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Pi mm ^^J"^^' m 'tRAGRANCE IS SEALED IN VACUUM Our New Serial Story Riders ^«** Hoot'Owl Pool by G. H. SHARP It was about noon wiieii Webb Winters got to Bob Anderson's place. No smoke showed from tlie cliimney of the log cabin. There •was no sign of life. The barn door was shut, it had rained the eve- ning before and tlie ground hadn't dried yet, so tliat Webb Winters could read the sign imprinted there in tlic drying soil. Marks of shod hooves. Boot prints. An uneasy feeling took hold of the rancher as he rode up to the barn. He had a feeling that some- thing was wrong. He was sure of it when he opened tlie barn door and found Bob Anderson's horse there in the stall, tlie manger empty of hay. Bob v.asn't the kind of man to neglect his horse. Webb Winters left his horse and walked thiongli the n:ud to the cabin. He had his hand on his gun when he slowly opened the door. As the light came through the open doorway into the shadowy cabin, the inner fear that Webh Winters had been trying to shake oft suddenly became real. Bob Anderson lay sprawled on his face near his bunk. There was a pool of sticky blood on the floor and the rancher's lifch'ss hand gripped a six-shooter. Near an overturned table, OH the floor, were dishes, spilled food. Webb Winters squatted beside the dead man who had been his friend and ncigliLor. ffc touched the lifeless shoulder. "I'll pay 'em ofl', Bob," he said aloud, his voice husky. He examined the dead man's i,'un. Four empty shells. Bob Anderson had died game. Died with his boots OTi and his si.x-shooter smoking. He took a soogan from the bunk and covered the dead body and left the cabin. He went back to the barn, turned Bob's horse loose in l2!lR3U?S9RE.'SS^<%>. .a4MA \SUL Knillrrs Idol ! A beauMtuI ncv/ medallion to nuilc a beautiful fpread, siari, or cloth, hi retlly eab> so kni.nis get busy! At last you can knit liuusehold accessoriesâ€" and easilyl Pattern 990 hti directions. Laura Wheeler's improved pai tern makes needlework so simpK with its charts, photos and concise direction?. Send twemy-fivc tciils (2Sc) in coins (stamps cannot be accepted i for this patlern to Box 1, 12.t gighterutli Street, New Toronto, nt. Print plainly pattern number. jronr name and address. ISSUE II - 1950 the pasture. Bob wouldn't be need- ing him any longer. Then Webb Winters mounted and hit a long trot. Two hours later, he pulled up at a small ranch at the foot of the timbered butte called Indian Bntte. A short, wide-shouldcred man with a week's stubble of graying black whiskers on his square jaw came to the door. He had puckered black eyes and a tight-lipjied mouth. "Put up your horse and come in, Webb." "Ain't got time, Joe. 1 rode over with some bad news. The dirty sons got Bob Anderson last night. They got him like they got Ed. Young. We'll meet at my place after dark tonight. Send somebody over to set up with Bob. Get word to the others. I'm going to town to get a box. See you tonight. So- long." » • * Webb Winters rode on. It was one of those gray, cheerless days spotted with occasional showers. He leapt thinking of Bob Anderson. Bob was a good neighbor and a staunch friend. Webb and Bob had punched cows together, off and on, for the past 15 years. They had wintered together in line camps, stood guard together on stormy nights, painted the town red when shipment time came. It was Bob who first suggested that they quit blowing their forty a month and take up ranches. That had been three years ago. They had located on some good land that the Triangle outfit had been holding. The Triangle claimed a lot of land tlicy had no right to. They tried to run Webb and Bob on. When their bluff had failed, they had offered to buy out the two cowboys. But Bob and Webb had told big Ab Abbott of tlie Triangle that they'd not sell at any price. The joivcled, paunchy, whisky- soaked Abbot had replied that he would bet them a thousand dollars, and collect the bet in hell, that he'd own their ranches before he was done. Now Bob was dead. Shot down in his own cabin. .Another small rancher, F.d. Young, over on Greasewood Creek, had been killed the same way. Only, I'd. Young, who v.as au Oklahoma cowboy and handy with a gun, liaif been shot in the back. The Triangle now owned lul. Young's place. They would hire one of their men now to file on Bob Anderson's place. As Webb Winters rode toward the little cow towil uaiiicd Kimrock, at the fool of the iiioiiutaiiis, he kept thinking of Bob. Big, blue- eyed, tow-headed Bob Anderson, who had never picked a fight in his life, but who, when his slow- anger was once aroused, would fight any man alive. Webb would have to break the news to Mae, Bob's girl. Bob had aimed to get married after the fall rouud-up was over. Mae ran a little eating place at Rimroc!;. She'd take it mighty hard. Bob was the only man she'd ever gone around with. He rode up the street that vvas lined with houses and stores alul saloons. Dusk was falling. Lights showeil Hi 1 melon"-. ;i!ul the odoi of food told liim ilial Kimrock wa» sitting ili>-Mi 111 ^lipiK'i I'e s.o; pi at the slicrilf's house. "Boh Andersci - lol.l thv theriflf grimly, "w.is killed last niglit. I figured you'd want to look .It him before he's planted." The sheriff, an old-timer, looked hard at this tall, bronzed cowboy. Webb Winters had a square face, blunt of nose and jaw. Ilij eyes were gray, his hair black and straight as au Indian's. His eyes now were hard, his mi>iitli pulled taut. "What are you aimiu' to do aboni it, Webb?" asked tlic sheriff. Webb Winters luaue no reply. He just stood there in the doorway, grim-lipped, hard-eyed. "Come in to supper, Webb. The missus will set • place for you." Queen's Handiwork â€" A niilIion-.slitch needlepoint nig which took Queen Mary, 82-year-old mother of King George VI, eight years to make, is displayed by Patricia Ilardie after its arrival on the liner, Queen Mary. Tlie rug is the queen mother's personal contribution to Britain's effort to gain U.S. dollars. Miss Hardie will take the piece on a tour following which it will be sold to the highest bidder. "Can't do it, thanks. There's Mac to see, and I got to get Bob's box. It'll keep me hunipin' to 'tend to things." The sheriff nodded. "I savvv. Webb." Hank Roberts had not been twenty-five years a peace officer without learning the ways of men. He knew only too well the feud that v/as growing between the Tr'angle and the smaller ranchers. He knew that the smaller ranchers had or- ganized. They were known as the Scissor-Bill Pool. Trouble w.is cooking, and cooking too fast for his peace of mind. (Continued Next Week) HRONiCLES %ing£rFarm ^ G4L'<7.t^dolic^e P Clarke Fog . . . rain . . . iiiudl Once again the miracle of early spring has brought about a change that seems almost incredible. A week ago so much snow â€" and now big patches of bare ground, although there are still plenty of snowbanks in evidencce. For a few days it was such a nice, slow thaw that flood conditions were not really serious. Ditches rose higher than the cul- verts and flats became a miniature lake as the warm sun melted the snow, but with the going down of the sun the water level dropped; ditches became normal and the creek a pleasant, gurgling little stream. But the mud . . . oh, dearl Now it is raining, so what happens today remains to be seen. Generally we think of mud as belonging to tl.c country, and clean, dry roads as belonging to the town â€" but not in this district. Our nearby town is still busy with Us sewerage syslciii -and so help me, I never saw sncli mud in all my life. 1 go to town as little as 1 can. The main siri-cts, that were ripped up last fall to lay storm sewers, are so full of pot holes you wonder how many springs and bolts you will lose from your car before you gel home, and aL>o if any part of your own anatoinj will break loose. Pan of the trouhlo these days lies in the fact that w c don't expect to contend with mud any more. Most roads in well populated districts are now either gravelled or paved, and most farmers liave long since made a practise of having their lanes gravelled too, so that mud, such as vvc now n.eet in town, seem* much worse than it would have done twenty years ago. I remember when we had our first car â€" a Model T â€" we always \vent back to tlic horse and buggy in early spring because the lane wasn't gravelled and the car coiildn'l get lliroiigli llic mudâ€" although I do remember a few occasii:.- vvlicn Partner pulled uit down to the road with the team. Wo didn't \\«nt lo take a chance on breaking another axle since we had already had that happen once. Side roads were also good places to keep away fromâ€" some of them are now, for that matter. Sd now, however rough the main roads may be, in comparison with twenty years ago we have little to grumble about , . . only somehow we still have a way of grumbling. Maybe I wouldn't be ihinking about the roads so much if it wasn't lor the June Bug. Yes, I'm going to tell you about it~or perhaps this will explain things. The other dav a friend of mine said to nieâ€" "And what have vou been doing ihi- week?" "Oh, nothing imuh," 1 answered, "except that I've made three pairs of pyjamas and bought a car!" Acutally the June Bug and the new car are one and the same thing. You see it is a little English car with a short, stumpy appearance that Partner said reminded him of some kind of bug. "Yes," 1 agreed, "June Buo â€" that would be a good name for it." Bob suggested Firefly but we thought that was a little too fancy â€" and somehow June Bug seems so much more expressive. But I ask you â€" what's the good of a nice, new car in this weather? A few trips to town and it looks like a bug all right â€" a bug that has been hibernating all winter and just push- ed its way up through the dank, sticky nnid. Another thing I have to contend with is the steering column gearshift â€" something entirely new for me â€" also the extra creeper gear which most of these English cars are blessed with. Before we got the car I was ser- iously thinking of getting an elec- tric sewing machine. Varicose veins and treadle machines don't go too well together, and I do use a sewing machine so much. So, when we were dickering over the car, undecided just what kind to get, Partner said â€" "I'or the love of Pete, why don't you settle for a sewing machine and save yourself this worry!" May- be he has something thereâ€" the trouble is you can't go very far with a sewing machine. Not that we expect to do much travelling but it (vill be nice to have something that's really dependable â€" or should be â€" so that we can go out without worrying about tires or whether a bearing will burn out and leave us stranded at an uncomfortable distance from a garage. And in get- ting a small car we are also think- ing of the money we shall save on gas. Here is Daughter's latest exper- ience. One of her tenants, smoking in bed, set fire to hi? mattress' I wonder how many disastrous fires have been started in just that way. Anyone who is too sleepy to keep awake long enough to finish smok- ing ;; cigarette surely doesn't need a smoke very badly in the first place. And of course the same thing hapi>cns in private homes just as ea'-ilv as in a rootning boi'se. HOW CAN I? By Anne Ashley Q. How can I make celery more tender? .^. Allow the celery to lie in water for about seven or eight hours before serving, and it will be very lender. , Q. How can I clean an iron? A. All iron can be readily clean- ed by mixing rottenstone with sweet oil. spreading it on a board, and running the iron back and forth until it is bright and clean. Q. flow can I remove ink stains from a silk dress without inmring the material i^ A. Try placing the stained part over a saucer "Bnd covering it with powdered borax. Then pour per- oxide of hydrogen over the borax. Ot pot pour wi* r ovet the horax. WAKE UP YOUR LIVER BILE- tViihout Ciloael- AaJ TmiII Juap Out ti BsdinthtMsnriiVlUrii'lsGe Ilia itvar tliould pour oat sbont 9 pint* al iiils Jute* Into TOUT diiarthn tnet trtrr dsT' 1 1 1 hit bill i» Dot llowiat hmr, jroor (ood may lint (llfMt. It mu Jttit 4MI7 U tht dllMtlT* iriiot. Than tu bloata tip your it«mioa. Yon «t ooutipattd. You fsd uur, iimk and tht â- forld loon pun't. it taim tSott raUd, iMtl* OuUr'i LitUt l.irtr nni to lit thoM 3 pfai^^ bOt flow- ing ffMlr to mtk* jrMi btl "op and up" Utt a Monn today. HMth* la bi'KV. . bU« BowtniGr. AiXTar Sirt»/i UttI* lA Pitta. SMilaudnuvtan, ANfc|£ HIRST "Dear Anne ilirst: I have read your column admiringly for some time. I would like to offer this bit of advice to egotistical and posses- sive husbands. I am an ex one, and speak from experience. "While in the service, I married a sweet girl. That was my first marriage. We had a beautiful daughter. "My drinking and cheatiiig (that I thought was smart) led us straight into the divorce court. I was satis^ed, I thought. I was making money, and I was popular. "I met another sweet girl, and we fell in love. We -married. â-  We were blissfully happy for a while ' â€" until, again, 1 couldn't stand prosperity. 1 started my old rou- tine again. 1 thought. 'This gfrl loves me too much to think of leaving me â€" 1 can get av/ay with it.' "But she, too. left me. Later, she gave birth to my son. (He was a year old in I'cbruary, and I have seen him three times). Too Late? "Again, 1 thought, this freedom is what I want. (How stupid and cocky I was!) Just so long as 1 could have fun, I never thought of anyone else. I loved a farce, too far gone in my ways to realize it tiiitil it was too late. "Now it has been 18 months tince she left me. I've Mpt the memory of it. I've just existed. But So help me, I've quit drinking, and I have refused all inv'tations. "I've been living on a thread of hope for a reconciliation. "If my wife reads this, 1 want her to know that I love her deeply, aiid that I've t>a'd dearly for my past afifairs. "I hope that the wayward hus- bands who think they're smart to travel in the same path, will stop and take a good inventory â€" will ask themselves, 'Is it worth it?' Let me be the first to answer, -'t is not! "There is only one tragedy worse than death, and that is lone- liness. I know! R.G." * * * * It takes some of us a long, long * while (and more than one experi- * cnce) to be taught that the only * real life is the good life. * You were lucky enough to win * the hearts of two fine girls. Each * of them gave you a child. Instead * of appreciating all their love and * loyalty, you took the easiest way "â-  â€" you played fast and loose with 'f them both. You broke both â- ^ hearts before you realized how â- * selfish and arrogant vou had * been. * Now you are paying. â- ^ When a man finally sees hini- ''â-  self as he is, there is no husband â- ^^ like the husband he can be. Sin- • cere in his refonn, all he wants it • the opportunity to prove it, to • make up for all the angtiish he â-  has caused. 1, for one, believe • you are sincere. • If your wife reads your letter • today, 1 hope she will believe • you. too. * » » Anne Hirat't column haa brought more than one aeparated couple to- gether again. The primary purpos* of the column, though, ic to pre- vent trouble. Write BEFORE you part, and let Anne Hirst hdp you prevent such tragedy. Address her at Box 1, 123 Eighteendi Street, New Toronto. Ontario. * â- Â» â- * â- Â» ♦ A f > .4. Don't call it the pursuit t/f happi- ness if it's only a flight from reality. HEUEF i$ LASTING % f- Nobody knows the cause of rheunui- tism but we do know there's on* thing to ease the paia . i . it's Instantink. And when you take iNSTANTiini the relief is prolonged because Instantine contains not one, but three proven medical ingredients. 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