Evening Star Newspaper, September 21, 1930, Page 103

#There were five Marlow brothers. According to their story, the big cattlemen “ran” on;them- because they stood up for: their rights.. The other side said bluntly that they were horse thieves and bad men. The Marlows were of a restless temperamsent and shifted headquarters freely. They spent & good deal of time in the Indian Territory, then a resort for the wildest and most lawless char- acters, moving to and fro in the Chickasaw Na= tion and the territory adjoining it. This was a convenient terrain for those ‘‘on the dodge.” It was wild and rough, and the Texas ranger could not interfere with the habits of the night riders. The Marlows were married. Sometimes their families moved with them. . Sometimes they followed the men in more leisurely fashion to new fields. From Wilbarger County, Texas, they trekked to Las Animas, Colorado. One of the brothers, Boone, had been too handy with a sixshooter and James Holdson had as a result been buried. The family held to a strong clan feeling. Their covered wagons followed Boone North. Whether they were honest men as they claimed or thieves as their enemies charged, the Marlows were unlucky. They left Trinidad under a cloud. From “Doc” Burns, sheriff of Las Animas County, a wire went to Edward W. Johnson, a deputy United States marshal of Texas. The telegram advised him to look out for five Marlow brothers trying to get away with 40 head of horses stolen in the vicinity. It is only fair to the Marlows to say that they were never proved guilty of rustling horses, though they were arrested time and again. Johnson, a big, raw-boned Westerner, acted with energy. He guessed that the Marlows would make for “the Nation” to trade the herd of broncos to the Indians. He wrote letters, yeceived answers, headed north, found and ar- rested the Marlows, took them to Graham. The mother of the five boys gave bond and they wer2 released until the time of trial. A capias came from Wilbarger Ccunty for the arrest of Boone for the murder of Holdson. Sheriff Wallace and a deputy rode out to the place the Marlows were renting. Boone killed the sheriff. Once more he slapped a saddle on & horse and rode into the chaparral. A reward ©f $1,700 was offered for his arrest, dead or alive. His brothers were flung into prison. Wallace had been a popular officer and public opinion was inflamed. The Marlows had few friends at Graham. They believed that Johnison had been appointed to represent the larger cat- tle interests, that the new sheriff and the law- ful authorities of the county were against them, A lynching seemed to them probable. They broke jail, but were recaptured. The authorities shackled them in pairs. A mob stormed the jail, with the connivance of the county officers. But the prisoners, unarmed though they were, presented so reso- Jute a front that the would-be lynchers had not THE SUNDAY - STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, SEPTEMBER 21, 1930. e e : - King, mortally wounded, half raised himself from the ground and took aim at his two assailants. the nerve to go through with what they had started. United States Marshal Cabell telegraphed Johnson to move his prisoners to Weatherford for safe keeping. When the Marlows saw the guard selected to accompany them, they pro- tested, saying openly that this was a plot to murder them. At Dry Creek an attack was made upon the convoy. What followed seems as impossible as The Masterpiece Mystery “How could anybody get in to help you through those two bolts? Besides, there’s nobody else in the building at night except Harvey, down- Mn..ndlnvtoltt.hnthehndflcnulor the theater tonight.” Bretthinlbud,hednmdu\ehucesc\uptor into the studio proper. Macklin drew up his chair and seated him- “ self comfortably before the prostrate man. Bremsted groaned and shut his eyes in despair. “Now,” Macklin began, keeping his pistol inted steadily between the sculptor’s eyes, ‘l':e're in a position to have a little talk. First 1 talk, then you talk. 1f you refuse to talk, I “In the first place, where's one of those chis- els?. Ah, here’s one. Deplorably careless, the way you keep your things, ‘Bremsted. yow. with this chisel, I just make a litle incision in—" “No!” shouted Bremsted. “No! My God! You'll damage my beloved Brunnhilde!” “Not your Brunnhilde.” For a minute Mack- 1in’s voice trembled. “Honora Valschek’s coffin!” With a sudden lunge he struck the sculptured head of the sleeping maiden. When he looked at the chisel, his face was white. “v7es,” he said hoarsely, “hair.” Bremsted lay in silence. He had turned as grav os the clay on which he worked. “10t me tell you a story, Bremsted,” Macklin wen: on after a minute. “You—I suppose you would say you loved Honora Valschek. Anyway, you wanted her. You even begged her to marry you. At first she seemed fond of you. Then she changed. You noticed it; you stormed; you had scene after scene. “Pinally you wore her out; when you accused her for the hundredth time of having fallen in love with some one else, she sald yes, it was true. But nothing would make her i 11 you who it was. “Then you decided that if you could not have her. no one else should. Your terra cotta statue of Brunnhilde was nearing completion. It was promising, not good—not like this one, but like all your other work I see around me. e came to this studio for a last sitting; you had one more scene; she left. You let her go, like the cat with a mouse, but you watched from your doorway. She passed Harvey's open door, and you heard him close it. Before she could reach the street, you were down the stairs after her. You caught her arm and held it, begged her in a whisper to come back just once more. “SHE refused. Then you told her, falsely, that you knew her lover's name; that if she did not return you would find him and do him harm before she could warn him. So she went up the stairs again—to her death.” Bremsted had recovered himself a little. He even achieved a slow sneer. “Where did you invent this cock-and-bull story?” he muttered. “Some of it 1 guessed from what followed afterward; the rest I know. Harvey told me he thought he hard whisperings outside his door. He was working with nothing on but his trousers; you know what & finicky creature he is, so when he saw Honora coming he shut the door. When he had put on his shirt he opened the door again and looked out, but all he saw was you entering your studio. He did not know Honora was in front of you, but I guessed it. “Very well. You did not have those bolts on your door then—they are new—but you had & key, and you turned it and put it in your pocket. As Honora protested, you caught her arms with one handand covered her face with cotton soaked in chloroform. You had to have a big bottle of chloroform to get encugh to do it quickly under such circumstances. That is why you insisted on washing those dishes yourself tonight; in your alcove I saw the big bottle on the shelf, and the roll of cotton by it. “Now Honora was unconscious and at your mercy. You gave her more of the stuff to be sure tho would not wake quickly. “You have made death masks in the past, haven't you, Bremsted? You told me about that in your story of your student struggles this eve- ning. Yes; and so you made a death mask of Honora, only the plaster covered all her naked body, and you left no holes for breathing. “BUT first you laid her in the position of your Brunnhilde, with her arm under her head. You worked hard that night, Bremsted. “Over the plaster went the layer of terra cotta: that is why the statue is more than life size. You modeled the light tunic and you had to model the hair, which the plaster covered tightly. That was not very well done, Bremsted; it was not in the masterly style of the rest. It was the first thing I noticed—how poorly the hair was done. “Then the statue had to be fired. I have been to the kiln that does your work. They have told me—the poor journalist looking for a story—about the eccentricities of genius. That statue meant so much to you that you not only went with the men who carried it to the kiln, but you stood by every minute, in a perfect agony, while it was being fired. When it came out perfect, without shrinking or cracking, you were covered with sweat. You glazed it there yourself, and you yourself saw its delivery to the exhibition. “You stayed there by it practically every min- ute during the exhibit. And the night watch- man told me, with a laugh, that several times he found you late at night pacing before the door that gave access to that precious object. In fact, except for the time you took off to eat and sleep, the only time you spent in the studio was sufficient to destroy the original statue, the one for which Honora had posed. I am sorry you did that, Bremsted; it would have been interesting to see how poor it was. “Once Brunnhilde was safely back in your studio, you locked yourself in with her. You were mistaken; that is not the way to allay sus- picion; it is the way to arouse it. Oh, you left the studio often, yes; but when you went the They stumbled and fell. the dime-novel exploits of Nick Carter. Though chained together and unarmed, the Marlows fought desperately. Charley and Alf rolled out of the hack, hobbled to the buggy where the guards sat and wrested weapons from the men. Upon one of the mob who indiscreetly rushed forward, George and Epp Marlow fell like a ton of bricks. They took his rifie and six- shooter. In the melee which ensued, one of the guards and two of the attackers were killed, 21, several other seriously wounded, Alf and Epp Marlow were riddled with bullets and the other two brothers were both wounded, one badly. " The condition of the sulviving Marlows was desperate. Bleeding from a half dozen wounds, Charley could hardly stand. Both he and George were still chained to the bodies of their brothers. With a knife found in the pocket of a guard, they disjointed the ankles of their dead relatives. George gathered such weapons as had been left on the field, helped his brother into the hack and drove to the farm where their families were living. Here they held off the officers for two days, until a United States deputy marshal arrived with a promise of pro- tection against mob violence. The cases against the Marlows and their enemies dragged on for years. Young County was torn by a divided sentiment. Good citizens demanded coviction of the men who had put themselves above the law. There were indict- ments and trials on both sides. In the end the matter was dropped. Some time after the attack of the mob on the Marlows, three men drove into Graham., With them they had the body of Boone Marlow. They had come for the reward. They had ‘ killed him, they said, in the Chickasaw Nation, ¥ The reward was paid them, but later they were indicted for having poisoned the man they dared not face while he was alive. «It is a curious fact,” the Graham Leader made comment, “that everybody who has any- thing to do with the Marlows has more or less trouble with them.” The editor might have extended his comment to say that in the early days any one who had anything to do with cattle in a rough and brushy country had trouble sooner or later, Laws were necessarily laxly enforced. Owner- ship in property on the hoof could be main- tained only by unceasing vigilance and by ruth- less reprisal. Even then there was a percentage of loss. There were too many bold, unscrupu- lous men on the make to permit a cattleman to get a 100 per cent return on his calf crop, te let him feel confident that some of his remuda on the range would not change hands overnight. Rustlers were suspected even when definite proof was not forthcoming. The cattle owner had been brought up in as hard a school as the thief. If the law could or' would not proteck his property, he knew how to do that himself, He did not intend to wait patiently until the lank brown waddies whom he met on his range had robbed him blind. Instead, he slammed § heavy fist down on the table at the home ranch and said grimly to his cowboys, “War.” And war it was. Sometimes rustlers could be run out of the, country. Sometimes they laughed at threats and warnings. When there was no other way to stop them, Cattleland exterminated the cow thief and the horse thief as it would have put an end to a trapped wolf. (Copyright, 1930.) Continued From Fourteenth Page door was double barred from the outside and fastened with padlocks. I know, for I have been up here to see when I knew you were elsewhere. “You have guessed this nonsense,” groaned the sculptor. “Have I guessed—this?” Macklin held out the chisel, on which, mingled with the terra cotta and plaster, hung a few Jong black hairs that gleamed with a dull red where the light struck them. “Some one has been my enemy—some one has played this ghastly trick on me! I have thought this my statue that I made,” babbled Bremsted. “VBRY likely. You never left the studio unguarded one minute afterward. An- other thing. You were safe when you offered your $2,000 for Honora’s return weren’t you? You knew no one could ever claim it. From the very first I noticed how stingy you were. Ava- rice is not the least of your vices, Bremsted.” “yYou want the reward money!” The sculp- tor's eyes glared up at his torturer's. “I will give you money if you go away and say nothing and never come back.” “Oh, no, I don't want the money, though I shall get it, doubtless. Honora has a sister somewhere she used to help; I shall give it to her. “No, I don't want money. I want punishment for the vile brute who said he loved a girl and then murdered her foully—buried her alive— thought himself clever when he exposed the corpse he had made and plastered over as the product of his own art. “I want the satisfaction of being present at the electrocution of Ludwig Bremsted, who tried to force a girl's affections and, when he could not, tortured her to death.” Macklin paused, exhausted by the effort of speech. The cluttered studio was silent save for the breathing of two men. Bremsted’s huge bulk shifted as he tried to ease his discomfort on the floor, and he strained the rope which bound him to the table. Mack- lin’s revolver came up sharply into position. For a moment neither man spoke. Bremsted was clearly thinking, rallying his bewildered brain to one last stand in his de- fense. It was plain to him that the game was up. The evidence of his crime was indisputable. But justification, perhaps? There seemed one possible avenue of escape. Sweat stood out on his brow as he wrenched himself to a partial sitting position, his eyes on the muzzle of Macklin's revolver. He swallowed once or twice, wet his lips with his tongue, and then: ¢'J'HE causes,” said Bremsted sullenly, “you are imaginipg. You say when you are through. I shall talk. Are you through?” “This girl you do not know, and whom you idealize, was s monster—a harpy. She was what they call a golddigger. She was after me for blackmail, for aything she could get. She—» “You lie!” For a moment Macklin breathed hard, en- deavoring to control the fury which rose withim him. “And you know you Me,” he continued in his old calm tone. “I know all that ever pasced between you up to her last fatal visit.” “How do you know?” “She told me.” “She told you?” The sculptor glared up at Macklin as if a ghost stood beside him. Macklin rose to his feet, the pistol still directed at the prostrate man. “You damned fool,” he said softly, “haven’t you guessed I am the man Honora loved?™ (Copyright, 1930.) Film Given Rest. BA’I'I‘ERED, rainy, and full of torn sprocket holes, one of Uncle Sam’s efficient allies in the war on tuberculosis has been laid away for a well deserved rest. “Out of the Shadows,” a film used in the fight against bovine tuberculosis, has ended its career after an intensive battle for 10 years. In all, 40 copies of the picture were made and the last of the 40 has reached the end of the trail. - No other film circulated by the depart- ment has made a record approaching that of “Out of the Shadows.” It has been used in every anti-tuberculosis campaign waged since 1921, and has been shown in almost every rural community in the United States where dairy cattle are important. Released in 1921, 17 copies were put into circulation that year; in 1922 12 more copies were put into circulation; and in 1923 as many more. In all, 40 copies have been released. These have been shipped into the field 1,644 times, bookings for a single copy frequently running several weeks. Sixty- one copies of this film have been sold for use in foreign countries, including Uruguay, Bel- gium, Guatamala, the Union of South Africa, and Great Britain. “Out of the Shadows” was directed by F. W. Perkins, formerly chief of the office of motion pictures. Photography was by G. R. Goergens, who is still with the department. The story was by Dr. J. E. Gibson, and Dr. L. B. Ernest ™ of the tuberculdsis eradication division. It was the story of a hard-headed old dairyman to whom the tuberculin test is new-fangled nope sense until his own daughter is sent to a sani- tarium for treatment for tuberculosis. A test shows that her pet cow, the source of the milic she drank, reacts to the test. The dairyman learns his lesson, the daughter finally comes - home well and strong again, and thus the thread of their story comes “out of the shadows.” It was a simple story-picture, han- dled by amateur actors, but it proved more ' effective in field work than many newer and more ambitious ffims.