Evening Star Newspaper, February 18, 1923, Page 70

& Dramatic Incidents of Action, Color, Thrills, Surprises and the Girl W’lp Was Back.in Iowa. QUIET afternoon hour in Did. sey Drier's barroom in Bolima. Old Mul Akers was there and Tollier Dip. Dipsey himself wa# present; also a tall stranger, who sat apart at a table in the shadows. This stranger didn’t appear to have the remotest interest in the talk of the others, which was mainly about a former citizen of Bolima who lhad disappeared—a young man they called David, who had brought a lot of raw gold to town one morning, saying he had found a rich lode on the other side of the foothills. This voung David had promised to let his fellow-gitizens of Bolima in_ on dig- sings.adjacent to-his claim. He had “s0ld” some yery Tich mineral for currency of the realm and left for; San Diego to get @ pack and work outfit,” but he hadn't been heard of io several months. Mul Akers now spoke: “Davey didn't lgok like he just come in from the mountains when he comes here with his first stack, Ehears Mr. Rob Travis say.in tlie aBsay office that Davey's stack don’t look Jike no gold he's seen on'this side of the bor- But theré.was crushin' already done on that stuff Davey brings. in, not one-man hammers, but machine work. There's some big mines over in Mex- ico that trauspert their stuff half- leaned like that from the moun- rains to the mills “Our Davey!" said “You Hints that he's been robbin’ a Mexican. pack train, an' I had heart.all set that he had found old MeConachfe's lost lode over in Haunt- ed valley." “I'm’sayin’ as what Mr. says.” Mul answered patiently. “Also Mr. Travis says: ‘Dave Ilcomb was in a hurry when he was here and kept pullin’ up his shirt collar to cover a bullet scar in his throat.’ That scar might have somethin, to do with a man bein’ peaked—like Davey looked. “Then.over at Bidvard's, where Mr. Travis boards, he happens to hear some one bring up the old subject of the Transcon train robbery, and how the man holdin’ up the day coach was shot in the meck by a ranger from Little Top.” “But the train gang run off the bandits outside that night and there sn't a dollar taken from the ex- nress or mail cars,” said Tollier Dip. “The man inside, workin' on the pas- sengers of the day coach, didn't get away with no three jack loads of rot- ten ripe ore.” % ok oK HE tall stranger now came for- ward {rom the shadows and diffi. dently showed the badge of a forest ranger. “Excuse me. gentlemen. he said, his words slightly muffled and im- neded. “My name !s Billings. I am stationed on Little Topnot and I'd like to sit in to this conversation.” “Which is accorded,” said Didsey Drier. “What sort of a looking voung man was this Davey vou speak of?” “He wasn't tall exceptional,” Did- sey began. “Nor shoft, either,” said Tollier Dip. “He was smooth-faced ‘and inno- cent,” Didsey resumed, “and could ‘ook up {Into your face winnin'- ke and amtable. He wasn't hand- some—" “He wan’t bad-looking, either,” said Tollier Dip. “Could he shoot?’ Ranger Billings tnquired suddenly. “Dave licomb could. shoot,” said Tollier Dip. “Didsey, you're not fo: mottin’ as how Le knocked the last shoebutton off a rattler's tall in L cas’ backyard—-" . “The young man T have reference to could shoot” said the ranger, clearing his voice. “He wasn't tall and he wasn't sliort. As to his being amiable, T couldn't state, because he Yiad a mask on at the time—I refer to the bandit on a Transcon day coach castbound on the Ragged Wren grade,” said the ranger. Chairs drew neare “You was on that train?” as ter Dip. “I was on that train” said the ranger. “I was in the back seat of that particular coach. The masked voung man came forward, ng his pouch and kidding the passengers along as he took what they had. When he was a little less than half the way through the coach I lifted sudden from the seat and let drive one shot, which he ducked success- ful. Aleo, he fired back, making it advisable for me to loll behind the £t seat.” Then you kidded Him from behind the seat you had clim' back of." eaid Tolller Dip. “That is, according to the papers—-" “Which is correct,” said the ranger. ‘Neither of us had drawn blood by this time. T was figuring to get him hefore he got to me, and the bandit was figuring the sume. His figures worked .out.. He didn’t wait for me to hegin. This that buzzes a little when T talk,” indicating his upper lip, 2 birthmark. It was from one of t! bandit's shots. to myself about as close to the place where I.wear the ranger’s badge as a rian can assimilate a forty-five slug and prosper much afterward. “But you got him after that—accord- ing to the papers,” breathed Tollier Dip. ‘Yes, 1 registered in his neck, after 1 hiad been sentenced to thres months Toliler Dip. ed Tol. < i HERE was another silence helarei the ranger added: “Ot course, there isn't any ¢om- parison as tp which of those bullets hurts the most no “It don’t look so bad, ranger. It vas only at first 1 thought you had & hair-1ip,” said Mr. Dreir. Mul Akers eased the tension: “I never could get it straight in my mind how the bandit got away that night, ard hit as he was; and abaut the follow who helped him—— “The man who helped him was Tioger Dryden, the bank robber, of Pasadena, on his way to serve a ten vears' sentence at the pen in Bar. clay,” sald the ranger. “He was ting. in the middle of the car, mana- cled to .Deputy Sheriff Drinkwater, when the bandit comes along and re- leages him on general principles. This Dryden-appears to be the sort.who pays cash for a favor. I was on the floor by this’ time, but they tell me Roger Dryden fought his way.out of the car for two. They ran onto.a couple of horses outslde and haven't been heard of since. All who saw the hold-up man after my last shot say that he couldn’t possibly. survive that hole in the neck and live. 1¢ it was Dave Ticomb who held ‘up that train, he five said Mul \kers. *And, as T, was sayin'. Mr. Rob Travis sees.lhe remains of that bolé in the neck you spedk of:’ my | Travis | His other shot I took = ! ! i where LISTENED—-LOOKED DOWN TOWARD THE SPRING AND LISTENED. BILLIN “What you goin' to do about it, Tollier Dip Inquired. “That train robber spoiled me, ranger answered slowly. *I feel call- ed 10 be interested in his case.” “1 wouldn't like to be Dave Ilcomb, not with that fellow after me,” mused Tollier Dip, after the ranger had backed out of the barroom. Three weeks later Didsey Dreir stared at the front page of vester- day’'s paper from Los Angeles, and what he saw there caused him to an- | nounce to those present: “Gents, you'll sure have to excuse me abrupt. I'm takin’ the stage for Pasadena in exactly twelve minutes.” On the same day Ranger Eillings sat at the door of his station as the sun went down and ‘stared away off toward the sea. The legs of his chair dug into the disintegrated granite of Little Topnot's crest, over 8,000 feet high, and commanded a hundred miles of surrounding scenery. Back and a little north Big Top himself hunched up nearly 3,690 feet higher. Billings had always had a laugh at life, but the laugh was gone. I upper lip was a broken thatch. It didn’'t grin when the rest of his face did. Also there was a girl waiting to be sent for, but no girl could live with that sitting opposite jat her table—not on a ranger's sal- ary The ranger opened ‘Yesterday's pa- per, which brought up from the post office. After one long look at the front page he called: “Put on what you've got handy, Jake. I'm riding down trail before dark they need me tomorrow whether they know it or not. They caught Roger Dryden in New York five days ago, and he arrives in Pas- adena tonight.” EXT morning Billings with IN peputy Sheriff Drinkwater and the racaptured bank robber in the latter's cell at the Pasadena jail “You've changed, Ranger.” Roger Dryden remarked with his tired smile. That mustache. When I saw you last you didn't have enough upper lip to —excuse me if the subject's pain- sat | fur—— “You've changed yourself, Mr. Dry- den,” Billings said. Deputy Drinkwater's mood was jovial and proprietary as he explain- ed: “Roger’'s been in the hands of a face specialist in peeled and reefed tight. so he look: tike @ movie queen, all but them gray eyes. gerous as ever, Ranger. scar we've been looking €0 hard for Is gone. That face surgeon—" “That face surgecn will get a case of poison vy one of these days,” Dry den sald without feeling. Drinkwater left the cell for several minutes. “I'm curious to know hoy they hap- pened to get you in New York?" the ranger began. “I was mugged here after the bank affair—prints sent all over, offering reward,” Dryden said. “In New York 1 got one of those ideas of going stralght. A scar on my cheek left me wide open. A face specialist cleaned me up. Ie took $600 cash from me for his operation, then turned me over for the $1,500 reward—" “Staggers a man’s faith in the hu- | man family—a chap like that” said Ranger Billings. Dryden glanced at him with a queer, dry smile, but saw that the ranger more than half meant what he | said. “What did you come for, Ranger?” Dryden asked. “I haven't been able to forget that holdup gent we met on the Transcon.” “There was one good kid,” Dryden said sadly. “I'd like to have known him better.”. “You mean that masked young per- son is dead?" “I didn’t know there was any doubt about that,” Dryden said. If there was a secret back of Dry- den’s words there was not a flick or quiver of a tissue in his face to be- | tray what he knew. Billings hated a thief, but'he hated the face specialist sort more, right now. Dryden faced ten years' oblivion at Barclay. I#' the holdup party wasn’'t really dead, and Dryden was quietly insisting he was, to keep a pal more safely at large—well, this was the sort of thing Ranger Billings fell for in spite of his disfigurement and the secret ache in his heart about the girl waiting in Towa. ws e ® Of course, after he had taken the pains to free me, I couldn’t leave that kid,” Dryden was saying. “T saw he was hard hit from that last shot of yours—hard hit and leaking. The rest of his bandit crowd outside had been driven off by the post office clerks and express messengers, but we found two ‘loose horses. in Towa ! his - assistant. had just to get a stage for Pasadena,! New York—been | They're just as cold and dan- | The face | 1 THE SUNLY BTAfL, VWABHINGTON [ iorse was the kid’s. The other belong- ed to the bandit they got outside. We hadn’t ridden far before I had to stop |and tie the kid onto his saddle. 1 had 1 to tie up his neck, too. Later I heard Inim whispering—whispering for me to go on, that he was done for. When 1 stopped a little while after that he had made good on those last words. 1 couldn’t get the lariat loose, so I left him, saddle and all. But his Inorse followed mine, loose.” “The body was never four ranger said. “It was dark, a couple of hours be- fore daybreak. It was a pebbly hol- low T left him in—like an arro “ould you go there again? ‘Only by luck,” Dryden said quiet- “I didn't know the country." % % % d," the ILLINGS arose to depart. Roger Dryden’s hearing was set for| four the same afternoon in Judge | | Baker's court, on the sixth floor of the | { Sequoia building. Didsey Dreir was {there from Bolima. Judge Baker. { Drinkwater and two other deputies, a court clerk or two, Ranger Billing d four or five men from the hills, The proceedings were rushed through. The ranger scarcely listen- ed. The slight, natty figure of the bank robber standing between Drin water and another deputy held h cyes. Now he saw Roger Dryden slowly turn his way. Presently, just behind him whipped up from the seat, and aBove his head called quietly: “Come on, pal. I've got every gent in the house covered.” 5 It was a voice that Ranger Billings | f & body voice knew, that kidding, bantering volce | he had leard in the day coach of the Transcon train. A Land was laid on his shoulder, and the same voice said: “Be good, Ranger. - I always did Itke your style and would has to have to put you on sick report again.” Billings saw Drinkwater and the deputy on the other side of Dryden witih hands raised. Dryden ducked under the arms of the two deputies and was running low up the aisle. The train robber's voice finished a sentence for Billings alone: ¢ s ¢ Not a man in the house | but T'd rather puncture than your- | | self, Ranger. Let's keep this qulet land gentlemanly—only rapid.” | 1t was so rapid, in fact, that Ranger Billings didn’t 1ift from his daze until 0-HO," said Mr. Hen “twinty-eight da; Saint Pathrick’s da “Ar-re ye keepin' Lent?” asked Mr. Dooley. “I am,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I put th' pipe back iv th’ elock day befure yisterdah night. Oh, but th' 1as’ whift iv th' ol clay was plisint. Ar-re ye keepin' Lent?” “I am that,” said Mr. Dooley. ‘“I'm on'y smokin’ me seegars half through, an' T take no sugar in me tay. Th' Lord give me stren'th to last till Pathrick’s day! “I'm leepin’ Lent, but I'm not goin' up an' down th' sthreet tellin’ people about 1 ain't anny prouder iv keepin® Lent thin I am iv keepin’ clean. In our fam’ly we've always kept it. “I raymimber seein' me father tuc away th' pipe, cork up th’ bottle an’ |put it in a thrunk with something between a moan an' a cheer, an’ begin to find fault with th’ wurruld. ‘F'reus kids Lent- was no gr-great | hardship.- It on'y meant not enough | iv something besides meat. I don't raymimber much about it excipt that lon Ash Winsdah ivrybody had a smudge on his forehead; an' afther awhile th’ house begun to smell a little iv fish, an’ about th’ thirtieth day th' eggs had thrown oft all dis- guise an’ was just plain, yellow egge. “Yes, siri in our fam'ly we all kept Lent but me Uncle Mike. He started with th’ rest, an’ £'r & day or two he wint up an’ down th’ road whippin’ butchers. 'Twas with gr-reat diffi- culty, Hinnissy, that he was pre- vinted fr'm marchin’ into the’ neigh- borin® loons an’ poorin’ out th' sthrong wathers on th' flure. “¥'r a short distance me Uncle Mike was th’ most pious man I have iver met. - At such times he organized th' Uncle Michael th' Good S'ciety, an' wint ar-round inityatin’ mimbers. To hear him talk about nine o'clock on Ash Winsdah mornin’ ye'd think he was jus’ goln’ into th’ arena to fight a line befure th’ onholy Roman popy- lace.. He'd take down ‘Th’ Lives iv th’ Saints' an’ set r-readin’ It with a condescindin’ smile. on his face like a champeen athlete goin’ over th' ol’ records. | l | 0ne good in their day, Mo doubt, but where tance Christyan champeen. He started * kR “e H, yes,’ he seemed to be sayin’, ‘“They were all reright, very | other; |ery by his pal. it was over and he heard Didsey Dreir's hoarse volce close to his ear: “Our own little Davey of Bolima—" Dryden and his rescuer had slipped softly out of the double doors into the hall. - A roar then from the deputies, a rushing forward to find that the doors were fastened. They gave on their floor bolts, but the outer knobs were held together. The entire body of men in the courtroom rushed back | through Judge Baker's private office and out into the hall by another door, to find that David and his Jonathan had caught an elevator down. e Ye i Didsey Dreir was saying, back in Bolima the next morning. “It was @ hand-cuff that fastened the out door—a steel hand- cuff slipped over the two knebs and | locked.” “They'll never get out without the Tollier Dip remarked impres- stvely. The morning papers from the city had given themselves full-heartedly to the story of Roger Dryden's deliv- The old story of the Transcon hold-up was retold. A real man hunt was on. A thou- sand doilars reward was posted for Dave Tlcomb, and fifteen hungred for the twice-escaped bank robber of Pas- adena. The two getaways of Dryden and licomb, their adamantine loyalty to cach other and the novelty of Dry- den’s sscond’ capture .through a face speclalist, furnished detalls of a big summer standpoint. Billings had taken part in the man hunt at first, but Drink- water and his sort didn't wear well afield. The ranger was mainly riding alone, these later days, and one of his | rides took him to a ridge overlooking Haunted Valley. Far below was an old cabin built by a miner named Mc- Conachie, forty years before. A ru- mor connected with the valley, so per- sistently as to become tradition, was | that somewhere about was a lode of | gold, wonderfully rich. Just as per- sistently hung about the cabin a story that old McConchie's ghost was won't to return. ** % x ILLINGS had been on fore, and had happened upon a si- lent spring. He had counted on find- ing it again this night, but dark closed in and he was forced to make a dry camp. In the morning gray the position of the spring opened up like a mathematical example one has story from a -newspaper | ils ridge be- | D. struggled over the night before. Bil- lings was letting himself down a ra- vine toward It, when he heard voices. | Two men, at least, were on their way up to the spring. as he was on way down. One of the man-hunting parties, he thought. His left foot darted out to stop a small that had started to slide, and in that position he stood stock still. He would wait until they filled their can- | teens and vamoosed. It was still half |dark in the bottom of the ravine. | Minutes passed before a voice reached { him: S 5 Sure. I can make it. | Back at dark, with coffee, beans and pork. You can lie up safe here. No |one comes to this spring.” |""A weak murmur of a voice an- | wered, and then a laugh from the {tirst—a laugh Billings had come to knoy | *T'nl take a chance. Not on | your ljte. 1 won't stop for a big feed over there in Calienje. I'll be a hurry- in' back here to our own poison-oak tree for our party. So long, pal A full minute after that, Ranger Pillings reached his hand slowly down and picked up the loose boulder under his left foot. He placed it safely on a ledge where it couldn't slide, and wiped his forehesd with his sleeve. | His enemies had been delivered into {his hands — twenty-five hundred. {counting both rewards, and the old score settled. Dryden lying vp, starving to death—Dave Ticomb | foreea out of cover for food! | Twenty minutes later. Billings was less than forty feet lower down from | the point where he had first heard | voices, but he knew mow exactly where fils man lay, like a stag in his} form, deep in'a brush of ferns twenty | ceet lower still. He waited for a ray | L tual sunlight to penetrate the ferns. From time to time he heard a moaning breath, “Hello, Dryden,” he said at las close as one in the same room. “Hello—-"" ‘Don't draw, {cide to draw. rt, hungry “Lost, Mister—lo wail. Nings chuckled inaudibly. till had a shift to work Dave Tlcomb's tracks Now that's too bad.” Billings sald |indulgently. “Excuse me for being suspicious, but T note that you reached for & six-shooter.” Tt's the matter— oung fellow. What's ' cane a sudden Dryden to cover BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE. “HE WAS DISCOVERED SETTIN' ON A SAWHORSE SHED, PUFFIN' AWAY.” wud they be now? They'se no mintion iv Saint Jerome goin’ without his smoke, an’ I haven't had a pipe iv tobacky since 12 ‘o'clock last Choos- dah night, an’ here it's 9 o'clock ‘Winsdah mornin"’ “Thin he wud look casully to'rd th’ back v th' book to see whether p'raps something mightn't 've been put in about him at th’ las moment, an’ thin he wud throw it down an' say to him- silf: “Th* Lives iv’ th’ Saints f'r elghten hundred an’ seventy ain’t out yet,' an march savegely fr'm th* room, kickin® his nieces an’ nevvews as he wint. At 4 o'clock In th' afthernoon he was dis- covered be me father settin’ on a horse in th’ woodshed, puffin’ away at a pipe with a bowl like a small stove that he'd took away fr'm a German, an’ singin’ to himsilf. “But me Uncle Mike, thoush a gr- reat warryor in his day an' th’ soul iv s-ciety, was not a model I'r a_long-dis- IN THE WOOD- wtih th’ others, but he always pulled up lame. - - “Th' throuble with him, an’ th’ throuble with th' rest iv us, is that we explct to be canonized in time to show th® brief to th’ fam'ly at dinner. So I say 1 don’t goar-round cillybratin’ Lent. “I don’t expict Father Kelly will sind down th' Father Macchew Fife an’ Dhrum Corps to serenade me because I left that lump {v sugar out iv me tay an’' put in twice as much milk. *No, sir, I congratulate mesilf on me sthrong will power, an’ rayflict that sugar makes people fat. “I am niver goin’ to place anny medals on anny wan f'r bein’ varchous, Hinnissy, f'r it varchue ain't always necessity, me boy. it's th’ next thing to it. T've been tim'prate because too much dhrink doesn't agree with me; modest because I look best that wa. gin'rous because I don't want to be thought stingy: honest because iv th" polis force; an' braye whin I can’t r'run away. 4 boulder’| C, FEBRUARY 18 1923—PART | 9. THE SILENT SPRIN ALSO STUDIED THE MYSTERIOUS THING CALLED FIDELITY. The yanger hopped down from hi sheltered seat and a minute later Dry. den's gray eyes steadied upon him i(rom the deep shadow of the ferns, his “Hello, Billings,” he said quietly. “Your voice was familiar, but I didn't place it for a minute.” “Where is your partner, Dryden?” “Tell me. That's what I want to know most. other four days ago.” Blllings sat down close to Dryden’s ‘head. The face, so round and filled six weeks before in Pasadena, was darkened and wasted now. “Dryden,” the ranger said quletly, “I'm forced to conclude that you're| vnreliable about Dave Ilcomb's where- abouts. Pasadena that Dave was dead. And now vour mind wanders about them four days, because I was sitting up yonder when your pal leaves for a ay’s jaunt to Caliente.’ The only change in the other's face was an added weariness. Billings filled his water-bag, then bent over and started to help the starving one to his feet. “What veu goin' to do, en asked dully. u up the ravine a piece where my horse is. Tl have a whole lot of fun with you up there, ranger?”’ D ) | Mr. Dooley On a Lenten Sermon | $6OCK GROGAN, who's an ol' Pa- gan, don't agree with Father Kelly on more thin two things, though they're th' frindliest v inimies; an’ wan {v thim is Lent. “Father Kelly says 'tis good f'r th’ soul, an' Dock Grogan he says ‘tis good f'r th' body. It comes at th' r-right time iv th’ year, he says, whin ivrybody has had a winther iv stuffin’ thimsilves an' floodin' their inteeryors an’ settin’ up late at night. It's a kind iv & stand off £'r th' Chris'mas holidays. We quit atin’ meat because 'tis Lent— an’ we've had too much meat. We quit smokin’ because ‘tis Lent—an’ we have a smokers' heart. We quit dhrink (if we can drink at all, these days) be- cause it's Lent—an' we want to see if th’ brakes ar're wurrukin’. We quit goin’ to th’ theaytres because it's Lent —an’ we're sick iv th' theaytres. If it wasn't £ Lent in March none iv us wud live till th’ Fourth {v July. ‘In Lent,” says Father Kelly, ‘I get me congregation back.' ‘In Lent,’ says Dock Grogan, ‘I lose mine.” ‘Lent,’ says Father Kel: thim nearer hiven.' ‘An away,’ says Dock Grogan. It's hard wurruk f'r me, but I like it says Father Kelly. ‘It's my .vacataion time,’ says Dock Grogan, ‘but I don't car f'r it’ “‘It makes thim think iv th’ next wurruld,” says Father Kelly. ‘An’ gives thim a betther hold on.this, says Dock Grogan. “‘It's relijon,’ says Father Kelly. ‘It's medicine,’ says Dock Gragan. “So I say, no medals, plage, f'r me on account iv that lump iv sugar. I done me jooty an’ no more. Whin th’ divvle timpted me to put in th’' lump T sald: ‘Get thee behind me, Satan; I'm too fat mow.' That was all. I done what was r-right, because it wa r-right an' plous an’ a good thing f'r me to do. I don't claim no gratichood. 1 don't ask f'r anny admiration iv me plety. But don’t I look betther, Hin- nissy? Don’'t ye see I'm a little thin. ner?” “Not an inch,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Ye're. th’ same hippypotymus ye was.” “Well, well,” ‘brings longer said Mr. Dooley. That's sthrange. P'raps I'm a bet- ther man, afther all. How long did ye say it was to Pathrick's Gay' £Oopyright, 1028.) Dave and I lost each I'm recalling how you said in | G slicing bacon®and pouring coffee for a man who hasn't fed himself lately. Fifteen minutes later, Billings had watered his horse and was blowing into life a one-pan fire. Coffee water ‘was on to boil. Roger Dryden spoke: “Excuse me, ranger, but I'm eating when Dave comes in tonight, and not | before. If you heard what he sald as he was leaving, you must have marked that he wouldn't stop in Cal- iente for a feed, only to pick up what he could carry and hurry back.” “You won’t have breakfast with me?’ the ranger inquired, his eyes fixing themselves upon the wasted face. Dryden shook his head. | “f don't see how I can relish the| lfla\'nrl of bacon and coffee under such circumstances,” Billings muttered, putting the cover on the coffee can, and bundling up the pork in its can- vas sack, orry,” said Dryden, “but you go ahead and have your breakfast. You won’'t bother me. Why, Billings. you g0 as long without grub as we have, and grub don’t matter any more. I'ty in training for a regular hunger. strike. * k % % ) i T wasn't easy after that for Ranger _Billings- to carry out his half- {formed idea to rope Dryden securely ‘and leave him here, while he rode {over to Caliente to head off Dave {Ticomb. 'Billings just couldn't bring I himself to coil his lariat ‘around. a |man half-dead from starvation, who wouldn't eat until his pal came. Al the time, the thought was gnawing at him, too, that Dave Ilcomb would Tun into somebody else’s hands on his | way, or meet recognition ovaer there in the desert town. The thousands ,dollars’ reward for the train rob {looked mighty good to Billings'in {connection with the stake he could pull down from bringing in Dryden. Also, the idea of bringing both tie | boys in gave a fascination. to the idea | of his writing a letter to the girl in| |lowe.. But his heast falled, and that | | was the end of it. Dryden was strangely clear headed. but hopeless, like a man ready to | 1§ EVER T IN THE HOUS| COV st die. He seemed nof to hold the slig est grudge against Billings, but thers | was a deep aching bitterness in his mind against the face surgeon in N York. “That’s the sort of guy they leave wide open in this man's world,” he | muttered. “You can be a yellow pols- {cat, and get by with it.” Billings saw the point, all right. |and it didn't make him feel any more | comfortable. | “Why, Dave was on an honest-to- |God job over in the big town, holding onto a rivet hammer, six or seven hours a day, going steady and straight. I had to get the scar cut} out of my cheek or run the risk of arrest every time I passed a bull on the street. Dawe and I agreed that I'd better have that operation. You see, he was marked for his last job on the Transcon. He felt pretty safe, too, because the word was out hie wa: dead. But he never felt safe for me. “Was he with you when you were arrested in New York “No,” Dryden answered. “I didn’t =ee him afterward. He was on his job. They picked me up in the street | and railroaded me west that night.| Couldn’t get a word to Dave. He must have got his news from the afternoon papers and followed on by the next| train. It was as much of a surprise | to me, a5 any one else—what he pulled off in the ourtroom in Pasadena.” * ok % W HAT day was like a half a summer to Ranger Eillings. He strolled off in the thicket and munched & ba- con sandwich by himself. He smoked ' up a week's supply of cigarettes. He came to share the dull hopelessness of Dryden, but his mind was confused while “the other's was clear. All through the-afternoon he studied the agony of the starving one; not the gony for food, but an agony that called upon heaven and earth for some way to warn his pal. Billings saw the sweat come to Dryden's wasted face, as he listened—Ilooked down toward the spring and listened. Billings also studied the mysterious thing called fidelity—the first and last article of Roger Dryden’s code. The ranger realized he was taking a long chance every minute now. If not prevented. Dryden would surely ignal the instant he heard his pal down by the epring. That would’ mean a pistol duel. Billings had had about all the pistol stuff he cared for with 2 master like Dave Ilcomb; and yet he couldn’t bring himself to force a gag into Dryden's mouth, as the shadows of afternoon lengthened, any more than he had found it possible to rope him. early in the day. One idea 7% l troubled him until he spoke: “But Dave's been starvin’ just as you have.. How was he fit to foot it the twenty miles to Caliente, there ” { every roused faculty | The ranger had to wat. BY WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT. . and back, when you can't get up: Yellow day still lay upon the p. but evening was deep in the valiey and dim upon the slope where toe; camped. Bfllings now hee tribute of one bad boy {or ang “You saw Dave keep his foot in t! day-coach. Why, that kid couldn dfe, unless he let go himself. 1i wasn't it te go to Caliente any mo:« than T was. Only he's game. Thu kid's 50 game, ranger. he freczes you and he's just as square as he game!” Dryden was shivering in the nig cold. Billings brought his saddic blanket and put it over the little man ‘our blood's all whitened out. mis ter,” he said gently. “I can't start fire with your pal coming in. It would draw his ghot from the brush. I'vc been feeling a need for the last hou or two to keep out of range from e low.” Dryden’s hopeless eyes stared dow toward the spring. “Dave told me it was only twelve miles over to Caliente and back,” lLe muttered Billings heard 2 faint crackle down by the spring, evidently before the sound reached the other's ears “Dryden,” he said, bending over the other in the dusk, 11 have to asik you not to make any nofse, not to make any answer—if we should hap- pen to hear your partner down by the spring.” “What would you do it I did " D. {den said, a lttle breatnlessly. The ranger drew a gun. The other laughed with scorn. “Axn body would think I was afraid to b put out of my misery,” he said, pus! ing himself softly up from the grou He was looking into the rang face—a queer, leisurely scrutin Suddenly his mouth opened and the vell was out: “Back, Dave—danger—ranger! Billings laughed softly. “You dil hear him, then, a minute ago. You've sure got & poker face, young fellow * * What are You so busy with under your blanket?" He bent forward with a swift move ment and caught Dryden's hand. A rock was in it the size of a duck's ez Uncomfortable lying on, was it? Billings asked. He saw a faint grin on the other's face in-the dusk. “Worked it loose under the blan- ket? Poor little tool—meant to mash my head in. But I don't blame you Roger.” The other seemed scarcely to hear intensely con- centrated down slope toward the spring. “Your pal's making a little circlé to the left, trying to locate where vou are,” the ranger went on. “Tell hin: to come up here and have his sup per.” The face that looked up at him now from the blanket was harder tha: anything Billings had seen that day the face of a man who didn't feur death, but both hated and feared the double-cross. “That's what 1 said.” Billings rc peated. “T'd have managed differcut 12 1 hadp't expected to sigr when you heard your pal below. Ca! to him again who's here, and we'll cook up a little banquet for fhrer I've been tryihg to make myself he- lieve T was in the deputy eheriff business, but it won't work—not dfter dwelllng with voil all day.” - Dryden shoved his face up still closer to the ranger's. It was lumir- ously ' gray, - si frightenced, grim with torturing hope. “Honest to God?" he said hoares “Just that,” said Billings, and udd ed: “Tell him I'll go_down to h him up here with his packs, if & likes.” It wasn't exactly you merry part: 1 that two didn't shock themselves to death from nourishment.~ Dave's mind wa inclined to ramble a little over hi coffee cup. The two ‘had lived five weeks on' less than ten days' rations, hiding in the tocks on this slope, never far from the silent sprins. Dave Ilcomb had been able to elude his pursuers up to thls time becausze he was famillar with every notch and a | groove of the vieini * * ¥ HE next afternoon Billings arosc. reached for his saddle and walk- ed out where his horse was tethered When the saddle was on and the duffel packed, he balted a minute before going back to the whitened fireplace where the two sat up wait- ing for him. The ranger's hand moved up to his face and his eyes grew mournful. He wasn't pleased with himself and no nearer than be- fore to writing that letter to the girl in Towa. He had a man’s idea that he had to do a lot for that g~ that a man working on government pay couldn’t do—to make up for the w he looked. “I've just got time to ride over the station before dark,” he said. may be back this way in ten da two weeks—just.for a call. You'll here, doubtless—" “Yes, ranger.” said Dave. “Atleast that long. It's safer right here by the spring than anywhere else. It's so safe here in this ravine that she's kept a secret for forty years.' The ranger turned to him queerly Both Dave and Roger laughed. “Why, ranger,” Dave went “You couldn't turn a trick like you've turned for us and get away with just a thanks and come again. We're goin’ over into Mexico a little later. whers they'll let us alone, and we'll have a chance to grow up and not be stunted by hiding in cramped places to - or e | Roger and I ran onto the secret here at the spring. We've been starvin' to death all these days on Treasure Island. * ® Yes, Mr. Billings, be calm. We've found old McConache's " lode, and she's richer than anybody ever said she was. It's' no good ‘to us—not for years, anyway, until Drinkwater and his crowd - forget. We couldn't dispese of a nickles worth, but we might be silent part- ners.:* * * In other words, ran ger, McConache's-lode 13 yours. Some day we'll let you know where we are over the .border. And if you get too clotted with dividends, and we're on & frait ranch and might fieed some ~ insect poison—" Billings went ‘down the trail with them toward the spring. A half-hour 1ater he rode very thtoughtfully awey toward the station on Lfttle Top. Two months after that a girl left Jowa and came to live in & new cabin. - overlooking Haunted Valley and by -the- slilent spring. (Copyright. All Rights Resesved.) World’s Largest Rug. TAT is said to be the largest rug in the world can be found in 1t measdrey 46 by €5 fect by ‘Czechoslovakiun Cleveland. and was made weavers.