passengers and forget what he had seen. "What are yon going to do? You'll be arretted, you know." (TO BE CONTINUED.) Has 63 Different Sections and Repre sents That Many Kinds of Construction. (Prepared by the United States Dep&nmeal ot Agriculture.) Final series of tests on one of tb largest and most comprehensive rwail experiments . ever attempted began March 27. This road, located at Bates, Illinois, was designed and con structed by the Illinois division of highways under the direction of Clif ford Older, chief highway engineer, with tlie bureau of public roads. Unit ed States Department of Agriculture co-operating. It Is two miles long and Includes 63 different sections rep resenting as many different methods and kinds of construction, having various thicknesses of coucrete. cement grout and asphalt-filled brick as well as asphalt concretes and concrete with rolled stone bases. Since the completion of its construc tion In April, 1921, a corps of engiueera has been kept busy making observa tions for effect of temperature changes static and repeated loads and sub grade conditions, thus collecting data which when analyzed will supplement the Information necessary for the ra tional design of roads. The road will now be subjected te the final test, that of very heavy truck " traffic," for the application of which will be used a fleet of 10 motor trucks received by the state from the sur plus of the War department. At first these trucks will be lightly loaded, but as the test progresses the load will be Increased until a maximum reached giving a 12,000-pound rear wheel load. The results will show definitely the types of pavements which can be expected to snnport towr" Building a Section of Bates Road. heavy traffic, as well as those which will not satisfy the requirements of such traffic conditions as might be ex pected during the next 10 or 20 years. The careful observation of th various sections in the absence of traffic which has formed the first part of the Investigation, It is expected, will enable the engineers to ascertain the structural weaknesses which cause such failures as may take place in the traffic tests. After the experiment has been com pleted, this road with Its broken sec tions replaced will form a part of Bli- . nols federal aid project No. 13 frm Springfield, Illinois, to St. Louis, Mis souri. The test will be carried on under the direction of Clifford Older, with H. F. Clemmer in direct charge of tlie ex perimental work and R. R. Benedict in charge of the trucks and main tenance. The bureau of public roads will be represented by A. T. GolU beck and C. A. Hogentogler. ROADS PAY DIVIDENDS A wagon with a load of 3,000 pounds required an average draft of 108 pounds on a gravel road in dry condition, in a re cent test at the Missouri College of Agriculture. The same load on a dry clay road required a draft of 321 pounds. This shows the great variation in the work done in hauling and in the size of load a team can handle, says J. C. Wooley, chairman of the agricultural engineering depart ment, which conducted this test. The gravel roads prove their value even more completely un der spring conditions. This load on the same roads after a heavy rain required a draft of ISO pounds on the gravel, and 372 pounds on the clay. This is only one of the many advantages of fered by all-the-year roads. Unnecessary Practice. Oiling a concrete road or any prop erly surfaced highway is not only a nuisance to the public, but is a lament able waste of a natural resource, says H. H. Franklin, who claims that the oiling system, a hold-over from the experimental days, is no longer nec essary and should be abandoned. Towers to Control Traffic. Towers, erected in the middle of streets and highways for the control of traffic, were first operated In I'aris In 1910. Travel in California. Of the vehicular traffic on the high ways in California 97.3 per cent is motor propelled. Motor trucks con stitute nearly 13 per cent of the total traffic. Coet of "Ridge Route." A thirty-mile concrete highway in California known as the "Ridge Route," cost $1,500,000. - Keep Folks Apart. Bad roads and bad tempers both keep folks apart.