The Wingham Advance-Times, 1938-11-10, Page 6PAGE SIX THE WINGHAM ADVANCE-TIMES Thurs., November 10, 193$
SECOND INSTALMENT
Bob Reeves,
because one
swellin’.”
4
The Kid’s name was
but back home on the Brazos they
called him Tiger Eye,
eye was yellow—the eye with which
he sighted down a gun-barrel. His
father was “Killer” Reeves, but the
boy did not want to kill. If he stay
ed home he would have to carry on
his father's fueds, so he headed his
horse, Pecos, northward and encount
ered Nate Wheeler, who drew his .45
and fired just as Tiger Eye did. The
Kid didn’t want to kill Nate, only to
-cripple him, but his aim must have
been wild, for Wheeler dropped from
his horse. Babe Garner came riding
up. Wheeler was a “nester,” he said,
and had it coming to him. Tiger Eye
rode to Wheeler’s cabin to notify the
dead man’s widow.
The Kid breaks the news of Nate's
death to his widow and then goes out
and brings in his body, discovering
he had not missed his shot toedisable
Wheeler but had broken his arm,
while another
man. A gang
One of them
by coupling
stranger. The
each of the ears of Pete Gorham, who
hurled the insult, making his escape
in the confusion, He lays in wait for
the party and finally sees the men
drive off with Wheeler’s widow and
child. He trails them silently.
Learning that th “nesters” plan to
draw the Poole riders into a trap,
the kid informs Garner, telling him
;at the same time he had learned it
was the latter’s shot ' that killed
Wheeler and not his own. Garner is
grateful and gets the boy a job riding
range for the Poole outfit. The Kid
sees a lone rider attack a man and
a girl driving in a wagon and wounds
the assailant, and then finds out he
is Wheeler. . > .
the kid’s
old man
he could
shot had killed the
of strangers rides up.
insults Mrs. Wheeler
her name with the
Kid shoots a .hole in
and lie stared vaguely up into the
kid’s face*.
“Reckon yo’all feelin’ some bettah,
suh,” the kid said shyly. “Right
smaht crack on the haid, but the
whisky’ll keep down the
And when the old eyds still question
ed, the kid offered further encourage
ment. “Bullet dug itse’f in yo’all’s
side, but it ain’t deep, no how.”
The old man opened his mouth and
moved his jaw uncertainly, trying tb
speak. His eyes never left
face.
“Where’s Nellie?” The
was still dazed, but at least
speak once more, The kid gave a
sigh of relief.
“Why, suh, she—” he turned and
looked back toward the hill “—she’s
cornin’. She’ll be heah directly, suh.”
The drink revived the old man a
little, but he seemed to have only/a
vague idea of what had taken place.
"Team run away,” he mumbled.
‘“Throwed me out. Where’s Nellie?
She was in the wagon when the team
ran away.”
She came, her long yellow hair
pulled forward over her left shoulder.
kneeling girl, bashful and determin
ed.
“Scuse me,” he said diffidently,
gun-hand to his hat brim when she
looked up, “Did yo’all say Nate
Wheelah’s funeral taken place yeste’-
day?”
“Why, of course
checked
troubled
on the
stranger
know—”
enlightened glance upward, “Are you
one of them Poole rim riders?”
. "I happened to be up theah when
Pete Gorham shot yoh pap,” he said,
with slow meaning. “I taken it upon
myse’f to stop Pete befoah he could
carry out his plan.”
“Well, wasn’t you rim riding on the
valley?”
“I just happened to be theah at the
time.”
“You’re a Poole rider, ain’t you?”
“Poole! Poole rider!” The old man
scrambled’ to a sitting posture, Ins
face working furiously as memory
came back with a rush. “One of them
Texas killers^ I betcha! Was it you
it was—" she
herself abruptly, one swift,
glance going to her father
ground. “You must be a
in the valley if you don’t
She cast a swift, suddenly
backing the wagon off the buckbush
so the team could be turned around*
He worked swiftly, surely, his cap
able hands never wasting a motion,
never uncertain of the thing they
should accomplish. The team was
restless, wanting to go home, and the
kid turned to the girl.4
“If you’all would be so accommo
datin’ as to come hold these hawses
a minute,” he said stiffly, “I’d be
shoah pleased to tote yuh pap ovah
and lay him in the wagon."
“I kin walk, dang ye I” the old fel
low cried pettishly. But he couldn’t,
except with the help of the kid’s arm
under his shoulders, taking all the
weight pff the wobbly old legs.
“We’re much obliged,” the girl said
constrainedly, after he had lifted the
old man into the wagon. “Even if
you are a rim rider for the Poole, I
want to ■ thank you for—all you’ve
done.”
Then she looked at Pete Gorham,
who sat cursing beside za sage-bush,
took her foot down off the hub, and
came over to where .the kid stood
stroking the nose of the horse he was
holding byz the bridle.
- “If you don’t kill Pete Gorham,
he’ll kill you,” she said in a fierce
it’ll be a right smaht
he’s able.” The kid did
her.
“Even if he is a Poole rider,” the girl said, “he did us-----a big favor.”
•J< * + • ;
NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY
Old man, all right. Her old pappy.
Shot without a chance in the world
to help himself. Didn’t even have a
gun on him. Old farmer, by the look
of him. • Bald-headed and little and
old.
The kid investigated his head in
jury. Didn’t seem to be any crack in
the skull, but still you couldn’t tell,
with an old man like him.
The kid got up and looked in the
wagon. A sack of flour was there,
and a box of groceries, all jumbled
together, and a demijohn lying on its
side. The kid hoped it held whisky,
and reached a long arm for it. Shoah
enough—old pappy liked his eye op
ener when he got up in the morning,
and was taking home a jugful. The
kid gave him an eye opener now,
holding the old man’s head up and
tilting the jug to the ashy lips pinch
ed in together in the long beard.
Then he poured a little in his palm
and rubbed it on the blue lump in the
thin gray hair, and after that he
trickled a pungent little stream on
the bullet wound, front and back.
The man’s faded blue eyes opened
kid
he
his
dry-gulched my son, Ed? Where’s
my gun?” He clawed futilely at his
hip, where no gun was holstered.
“No suh, it wasn’t me.”
The girl gave an involuntary shud
der and closed her eyes for a second.
“Even if he’s a Poole rider, Pa, he
—did us a big favor,” she said, a little
color staining her cheeks. “We’ve
got to be grateful for that.”
“Are you the fellow that shot Pete
in the ears? They were talking about
that yesterday at Nate Wheeler’s
fune—” she.caught herself up, biting
her lip.
“Nate Wheeler’s funeral,” the kid
finished softly. “Yes’m, I had the
pleasuah of eah-mahkin’ Pete the oth-
ah evenin’.”
“Then you’re one of those Texas
killers. They said it was a Texas kill
er done that. Pa, ain’t you able to
get in the wagon? I can drive, if you
can sit and ride.”
She was in a hurry to get away
from him, even though he had saved
I her from Pete Gorham. Saved her
_ .. J ,_______1-r. .1 ___ -11
Her face Was pale and her mouth
drooped at the corners, and her eyes
were glassy with terror, but the
thought she was beautiful and
blushed a dark red as he tipped
hat to her.
“You hurt ,Pa?” The girl sank oh
her knees beside the old man. “Pete
shot you, didn’t he?”
“Pete? Pete who? The horses run
away. Guess they throwed me out.
Where was we goin, Nellie? Wasn’t
we goin’ some place?”
“We were going home, Pa.” She
was kneeling there, looking at the
blue, lump on her father’s head, and
from there he staring eyes turned to
the bullet wound in his side, which
the kid had left uncovered for furth
er ablutions of1 raw whiskey. “Don’t
you remember when Pete Gorham
took in after us, after Nate Wheeler’s
funeral, and you remembered you
never got your gun back from the
bartender before you left town?”
“Pete Gorham! Who’s he? I don’t
remember any—” (
The kid’s hand left its slow strok- | and her pappy’s life, and this was all
ing of the horse’s sweaty jaw. He the thanks he got. The kid swung on
walked over and stood beside the his heel and gave all his attention to
SEES ACTION AT 17
undertone.
“Reckon
whjle befo’
not look at
She glanced away toward the quer
ulous murmur of her dad’s voice.
“You better quit the Poole and get
outa the country,” she said hurriedly.
“The valley folks’ll kill you—•”
. She seemed to think that was say
ing more than she dared, for she
turned sharply away and drove off.
He went over to Pete Gorham, lift
ed him to his feet and faced him to
ward the valley.
“Go hunt yo’se’f a coyot£ den and
crawl into it,” he advised harshly, and
startfed back up the hill, climbing like
one in a great hurry.
The kid’s lips thinned and straight
ened when he remembered that girl
running for the hill,-Pete after her
with his rope. Any other man would
have shot to kill. But somehow this
thing of killing—it was plumb easy
to do, but yo’all never could put the
life back in a man once you’d shot it
'out.
Funny about the nesters being wise
to Pool rim, riders.
That funeral was another strange
thing. They buried Nate Wheeler
yesterday, she said. Then what did
they want to carry out a coffin and
start another procession to,-day for?
The kid couldh’t see any sense to it.
The kid turned his glasses on the
now-distant wagon and looked for
Pete. Might as well make shoah*he
wasn’t trying to trail the girl. No,
Pete was going straight across the
flat, making a beeline for Becker’s
coulee, as nearly as the kid could
judge. Satisfied, he turned the glass
es again upon the wagon.
■Shoah was a pretty girl. The kid
never had seen such yellow hair in.
his life. Wasn’t much like that darn
ed stuck-up girl back home that had
made fun of his yellow eye. This
girl, Nellie, never noticed his eye.
He sighed and gave another sweep
ing glance at the valley. Shoah was
a funny thing about that funeral.
Reckon they Were just trying to fool
him with it, like the girl hinted.
„Maybe they wanted' to go all in a
bunch somewhere and couldn’t figure
out any way to keep from being seen,
and maybe they just had a fake fun
eral to fool any Podle rim rider that
happened to be keeping case. Plumb
foolish. Easiest way* was to send
somebody along over here to bush
whack him. The kid gave a sudden
grunt of understanding. The nesters
had sent somebody, all right,
they thought they had. They’d
Pete Gorham. And Pete kinda
side-tracked, thinking he could
off that old man and get the girl.
The kid’s face darkened at the sim
plicity of the scheme. Pete had fig
ured he could do it and lay it to the
Poole. ThCy’d blame the Poole, and
they’d go running after thdm harder
than ever. But Pete didn’t make it
stick. The kid had come along and
fiked Pete good and plenty*
There was something in her voice
that was like her Hair. Something
like gold. Of course, yo’all couldn’t
say a voice was yellow, or had a’
shiny sound, but yo’all could kinda
imagine it was like gold, That girl
down in Texas—her voice was like a,
tin pan. Funny about voices—-they
.say more 'than words, sometimes.
More than a person wants their voice
to say. Hers did, Hers said she’d
shoah hate to have anything happen
to a rim rider.
The kid rode ’•dreamily along,
Watching the wagon as it bumped ov
er the dint trail in the grass. Watch-
ing just In case the might need help
or something. Girl like that didn’t
belong tp no nester outfit. She ot|ght
to have some big ranch cattleman for
a pappy and ride around on a nice,
gentle horse.
[ The wagon finally turned into a
shallow depression and was seen Ao
more from the rim. The kid marked
the place where she lived} marked it
•Or
sent
gOt
kill
Scene of siege and counter-siege over control recently. Nurse Estor She is hailed as a modern "'Florence
throughout the ages, the old city of
Jerusalem gave way again as British
troops dodged Arab snipers to take
(ABOVE), although just 17, follow
ed British tommies into the old city
of Jerusalem when it was retaken.
Nightingale”i
with a special significance in his
mind.
Now and then he swept the valley
with a perfunctory glance, but, most
of the time he was staring at the
ridge which hid her home. A thin
line of cottonwoods ran up along q
creek there. There were places where
the tops of the’trees showed above
the ridge. One place, where the
ridge dipped a little, the kid thought
he could, make out part of the roof
of a building. Might be rocks, but it
shoah did look like a roof,
The kid stirred uneasily and let the
glasses drop from his eyes. A long,
oddly attenuated shadow was sliding
stealthily down the rocks beside him,
a big hat and a pair of shoulders
growing longer as lie looked. The
kid sprang up like a startled deer, his
gun in his hand, and. pointing straight
at the man who stood looking at him.
Then suddenly the kid smiled sheep
ishly and tucked the gun back in its’
holster.
“Come alive like a rattler, didn’t’
yuh?” Babe Garner grinned. “Yog
been asleep?”
“No, I been watchin’ the valley.”
t “Hunh!” Babe’s tone sounded skep
tical.. “See anything?”
’*Saw a fune’l over to Nate Wheel-
ah’s place.”
“You didn’t report it to the Poole,”
Babe charged grimly. “What was the
matter? Paralyzed so you couldn’t
git to the pinnacle?”
“Nd. suh, I was right busy soon
aftah,” he said mildly.
“Doin’ whtt?”
“Shootin’ a nestah!”
“Hell! Why didn’t you say so?”
Babe’s tone had warmed amazingly.
“Some one tryin’ to dry-gulch yuh,
Tiger Eye?”
“I
way,
reckon he was, aimin’ that-a-
Babe.”
(Continued Next Week)
CRANBERRIES AND PUMPKINS
By Betty Barclay
Cranberries and pumpkins! Autumn
delicacies! How shall I-serve them
to be different?
Here are two recipes that will cer
tainly please and surpris’e those who
cat the finished products. No boiling,
no baking, not even an expensive egg
demanded—but the desserts are Real
with a capital “R”: «
Lemon Rennet-Custard with Cran
berry Whip
package lemon rennet powder
pint milk
egg white
tablespoons sugar
cup cranberry jelly
Juice of % lemon
Warm milk slowly, stirring
stantly until LUKEWARM—not hot.
A few drops of the milk on the in
side of your wrist should feel com
fortably warm. Remove from stove.
Stir rennet powder into milk briskly
until dissolved—not more than one
1
1
1
3
y3
con-
NEW FAMILY OF THE STAGE?
“Abe Lincoln in Illinois” brings
Canadian- born Raymond Massey
perhaps his greatest stage character
ization in the title role of Robert E.
Sherwood’s human and sympathetic
story of the. great U.S. president. Un
affected by the ire of a New York
tabloid which earlier denounced the
choice of a “foreigner” for the part,
critics praise Massey.’ Both Massey
minute. Pour at once, while still li
quid, into dessert glasses. Let stand
until it thickens—about 10 minutes*
Chill in refrigerator. When ready to
serve whip egg white until stiff. Add
sugar, lemon juice and cranberry jel
ly. 'If desired, a few drops’ of rasp
berry red food color may be added.
Top each rennet-custard.
Pumpkin Rennet-Custard
package lemon or orange
net powder
pint milk
cup canned pumpkin
tablespoon brown sugar
teaspoon cinnamon
teaspoon ginger
out individual dessert glasses.
1 ren-
1
%
1
J/2
%
Set
Warm milk with pumpkin, sugar and
spices until LUKEWARM—not hot.
A few drops of the mixture on the
inside of the wrist should feel com
fortably warm. Remove from stove.
Add rennet powder. Stir immediate
ly and briskly not more than one
minute. Pour at once into dessert
dishes. Let set until firm—about 10
and bis wife, the talented Orianne
Allen, are established fixtures of the
English theatre world. They have
two clever young sons, and it is nat
ural to speculate whether this union-
of two stage personalities may not
found a “stage dynasty” like the Bar
rymores. Sons Geoffrey and Daniel1
are seen with their parents.
minutes. Then chill in refrigerator.
When ready to serve top with slight
ly sweetened flavored whipped cream,
if desired.
Tragedian: “I think it within mjr
right to ask for real wine in the ban
queting scene.”
Manager: “Right, old man. And
perhaps you’d like real poison in the
death scene.”
FORD*H°teis
Choose
RATES1
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fCOHOW
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PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON
Located at the Office of the Late
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Office Phone 54. Nights 107
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Phones: Day 109W. Night 109J.
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* Telephone 29.
......................................... ' . .
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Money to Loan;
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THOMAS FELLS
AUCTIONEER
REAL ESTATE SOLD
A Thorough Knowledge of Farm
Stock.
Phone 231, Wingham.
» *
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M^R.C.S. (England)
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PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON
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Barrister, Solicitor, Notary, Etc.
Successor to R. Vanstone.
Wingham Ontario
It Will Pay Yop to Have An
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See
T. R. BENNETT
At The Royal Service Station.
Phone 174W.
DR. W. M. CONNELL
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON
Phone M.
R. S. HETHERINGTON
■ BARRISTER and SOLICITOR
Office -r Morton Block.
Telephone No. 66.
J. ALVIN FOX
Licensed Drugless Practitioner
CHIROPRACTIC - DRUGLESS
THERAPY » RADIONIC
equipment
Hours by Appointment
Phone 191. Wingham
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Physician and Surgeon
Located at the office of the late
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Phone 159. Wingham
..... .......... ..........
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OSTEOPATH
All Diseases Treated,
Office adjoining residence next to
Anglican Church on Centre St
Sunday by appointment
Osteopathy Electricity
Phone 272. Hoars, 9 a.tm to 8 p.m.
A. R. & F. E. DUVAL 1
CHIROPRACTORS
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