Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, June 27, 1917, Page 7

~ ie ~ SUNSET © REX BEACH Author of ** The Spoilers,” “The Iron T rail,” “The Silver Horde,” Etc. SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER I—Set afoot and alone by an sued from somewhere inside the house, It was rey There was un out- burst in a accident in the desert near the Rio Grande | Sie Sculine ‘voice, then the} Mrs. ey ce oin pastess of Las Paj-| Patter of footsteps approaching down | mas ani eria ranches, meets Da | the ec ‘ , > r Fee ECKESIRESEr aoe vai] aye ; e tiled ha : y. Dolores burst into } is compelled to spend the night there with; (°F mistress’ presence, her face] him, as he is in ambush for a mur blanchec » ' ore : cad’ cannothloavelhin igure: ‘derer | inched, he r hair disordered She | flung herself into Alnire’s arms, cry- CHAPTER Il—Next day at evening the| ing murderer appears with a companion. “sg 1s Senora Save me! God's curs CHAPTER IlIl—Law captures the mur-| on the ruff Oh—” : derer but is compelled to kill his compan- i" fon, Panfilo Sanches, who happens to be “Dolores! Alutre exclaimed, “Wh: @ cousin of Mrs, Austin's hotsebreaker : Sa ra ay Jose Sanchez. } | past, Dolores CHAPTER IV—At Las Palmas Alaire tells her husband, Ed, that his carousals and inebriety must stop. Her cattle at La Feria, the Mexican ranch, are con- fiscated by Longorio, Mexican federal general, and she finds that it is because Ed has been helping the rebel junta. CHAPTER V—On her way to in Mexico Alaire meets Long¢ Feria Ms in I ith b d attle falls in love wi her and agrees to settle tor the confiscated stock. CHAPTER VI—Entertained at their home by Blaze Jones and his daughter Paloma, Dave hears something about the Tad Lewis outfit, which is suspected of cattle stealing. With Ricardo Guzman and his boys Dave and Blaze go on a scout after cattle thieves, CHAPTER VII—Law catches two of the Lewis outfit branding a stolen calf and in a fight kills one and has his horse shot under him. He trails the other thief to Las Palmas, where he is insulted by Ed Austin, whom he knows to be very friend- ly with the Lewis outfit. CHAPTER XI—Dave and Alaire attend the Las Palmas rodeo. She presents Dave with a.horse to replace the one killed by the cattle thieves, They discuss the kill- ing of Panfilo. CHAPTER XII—Guzman does not re. turn from Mexico and his reported killi arouses Americans. Dave and Blaze ar- range to go to Romero across the river nd recover the body. Jose hears that Dave killed Panfilo and goe gorio. Paloma and Als a to the river to await th and Dave. Longorio appears at I mas with an escort and over Ed rears telephoning news of the trip after Guz- man to Tad Lewis. CHAPTER XIII—Longorio compels Ed to go to the river with him. The girls follow and hide in the phouse. The Lewis outfit appears. When Blaze and Dave cross the river a general mix-up is prevented by Captain Evans and his rang- ets who appear on the scene and support Dave. Dave arrests Urbina. CHAPTER XIV—Blaze dodges dress- makers and fortune tellers. CHAPTER XV--Strange, a fortune tell- er, warns Dave that Jose is_cooking up trouble for him and Alaire. Dave goes to fee her and in a moment of emotional stress they confess their love. CHAPTER XVI-—Ed, who had disap- eared after the Guzman incident, comes ack and Alaire decides to divorce him. She writes to her lawyer and to Dave. Jose carries Dave's letter to Longorio, who orders him to kill Ed. CHAPTER XVII—Alaire moves to di- vorce Ed. War with Mexico seems immi- nent. Dave comes to the Jones home sick. Strange warns him that Alaire is gone to La Feria and is in great danger. CHAPTER XVIII—Dave goes to Las Palmas and arrives just after the murder of Ed Austin. CHAPTER XIX—He rounds cives him the water cure and him confession that he killed up Jose, ets from , then starts for La Feria to protect Alaire. whom he knows Longorio will capture. He instructs Blaze to give the w matter the widest publicity and to send to Washington to sing battle hymns. CHAPTER XX—At La, Feria Alaire finds that she is Longorio’s prisoner. this Is not the passion of a moment, but of a Jifetime, and I have myself to consider. The wife of Mexico's next president must be above reproach; there must be no scandal, no secrets hidden away for enemies to unearth She must stand before the people as a perfect woman; she must lend pres- tige to his name. When I speak of compulsion, then, I mean the right of a husbund—” Alaire uttered an exclamation of dis- cust and turned away, but he inter- cepted her, saying: “You cannot hold meat bay. It is destiny. You shall be mine tonight. Think a moment! We are alone in the heart of a country * in every law but mine. Your is Go not know where you ure, frie and, even if they knew, they could not help you. Your nation’s protest would avail nothing. Outside of these walls are enemies who will not let you leave this house except under the protec- tlon of my name.” “Then I shall never leave it,” she told him. For the first time Longorio spoke roughly: “I lose patience. In God’s name have I not waited long enough? My strength is gone.” Impulsively he half encircled her with his thin arms, but she seemed armored with ice, and he dropped them. She could hear him grind his teeth. “I dare not lay hands upon you,” he chattered. “Angel of my dreams, I am faint with longing. To love you and yet to be denied; to feel myself aflame and yet to see you cold; to be halted at the very doors of Paradise! What torture!” The fellow’s self-control in the midst of his frenzy frightened Alaire more than did his wildest avowals; It was in something of a panic that she said: “One moment you tell me I am safe, the next you threaten me. You say } am free, ind yet you coerce me. Prove your love. Let me go—” a “No! No! I shall call the priest’ Longorio turned toward the door, but half-way acros# the floor he was halted by a woman's shriek which {s- has happened?” Longorio dcimunded, irritably: “Yes, | Why are you yelling like this?" “A man— See! One of those dirty | neladors, Look where he tore my} dress! Ty ed him, but he was lke t tiger, Benito will kill him when he learns—" “Calm yourself. Speak sensibly. Tell me what happene “One of those miserable soldiers who came today—pig!” Dolores was! sh her voice shrill. at, pe and saying the when Tw as waiting in the di and he seized me. My mon “A solc One of my men?” gorlo was incredulous. Aluire turned upon him with a bl iger in her f “Is this me | your protection stormed. “I] e you and your men the freedom of | ranch, and u insult me while} itil accusation, inquiring elder woman, “Who was the fel-| “He fol- und yrrible to your| > about like a Just now he w Lon- fr she niy they rob my w He ignored he of tt “How do IT know,’ Dolores sobbed. | “He is a—a thick, black fellow with a} scar on his lip, like a snarl.” | “Felipe!” “Yes, Felipe! him that.” Longorio strode to the end of the} living room, flung open the wooden | shutters of a window, and, leaning far out, whistled sharply on his fingers. I belleve they called | “Oiga! Teniente! Ho, you fel-j lows!" he shouted. From the darkness a voice an- swered; a man, evidently on guard, came running, “Call old Pancho,” the general di- rected. “Tell him to bring me black Felipe, the fellow with the torn Hp. Quick!" “Yes, general,” came the voice; then the metallic rattle of spurs and ac- coutrements as the sentry trotted aw Dolores had completely broken down now, and Alaire was trying to comfort her. Their guest remained by the win- dow, frowning. After a time there} sounded a murmur of voices, then a shuffling of feet in the hall; Alatre’s friend, the old lieutenant, appeared in the doorway, saluting. Behind him were several others, “Here is Felipe,” he announced. “Bring him in.” A sullen, frowning man in soiled uni- form was pushed forward, and Dolores hid her face against her mistress’ shoulder. “Is this the fellow?” Longorilo in- quired Dolores nodded. “Well, what have you to say for yourself?” The general transfixed his trooper with a stare; then, as the lat- ter seemed bereft of his voice, “Why did you enter this house?” Felipe moistened his scarred lips. “That woman has rings of gold. She's not so old, either, when you come to VALENTIN “well, What Have You to Say for Yourself?” FN ee abttin bens i : ii reel: Let us go outside and lear aOre and followed them of the room and down the hall anu tn\gnep. moment or two bad dragged quavered. “ they going to do with him?” “I don't know. Anyhow, you need | not fear—" There sounded the report of a gun- shot, deadened tndeea by the thick | adobe walls of the house, yet sudden and loud enough to startle the women. | Aluire standing stiff and white against ; the wall, with Dolores kneeling, her face still buried In her mistress’ gown. “Give yourself no concern,” he told them, quickly. “I beg a thousand par- dons for Felip Henceforth no one |} will molest you | “Was that a—shot?” Alaire inquired | faintly. ; “Yes. It is all settled.” “You killed him?” | The general nodded. “Purely for the | Sake of discipline—one has to be firm. Now your woman is badly frightened. Send her away s hat we may reach an understanding.” . “Oh—h! This is frightful,” Alaire gasped. “I can’t talk to you. Go— Let me go.” The man pondered for an instant “Perhaps that would be better,” he agreed reluctantly, “for I see you, too, fre unstrung. Very well! My affairs will have to wait. Take a few hours to think over what T have told you When you huve slept you will feel differently about me. You will meet me with a smile, eh?” He beamed fully. p? You expect me to sleep?” use,” he be © flowe that freshens it. Believe me, you ean rest In ull security, for no one can come or go without my consent. You are cruel to postpone my delight; nev. But ertheless, IT yield to your feelings. | | When Longorio reappeared, he found | | from Monclava, whence the rebels had | |" Yow was passed in a minute. | a priest, but probably he will do. ®] will mxke you rich.” “Ho! I wouldn't live to spend a single peso. Felipe disobeyed orders, and the general shot him before he could cross himself. Boom! The poor fel- No. Wi | will all be rich after we win a few battles and capture some Americar cities. Iam an old mun; I shall leave the drinking and the women to the young fellows, and prepare for my ol¢ age.” Seeing that she could not enlist Pan-| cho’s aid, Alaire begged him to fetch the priest. “You yoices and the stamping horses’ hoofs, The sounds were jufied by the heavy wooden shitters she had taken pains to close fnd bar, but they toid her Longorio hag peturned. Since it was futile to deny him entrance. she waited where she was. Old Pancho's voice sounded outside; then there| came a knock upon the door of the, room in which she stood. “Come in,” she sald tensely. The Heutenant thrust his head tn, and, removing his hat, announced, “There is someone here to see Gen- eral Longorio on important business, wish spiritual comfort, se! He says you will do.” nora?” pore “Perhaps.” “Yes. He says he is one of us—"| “Well, he doesn’t look like much of} | Pancho was pushed aside, the door AS) was flung back, and a man strode for me, I don't believe in such things. | swiftly into the lamplight. He paused, Churches are all very well for ignorant blinking as if momentarily blinded, and | people, but we Mexicans are too intel-| Alaire clutched at the nearest chair ligent; we are making an end of them.”| for support. A roaring began in her The priest was a small, white-halred| ears: she felt herself sway forward as man with a gentle, almost timid face, | jf the strength had left her knees. She } and at the moment when he appeared! heard Dave's voice faintly ; he was say- before Alaire he was in anything but| ing: | a happy frame of mind. He had under- “Take care of my horse. Feed and} gone, he told her, a terrible experience.! water her well, Understand? When | His name was O'Malley. He had come) General Longorio comes tell him I am | waiting here.” As if in a dream, Alaire saw the | Mexican go out, closing the door be- banished him under threat of death. He had seen his church despoiled of its valuables, his school closed; lie tilm- self had managed to escape only by a miracle. During his flight toward the border he had suffered every indignity, | }and finally Longorio had intercepted d. “Beauty ts like} Sim aud brought him here, practically and sleep is the dew | {1 chains, “What a situation! What chaos!” he lamented. “The land with bandits; there is no law, no au- thority, no faith; religion is made a mockery, The men are becoming inti- is overrun star of my life, I shall dream of you, | dels and atheists, and in many places and of that little priest who waits the key to Paradise in his hanc He howed over Alaire’s cold fingers, then stood erect until she and Dolores had gone, CHAPTER XXII. The Priest From Monclova. That was a night of terror for the women. Although Longourio's disci- pline wis in some wuys strict, in oth- ers it was extremely lax. From some quarter his men had secured a supply of mescal, and, forgetful of Felipe'’s unhappy fate, they rendered the hours hideous. There were singing and quar- reling, and a shot or two sounded from { the direction of the outbuildings, Morn- | ing found both Alaire and Dolores sadly overwrought. But they felt some relief upon learning that the gen- eral had been unexpectedly summoned from his bed at daylight, and had rid- den to the telegraph office. Profiting by his absence, Alaire ven- | tured from her room, racking her brain to devise some means of escape. But soldiers were everywhere; they lolled faround the servants’ quarters; they dozed in the shade of the ranch build- ings, recovering from the night's de- bauch; and paced the hacienda road gave evidence that, despite their apparent careless- ness, they had by no means relaxed their vigilance. A round of the prem- ises convinced Alatre that the place the futility of trying to slip away. realized, too, that even if she managed to do so, her plight would be little better. For how could she hope to cover the hundred miles between La Feria and the Rio Grande when every peon was an enemy? She was standing in one of the open, sashless good morning and paused to smoke a cigarette. “Well, it was a great night, wasn’t it?” he began. “And we have great news this morning. We are going to fight you gringos.” “I hope not.” “Yes; It will probably go hard with you. Tell me, this city of Washington is a fine clty, and very rich, is it not?” “Oh, yes.” “It's full of loot, eh? Especially the president’s palace? That is good, One can never believe ull one hears,” “Why do you ask?” Alaire was cu- rivus, “T was thinking it would pay us to go there. If your soldiers march upon Mexico City, it would be a brilliant piece of strategy for General Longorio to invade the United States, would it not? It would be funny to capture | Washington and hold your president for ransom, eh?” “Very funny,” Alaire agreed dryly. “How would you go about it?” Pancho shrugged. “That is the trouble. We would have to march around Texas, I presume.” “Around Texas?” “Yes. You see, Texas is a sad coun- try; it is full of—barbarians who know | how to fight. If it were not for Texas, we would have the United States at our mercy.” After some consideration, he ventured this opinion: “We could afford to pay the Texans for allowing us to ride through their country, pro- _ vided we stole nothing and paid for | the cattle we ate. Well, Longorio is great one for schemes; he is talking lover the telegraph with somebody at ‘;his moment. Perhaps it is the presi- | lent of Texas.” | “You are a poor man, are you not?” \laire inquired. “Miserably poor.” “Would you like to make a great deal | of money?” “Dios! That is why I'm a soldier.” “J will pay you well to get me two horses—” But old Pancho shook his head vig- orously. “Impossible! General Lon- gorio is going to marry you. We all got drunk last night to celebrate the wedding. Yes, and the priest is wait- Ing” - an armed sentinel who > was actually guarded, and showed her | She | windows when her former | protector, the old Heutenant, bade her | with | they will not allow us to give comfort ev 1 to their women,” “Ts it as bad as that?” Father O'Malley shook his head sad- ly. “You've no idea. What do you think of a people who forbid the men- tion of God’s name in their schools? That is what the revolutionists are doing. Candeleria clulms that the churches are the property of the state. He confiscutes them, and he charges admission. He has banished all ex cept a few of us priests, and has shamefully persecuted our Sisters of | Mercy. Oh, the outrages! Mexico is, today, the blackest spot on the map | of Christendom.” His voice broke. “That is the freedom, the liberty, the democracy, for which they are fight- ing. That is the new Mexico. And the federuls are not a bit better. This | Longorio, for instance, this—wolf—he } | ,you prevent it? brings me here, as his prisoner, to sol- | emnize an unholy marriage! He treats me like a dog. Last night I slept in a | filthy hovel—"” i “Oh! I'm sorry,” Alaire exclaimed. | “But I'm half crazed with my own | troubles. You must come into the) house; the best I have Is yours. You shall be as much my guest as I can | make you, and—perhaps you will heip | me to escape.” | “Escape?” The little man smiled. mournfully. “You are watched and | guarded, and so am I, Even if you | got away from here, what then? You | enn't imagine the tondition of the | country.” “I won't marry him!” Alaire cried, with a shudder, “I won't!” “He can’t very well force you to do so. But remember, these are war times; the man fs a fiend, and he puts no restraint upon his desires. If he is madly bent on having you, how can In normal times he would not dare injure one so promi- nent as you, but now—” Father O'Malley lifted up his hands, “TIT only wonder that he suggests a lawful mar- riage. Suppose you refuse? Will he not sacrifice you to his passions? He has done worse things.” After a mo- ment’s consideration, he said: “Of course it Is possible that I misjudge him. Anyhow, if you desire me to do so, I will refuse to perform the cere- mony. But—I'm afraid it will just mean ruin for both of us.” “Surely he wouldn't harm The father shrugged. “What am I? An obscure priest. Many of my broth- ers are buried in Mexico. However, I shall do as you wish.” As the day wore on Alaire realized even more clearly the fact that she was Longorio’s prisoner. His men, in spite of their recent debauch, kept very | good watch over her, and it was plain that they would obey his orders, no matter how extreme. It occurred to her finally that he was staying away purposely, in order to give her a fuller | appreciation of her position—so that | she might beat her wings against the cage until exhausted. Afternoon came, then evening, and | still Longorio did not return. Father | O'Malley could give scant comfort; Dolores was a positive trial. Half distracted, Alaire roamed through the house, awaiting her cap- tor’s coming, steeling herself for their final battle. But the delay was trying; she longed for the crisis to come, that this terrible suspense might be ended. At such an hour her thoughts natu- rally turned to Daye Law, and she found herself yearning for him with @ yearning utterly new. His love had supported her through those miserable days at Las Palmas, but now it was a torture; she called his name wildly, pas- sionately. He knew her whereabouts and her peril—why did he not come? Then, more calmly, she asked herself what he, or what anyone, could do for her. How could she look for suc- cor when two nations were at war? Night had come before she finally gave up and acknowledged the hope- iessness of her situation. She had fought bravely, but with darkness her fears grew blacker. She was on the verge of her first breakdown, when, in the early dusk outside, she heard you?” | that would not be She Heard Dave's Voice Faintly. hind him. Then she saw Dave come toward her, heard him speak her name, felt his arms around her. Alaire did not swoon, but she never could remember very distinetly those first few moments, Scarcely knowing what she did, she found herself cling- ing to her lover, laughing, weeping, feeling him over with shaking hands convinced of his reality. She was aware of his kisses upon her lips, her eyes, her hair; he was saying something which she could > not understand because of that roaring in her ears, “You heard me calling,” she told him at last. “Oh, I was—so frightened!" She clung closer to him, After a time she discovered that she was mechanic- ally nodding and shaking her head at the questions he was putting to her, but had only the vaguest idea what they were. tell him about Longorio, speaking in a sort of hypnotic murmur, as if ber words issued at his mental suggestion. And all the time she snuggled aguinst his breast. “Dearest!” gentle hands, to pleces like this, but I had to break through the best way I could, I learned you were here and something about Dave held her away in | what was going on from the people ut the next ranch. him here, too.” “How did you manage to get here?” “I bardly know. I just wouldn't let ‘em stop me. This Heutenant wouldn't let me in until I told him I was from Monterey with important news, I don't remember all I did tell him. I tried to But I expected to tind | get here last night, but I had trouble. They caught me, and I had to buy my way through. I've bribed and bullied and lied clear from Romero. I reckon they couldn't imagine I'd risk being here if I wasn’t a friend.” It was more Dave's tone words that roused Alaire to an appre- clation of what he said. “Are you alone?” she asked, in vague dismay. “Then what are we going to do?” “I don’t know yet. My plans ended | here.” “Dave! You rode in just to find me! Just to be with me?” “Yes. And to get him.” Alaire saw his face twitch, and realized that it was very haggard, very old and tired. “They lifted my guns—a bunch of fel- lows at the Rio Negro crossing, Sonte of them were drunk and wouldn't be- lieve I was an amigo. So I finally had to ride for it.” “Can't you take me away?” she asked, faintly. “What will you do when—he comes?” “I reckon I'll manage him somehow.” His grip upon her tightened painfully, and she could feel him tremble. “I was afraid I wouldn't find you. I— O God, Alaire!”, He buried his face in her hair. “I had at terrible scene with him last night. He insists upon marrying me. I—I was hoping you'd come.” “How could I, when nobody knew where you were?” “Didn't you know? I wrote you.” He shook his head. “Tuen how did you learn?” “From Jose. I caught him within an hour of the murder, and made him tell me everything.” Alaire’s eyes dilated; she held her- aelf away, saying, breathlessly: “Mur- By and by she began to} “I was afraid you'd go} than his} j “Oh-h!” Alaire hid her face Im her | hands. She looked up again quickly, | however, and her cheeks were white, | “Then he won't spare you, Dave.” She | choked for an instant. “We must get «away before he comes. There must Be some way of escape. Think!" ' “I'm pretty tired to think, 'm pretty near played out,” he confessed. “They're watching me, but they let you go.” “Now that I'm here I'm golng to stay until—" She interrupted, loudly, “Dave!” “Yes. What is it?” “Wait! Let me think.” She close@ her eyes; her brows drew together as if in the labor of concentration, Whem she lifted her lids het eyes were alight her voice was eager. “I know how. see it. He won't dare— But you do what I tell you.” “Of course.” “No questions. Understand?” When he nodded impatiently she to the door and, flinging it open, called down the hall: * ther! Father O'Malley! Quick! Then she summoned Dolores. The priest answered; he hurrtt from his room and, with a dazed lack) of comprehension, acknowledged his) swift introduction to Dave. Alaire was keenly alive and vibrant with purpose nev Dolores, too, came running, and while the men were ex hanging greet- crying his name ings her mistress murmured something in her ear, then hastened her depar ture with a quick push. Turning upon the others, Alaire explained ; ‘Tve for some of the women, and they'll be here in a minute, Be ther, this man hus come for me, Bia loves me, Will you marry us before Longorio arrives?” “Alaire!" Duve exclaimed, She stilled him with a “Quick! Will you?” Father O'Malley was bewildered. don’t understand,” he expostulated, “Nor 1,” echoed Dave. “You don't need to understand, ¥ know what I'm doing. I've thought of u Way to save us all.” An Incoherent refusal was upon his lips, but Alaire’s face besought him; & was shining with a strange, new ecs tasy, and he could not bring himself te deny her. Of what her plan consisted he had only the dimmest idea, but he assured himself that it could by no possibility succeed. After all, what did itr ter? he asked himself, They were trapped. This might si *, somehow, to cheat Longorio, and—Alatre would be his wife, ery well,” he stammered, weakly. | “What are you thinking of?” sent gesture. "J “I huven't thought it all out yet, | but—" | At that moment Dolores returned, bringing with her the three black- haired, black-shawled house servants, bundling them through the door and ranging them along the wall. Father O'Malley's face was puck- ered; he said, hesitatingly: “My dear madam, this isn't regular; you are not Catholics. How can I bless you?” “You can marry us legally, just the same, can’t you?” Aluire was breath- ing rapidly, and some part of her eager- ness began to thrill her hearers, “Oh yes, but—” “Then marry us, please! Please!” Law nodded. He could not speak, for his mouth was dry. His heart was beating violently; his temples were pounding; all the blood of his body seemed centered in his head. Before the eyes of the four wonder | ing wemen Father O'Malley married them. It seemed to Alaire that he would never reach the end, although, in fact, he stumbled through the cere- mony swiftly. Alaire clipped his last | words short’by crying :* “Tell these people so that they'll un- derstand what It all means. ‘Tell them to remember they have seen a mar- | riage by the church.” And make haste, standing. Then Dolores led them out. CHAPTER XXIII. The Man of Destiny. “Now, then, I'll explain,” said Alaire, | turning to the men. “Longorio declares he won't have me except as his wife, and I think he means it. He is amaz- ingly egotistical. He has tremendous ambitions. He thinks this war is his great opportunity, and he means to be president—he's sure of it. He loves me, but he loves himself better, I’m sure. Now, don't you see? He'll have to choose one or the other.” Father O'Malley did not appear te appreciate the full force of this YTea- soning. “My dear,” he said, gravely, “he can make you a widow again, In such times as these men are savages,” “Oh, but that's not all,” Alaire turned to her newly made husband, “They let you in, and they’ll let you out again—if you go quickly, befare it’s known what we've done.” Dave stared at her in bewilderment. “I? I go, and—leave you?” He seemed doubtful of her sanity. “Yes.” When he laughed shortly, Alaire cried: “Dave, you must! Don’t you see what I'm driving at? If he can’t marry me, if he finds you're gone and he can’t lay hands on you, what can he do but let me go? Dave dear, for my sake, for the sake of us both—” “You're excited,” he told her, and drew her to himself gently. P “Please! Please!" she implored. “You don’t know that man,” said Father O'Malley, with conviction. But Alaire insisted, half hysterically now: “I do; that's just It, I do know him. He is planning the greatest things for himself, his head is in the clouds, and he daren’t do the things he used to do, That's why I called in those women as witnesses. He can’t put them out of the way. With Dave gong. (Continued Tomorrow) The priest did as he was airectéa, | and his audience signified their under-, DOA Sree) ‘