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By Courtney ef Copyright by Little,Browa A Oe> ' * 3 f •! MYSTERY, MINING, LOVE AND ROMANCf He flooped and Anita, laughing at her posture, clambered upon his back, her arms about his neck. Fairchild found himself wishing that he could carry her forever, and that the road to the sheriffs' - office were twenty miles away instead of two. But her votes cut in on his wishes. $ "I can walk now. We can get alopg so much faster!" came he* plea. "I'll hold on to you--and you can help me along." J Fairchild released her and she seized his arm. Once, as they floundered through a knee-high mass, Fairchildarm went quickly about her waist and he lifted her against him as he literally carried her through. When they reached the other side, the arm still held its place--and she did not resist. Some way* after that the stretch , of road faded swiftly. Almost before he realized they were at the outskirts of the city. ^ » •' Grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. There Fairchild did not attempt to talk--ke Uft it all to Anita, and Bordwell, the sheriff, l i s t e n e d . ^ V v ' DM you mr carry a pretty girl pick-a-back? Well, it's itnt experience. Especially whea the firl is as pretty and fascinating and altogether adorable as is Anita, and especially when the man is as much interested in the girl as is Fairchild. And especially, when the carrying is done in a blizsard and the man is just bound to do all he can to help the girl along. As for the tale Anita and Fairchild tell the sheriff--well,^ it s a fit climax to a story of mystery, mining, love and romance in the Colorado Rockies--m land where mystery, mining, love and romance are as much a part of things as the scen'ery. When Young Robert Fairchild's fathei--a man of mystery, living in fear--goes where earthly officers of the, law bother no one, the hero finds himself the owner of a mysterious silver mine, the Blue Poppy. With the inheritance go a feud and the opposition of a choice collection of scoundrels. Nevertheless, the hero decides to claim the mine and work it. On the way from Denver he meets the heroine--Anita Richmond. She is driving in a desperate hurry, just about two turns of the road ahead of the sheriff. Fairchild helps her change a tire, gets a tip of ten dollars and lies like a whitehead about her to the sheriff. Quite an interesting way of beginning an acquaintance with the prettiest girl in town, who turns out to be engaged^-so most people think--to the soif of the chief villian--"Squint" Rodaine. t The author? Why, Courtney Ryley Cooper--the writer of short stories and movie scenarios. He ran away as a boy from Kansas City to become a circus clown. Later ha wrote circus advertising--no wonder he has a vivid imagination! Anyway, you've undoubtedly read some of his circus stories in the magazines and know how fascinatingly he can write. CHAPTER I. tms over. The rambling bouse, with its rickety, old-fashioned furniture-- and its memories--was now deserted, except for Robert Fairchild, and he was deserted within it. wandering from room to room staring at familiar objects with the unfamiliar : gaze of one whose vision suddenly has been warped by the visitation of death and the sense of loneliness that It brings. |^i; Loneliness, rather than grief, for It l*{C-:-' had been Robert Fairchild's promise that he would not suffer in heart for ht>~. , one who had longed to go into a peace " for which he had waited, seemingly in vain. Year after year, Thornton Fairchild had sat in the big armchair by #£>- the windows, watching the days grow V3 . °'d and fade Into night, studying sunj «t after sunset, voicing the vain hope that the gloaming might bring the twlv'Mgbt of his own existence--a silent lman except for this, rarely speaking of i.j .. the past, never giving to the son who worked for him, cared for him, wor- „ T nhiped him, the slightest inkling of J? • what might have happened In the dim days of the long ago to transform him •ipT' into a beaten thing, longing for the II final surcease. And whei. the end V came, it found him in readiness, waiting in the big armchair by the win- " dows. Even now, a book lay on the p/ frayed carpeting of the • old room, where it had fallen from relaxing flngers. Robert Fairchild picked it up, and with a sigh restored it to the -' ggm, fumed oak case. His days of pounding with excitement, his Hands grasping the foolscap paper as though with a desire to tear through the shield which the written words had formed about a mysterious past and disclose that which was sb effectively hidden. So much had'the letter told-- and yet so little! Dark had been the hints of some mysterious, intangible thing, great enough in its horror and Its far-reaching consequences to cause death for one who had known of it and a living panic for him who had perpetrated it. In that super-calmness which accompanies great agitation, Fairchild folded the paper, placed it In its envelope, then slipped it into an Inside pocket. A few steps and he was before the safe once more and reaching for the second envelope. Heavy and bulky was this, filled with tax receipts, with plats and blueprints and the reports of surveyors. Here was an assay slip, bearing figures and notations which Robert Fairchild could not understand, then a legal document, sealed and stamped* bear* ing the words: County of Clear Creek, State of Colorado. DEED PATENT. * KNOW ALL MEN BT THESE PRESENTS: That on this day of our Lord, February 22, 1802, Thornton W. Fairchild, having presented the necessary affidavits and statements of assessments accomplished in accordance with-- On It trailed in endless legal phraseology, telling tn muddled, attorney-like language, the fact that the law had been fulfilled in Its requirements, and that the claim for which Thornton Fairchild bad worked was rightfully 'v 'jjM. W petty sacrifices that his father might while away the weary hours with tL*--.- reading were over. * j r " f - W h a t h a d b e e n t h e p a s t ? W h y t h e silence? Why the patient, yet impatient wait for death? The son did not know. In all his memories was only one faint picture, painted years before in babyhood: the return of his father from some place, he knew not where, a long conference with his mother behind closed doors, while he, In childlike curiosity, waited without, seeking in vain to catch some explanation. Then a sad-faced woman who cried at night when the house was still, who faded and who died. That was all. The picture carried no explanation. And now Robert FalrchIM stood on the threshold of something he almost feared to learn. Once, on a black, stormy night, they liad sat together, father and son before the Are, silent for hours. Then the hand of the white-haired man had reached outward and rested for a moment on the young man's knee. "1 wrote something to yon, Boy, a •toy or so ago." he had said. "That little Illness I had prompted me to do it. I--I thought it was only fair to yoo. After I'm gone, look In the safe. You'll find the combination on • piece of paper hidden in a bole cut In that old European history in the bookcase. I have your promise, I know--that you'll not do it until after Tm gone." Now Thornton Fairchild was gone. But a message had remained behind; one which the patient lips evidently had feared to utter during life. The heart of the son began to pound, slow and hard, as, with the memory of that conversation, he turned toward the bookcase and unlatched the paneled door. A moment more and the hollowed history had given up its trust, a bit of paper scratched with numbers. Robert Fairchild turned toward the stairs and the small room on the second floor which had served as his father's bedroom. There he hesitated before the little iron safe in the corner, summoning the courage to unlock the doors of a dead man's past The safe had not been opened in years; that was evident from the CMaking of the ilungers as they fell. the gtimmy resistance of the knob as Fairchild turned it in accordance with the directions on the paper. Finally, a great wrench, and the bolt was drawn grudgingly back; a strong pull, and the safe opened. Fairchild crouched for a moment, staring, before he reached for the thinner of two envelopes which ln.v before him. A moment later lie straightened and turned toward the light. A crinkling of paper, a quickdrawn sigh between clenched teeth; it was a letter; his strange, quiet, hunted-appearing father was talking to him through the medium of ink and paper, after death. He read: "My Son: "Before I begin this letter to you I must ask that you take no action whatever until you Iiave seen my attorney-- he will be yours from now on. I have never mentioned him to you before; It was : ot necessary and would only have brought you curiosity which I could not have satisfied. But now, I am afraid, the doors must be unlocked. I am gone. You are young, you have been a faithful son and you are deserving of every good fortune that may possibly come to you. I am praying that the years have made a difference, and that Fortune may smile upon you as she frowned on me. Certainly, she can injure m. no longer. My race Is ran; I am beyond earthly fortunes. "Therefore, wLen you have finished with this, take the deeds inclosed in the larger envelope and go to St. Louis. There, look up Henry F. Beamish, attorney-at-law, In the Princess building. He will explain them to you. "Beyond this, I fear, there is little that can aid you. I cannot find the strength, now that I face it, to tell you what you may find If you follow the lure that the other envelope holds forth to you. •There is always the hope that Fortune may be kind to me at last, and smile upon my .memory by never letting you know why I have been the sort of man you have known, and not the jovial, genial companion that a father should be. But there are certain things, my son, which defeat a man. Therefore Is It not better that it remain behind a cloud until such time as Fortune i ay reveal it--and hope that such a time will never come? I think so--not for myself, for when you read this, I shall be gone; but for you, that you may not be handicapped by the knowledge of the thing which whitened my hair and aged me, long before my time. "If he lives,' and I am sure be does, there is one who will hurry to your aid as soon as be knows you need him. Accept his counsels, laugh at his little eccentricities if you will, but follow his judgment implicitly. Above all, ask him no questions that he does not care to answer--there are things that he may not deem wise to teli. "There Is little more to say. Beamish will attend to everything for you-- if you care to go. Sell everything that is here; the house, the furniture, the belongings. It Is my wish, and you will need the capital--if you go. And if circumstances should arise to bring before you the story of that which has caused me so much darkness, I have nothing to say in selfextenuation. I made one mistake-- that of fear--and in committing one £rror, T shouldered every blame. It makes little difference now. I am dead--and free. My love to you, my son. I hope that wealth and happiness await yon. Blood of my blood flows In your veins and strange though It may sound to yod--it is the blood of an adventurer. They say, once in the blood, it never dies. My wish is that you succeed where I failed--and God be with you I "YOUB FATHER." For a long moment Robert Fairchild "I Made One Mistake--That of Fear." his, forever. Fairchild reached for the age-vellowed envelope to return the papers to their resting place. But he checked his motion involuntarily and for a moment held the envelope before him, staring at it with wide eyes. Then, as though to free by the stronger light of the window the haunting thing which faced him, he rose and hurried across the room, to better light, only to find it had not been imagination; the words still were before him, a sentence written in faint, faded ink proclaiming the contents *o be "Papers Relating to the Klue Poppy Mine," and written across this a word in the bolder, harsher strokes of a man under stress of emotion, a word which held the eyes of Robert Fairchild fixed and staring, a word which spelled books of the past and evil threats of the future, the single, ominous word: "ACCURSED!" V v * CHAPTER II. In spite of all that omens could foretell, in spite of the dull, gloomy life which had done its best to fashion a matter-of-fact brain for Robert Fairchild, one sentence in that letter had found an echo, had started a pulsating something within him that he never before had known: "--It is the blood of an adventurer." And it seemed that Robert Fairchild needed no more than the knowledge to feel the tingle of It; the old house suddenly became stuffy and prisonlike as he wandered through it. Again and again pounded through his head the fact that only a night of travel intervened between Indlahapolis and St. Louis; within twelve hours he could be in the office of Henry Beamish. And then-- A hurried resolution. A hasty packing of a traveling bag and the cashing of a check at the cigar store down on the corner. A wakeful night while the train clattered along upon Its Journey. At last: "I'm Robert Fairchild." he said, as he faced a white-haired, Cupid-faced man in the rather dingy offices In the Princess building. A slow smile spread over the pudgy features of the genial-appearing attorney, and he waved a fat hand toward the office's extra chair. "Sit down. Son," came casually. "Needn't have announced yourself. I'd have known you--just like your father, Boy. How is he?" Then his face suddenly sobered. I'm afraid your presence Is the answer. Am I right?" Fairchild nodded gravely. The old attorney stared out of the window to the grimy roof and signboards of the next building. "Perhaps It's better so," he said at last. "Did he get any cheerier before-- he went?*' "No. Afraid of every step on the veranda, of evefry knock at the door." Again the attorney stared out of the window. •'And you? Are you afraid?* "Of what?**. The lawyer" smiled. "I dont know. Only--" and he leaned forward--"it's just as though I were living my younger days over iagain this morning. It doesn't seem •*§ tony time at all sinc% your father was sitting just about where you -are now, and gad, Boy, how much you look like he looked that morning! The same gray-blue eyes, the same dark hair, thfe same strong shoulders, and good, manly cliln, the same build--and look of determination about him. The call of adventure was in his blood, and he sat there all enthusiastic, telling me what he intended doing and asking my advice--although he wouldn't have followed it if I had given it. Back home was a baby and the woman he lbved, and out West was sudden wealth, waiting for the right man to come along and ud it. Gad!" Whitehaired otd Beamish chuckled with'the memory of it. "Then four years later," the tone changed suddenly, "he came ;back." "What then?" Fairchild was on the edg$ of his chair, {tat Beamish only spread his hands. Truthfully, Boy, I don't know. I lhave guessed--but I won't tell yon what. All I know is that your father found what he was looking for and was on the point of achieving his every dream, when something happened Then three men simply disappeared from the mining camp, announcing that they had failed and were going to hunt new diggings. That was all. One of them was your .father--" "Bot you said that he'd found--** "Silver, running twenty ounces to the ton on an eight-inch vein which gave evidences of being only the beginning of a bonanza! I know, because he had written me that, a month before." "And he abandoned It?" "He'd forgotten ryhat he had written when I saw him again. 1 didn't question him. He went home then, after giving me enough money to pay the taxes on the mine for the next twenty years, simply as his attorney and without divulging his whereabouts. I did it. Eight years or so later I saw him in Indianapolis. He gave me more money--enough for eleven or twelve years--" "And that was ten years ago?" Robert Fairchild's eyes were reminiscent. "I remember--I was only a kid. He sold off everything he had, except the house." Henry Beamish walked to his safe and fumbled there a moment, to return at last with a few slips of paper. "Here's the answer," he said qtdetiy, "the taxes are paid until 1922." Robert Fairchild studied the receipts carefully--futllely. They told him nothing. The lawyer stood looking down upon him; at last he laid a band on his shoulder. "Boy," came quickly, "I know Just about what you're thinking. I've spent a few hour$ at the same kind of a Job myself, and I've called old Henry Beamish more kinds of a fool than you can think of for not coming right out fiat-footed and making Thornton tell me the whole story. But some way when I'd look into those eyes with the fire all dead and ashen within th^m, and see the lines of an old man In his young face, I just couldn't do It!" "So you can tell me nothing?" "I'm afraid that's true--in one way. In another I'm a fund of information. Tonight you and I will go to Indianapolis and probate the will--It's simple enough; I've had it in my safe for ten years. After that, you become the owner of the Blue Poppy mine, to do with as you choose." "But--". "Don't ask my advice, Boy. I haven't any. Your father told me what to do if you decided to try your luck--and silver's at $1.29. It means a lot of money for anybody who can produce pay ore--unless what he said about the mine pinching out was true." Again the thrill of a new thing went through Robert Fairchild's veins, something he never had felt until twelve hours before; again the urge for strange places, new scenes, the fire of the hunt after the hidden wealth of silver-seamed hills. Robert Fairchild's life had been a plodding thing of books and accounts, of high desks which as yet had failed to stoop his shoulders, of stuffy offices which had been thwarted so far in their grip at his lung power; the long walk in the morning and the tired trudfee homeward at night. But the recoil had not exerted itself against an officecramped brain, a dusty ledger-filled life that suddenly felt Itself crying out for the free, open country, without hardly knowing what the term meant. Old Beamish caught the light in the eyes, the quick contraction of the hands, and smiled. "You don't need to tell me, Son," he said slowly. "I can see the symptoms. You've got the fever--you're going back to work that mine. "Ohadl is thirty-efght miles from Denver. That's your goal. Out there, they'll tell you how the mine caved in, and how Thornton Fairchild, who had worked it, together with his two men, Harry Harkins, a Cornishman, and 'Sissie' Larsen, Swede, left town late one night for Cripple Creek--and that they never came back. That's the story they'll tell you. Agree with it. Tell them that Harkins, as far as you know, went back to Cornwall, and that you have heard vaguely that Larsen later followed the mining $ame farther out west." ' "Is it the truth 1" ^ v * "How do I know? ft*s gtfod enough --people shouldn't ask questions. Tell nothing more than that--and be careful of your friends. There is one man to watch--If he is still alive. They call him 'Squint' Rodaine, and he may or may not still be there. I don't know--I'm only sure of the fact that your father hated him, fought him and feared him. The mine tunnel Is two miles up Kentucky gulch and one hundred yards to the right. A surveyor can lead you to the very spot. It's been abandoned now for thirty years. What you'll find there is more than I can guess. But, Boy," and bis hand clenched tight on Robert Faiichihi's shoulder, "whatever yon WAS KNOWN AS PROTESTANT POPE "J? .ft* teMr. Mrtt** Sobriquet Bestowed on Clement XIV •r- When He Suppressed the ... Order of Jesuits, Pope Clement XIV bears the sobriquet of "the Protestant Pope," although he was by no means a member of the Protestant faith. He earned this title by a bull which he iksued In 1773, ordering the suppression of the Order of the Jesuits. This seemed to the devout Catholic a concession to Protestantism, and thus Clement was given his title. The Jesuit, order was established in 1537 by Ignatius Loyola, and its chief aim was to establish the power of the pope and to preserve it against the attacks of the Protestants. It grew to t>e the most powerful society of the Roman Catholic church, gaining its influence principally through the excellent schools which its members founded and maintained. its potency grew to such an extent that the temporal authorities took alarm and, tn 1773, France, Spain. Portugal, Parma, Naples and Austria prevailed upon Pope Clement to Issue bis bull abolishing the order. It was re-established by Pope Pius VII immediately after the fall of Napoleon in 1810, and is now in a thriving condition In all countries where the Roman church has adherents. The order has been distinguished throughout Its existence for the great learning and scholarship possessed by Its members. Most Exquisite Play Farm. "Tfou love flowers. I have a bou quet to give you--the Petit Trianon," said Louis XVI to his wife, the famous Marie Antoinette. ' Thus was built the most exquisite play farm ever known. Here in a wood of 800 trees, beyond the formal gardens of Versailles, the young queen and her court had their own dairy and garden and poultry, with a thatched Swiss chalet to live In. Here they served Suppers, the queen herself serving her guests--an experience for her, who, according to the court etiquette, could allow M one even to sit in her presence. iS-'i"m Is Tramping Across Sand Wastes te Texas to Die Among Pst* 1 rifled Trees. siM5 OF OLD Race With Death Is Nearlng En4 Though His Muscles Are Harden- Depleted World War. Brownsheld, Texas.--Mile by mile through the sand wastes of western Texas, his body slowly turning to stone so that even a smile on his face is hardly distinguishable, Guiseppl Orlando, scion of one of the oldest Sicilian noble families, is slowly trudging his way to the petrified forests of Arizona where he hopes to die. Unless some passing tourist lends a kindly hand he may never re&ch his destination. The strange malady with which he was afflicted several year# ego iu Sicily is slowly making walking impossible. His nose is already as hard as marble, Physicians in Europe and America, to whom he has appealed, shake their heads in despair. He has what is commonly known as myositis ossificans, a disease in which large areas of muscles gradually become hardened by limestone deposits. Arterial sclerosis is a similar disease, but -the limestone forms only in the blood vessels. It is only a matter of time in myositis, however, until the vital organs of the body are affected and death steps in like a dream at night ' V. ;. ^;4#«loved Tiacfcf* OrlaMo, an old man at stxfy-fWo, spent his life in a little Sicilian village. Though afforded a good education by the money one ancestor after another had handed down to his parents, he never had to work for a living. He was not idle. On the contrary, he was the village's most interesting, most fascinating teacher. On the curbstones of one of the by streets groups of children flocked about htm at all hours of the day, even into the night. He taught them the history of their country, the glories of the old Roman empire, in which his ancestors played so great a part. What he learned from books merely supplemented that which his parents had told him and his grandparents had told his parents. The World war vastly depleted the family fbrtunes, until he, jui only child, without a definite vocation in life, too old to learn any, was reduced almost .to poverty. To add to his distress he fell a victim to this strange disease. He had read about the petrified forests in the United States, and he determined, inasmuch as iiis own body was soon to be petrified, that he would die where nature's plants and animals had died such a death. Salle for America. So he set out for America pittance the poor villagers had given him. When he arrived his money was a of' V.t Mrs. Sherman Helped fep Lydia £» Pmkham's etfthle Compound % y-'l % . Abootonej bregularitiesi neasandattfmeswa* feet Idoetoredwi _ w ii>--P I suffered! family physician he finally said he eoqld not understand my ease, so I decided totryLydiaE. Pink* hamV ^Vegetable Jcen the first Dottle I could see that I was getting wttles of the VegetahkgCompmwSj and used Lydia E. Pinkham's Sanative Wash and I am entirety cored of my ailments. You may publish this letter if yov wish. "--Mrs. MARY SHERMAN. Route & Lake, Mich. There is one fact women should eonaider and that is this. Women suffer from irregularitiesand various forms of weakness. They try this and that doctor, as well as different medicines. Finally UMV take Lydia E. Pfnkham'a Compound, andMrs. Sherman's e iperience i& simply another case showing the merit of taw well-known medicine. If your famfly physician fails to help yon and the same old troubles persist «rhy ton't it reasonable to try Lydfat 2. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound? Some Lawyers Do. "Ton didn't take that divorce caseT* "No. When I asked my fair visitot what grounds she had for seeking h divorce from her husband she said she'd met another man who was a •perfect dear.'" f "I flatter myself that I'm a pretty fair lawyer, but I didn't see how I could go into court and argu&ji -tpum - like that!" *• . pSl -;i£ . : i Shave WKh Cutleura v • And double your razor efHciency at well as promote skin purity, skin com* fort and skin health. No mug, no slimy soap, no germs, no waste, no irritation even when shaved twice dally. One soap for all nses--shaving bathing and shampooing.--Advertisement The Expert Accountant The Bride--I'm in an awful mem here, mother. I simply can't get my expense account to balance. Mother--It's quite simple, my dear. Deduct the items you. can remember from the amount you had to begin with and call the difference sundries.--Life. fM M S3 Important to Mothers Examine carefully every bottle .Of OASTORIA, that famous old remedy for infants and children, and see that It Bears the Signature of In Use for Over HO Years. Children Cry for .Fletcher's Castoaift. 1 -- .-"i Depends on the Result '^0 •*t)on*t you admire determination "to a man's character?" "That depends. If It brings succMs I praise it as a splendid perseverance; if failure, I denounce it as confounded obstinacy." ^ Seattle Elects Two Women. Two women have been elected, tfr the city council of Seattle. Not Talk. "Some things go without saytng, yon know" "Yes, but a woman's tongue Is not tn that class." •They Call Him 'Squint' tifdditrie.* do, whatever yon run Into, whatever friends or enemies you find awaiting you, don't let that light die out of your eyes and don't pull in that chin! If you find a fight on your hands, whether it's man, beast,or nature, sail Into itl If you run Into things that cut your very heart out to learn--beat 'em down and keep going! And win! There--that's all the advice I know. Meet me at the 11:10 train for Indianapolis. Goodby I" * "Goodby--I'll be there." Fairchild grasped the pudgy hand and left the office. For a moment 'afterward, old Henry Beamish stood thinking and looking out over the dingy roof adjacent. Then, somewhat absently, be pressed the ancient electric button for his more ancient stenographer. "Call a messenger please," be ordered when she entered, "I want to send a cablegram." Is Slowly Trudging Hie Way Petrified Forests. gone, and he determined to walk aeroBS the country to accomplish the one great aim of his life. Orlando is nearing his goal, but so is the dreadful disease. He walks with great difficulty. The food that farmers and townspeople en route give him is received only wlti. a courtly bow and "thank you," spoken in good English-- he cannot move the skin and muscles of his face enough to smile. But he does smile inwardly. He smiles with each step he takes, knowing that he is nearer his land of death where all that has died and all that Is dying turns to stone. The estates of the duke of Wellington are still held by the annual offering to the king of a flag good I'll give yoa Sve dollar*. Hurry F* Chick With Extra Sys a«d Trenton, Mo.--A chicken with three eyes and two bills was found to a flock of chicks that were hatched by a hen belonging to Lucretla Shaw of this city. In caring for the small chicks of her flock Mrs. Shaw accidentally ran across the freak chicken It was well formed otherwise and seemed to be as pert and healthy as the others. Shot Trying to Prove lUnnUsa. Urbana. O.--Attempting to prove to his mother that his revolver was harm less Robert Jenkins, nineteen year? Old' placed the muzzle against hia body and was perhaps fatally wound ed when an old shell In the gun exploded. • ' Drowne Self In Bucket ef Water. Montreal, Can.--Crawling into a bucket of water In a Salvation Army nursery, Stuart Clinton Hall, nine months old, submerged his head and was drowned. Makes Hard Work Harder A bad back makes a dav*s twice aa hard. Backache uaually from weak kidneys, and if headaches, or urinary diaordara are added, don't wait--get help before the1 kidney diaease takes a grip--before dropjjr, gravel or Bright'* dieeeee eeta in. Doon'M Kidney Pilla have brought new life and new strength to thousands of working men and women. Used and recommended the wm|i Ilk your neighbor! An Illinois Case H. W. "Wheeler. 815 W. 3rd fit, Dixon, 111., says: I bad kidney trouble and to bend over to pick up anything was impossible. I had to pass the kidney secretions two or three times an hour and they were scanty, too. I was advised to get Doan's Kidney Pills. Doan's helped me In a,few days. During the last year. I haven t had need of a kidney remedy." Get Deae's at As* Sle«e, 60e a Bs« DOAN FOglBR-MlLSUW CO. MFAlft N. T. VICTIMS RESCUED Bdney,liver, bladder and uric add troubles are most dangerous because of their insidious attacks* Heed the first warning they gfars they need attention by taking GOLD MEDAL . The woti^a standard remedy for disorders will often ward off these dls» eases and strengthen the body again* further attacks. Time sins, all druggists, Lsek tar (IM MSM GoM M«4al oa MV HSB mad mist m Isrihlfae to IIIIIII eM, •kMllkiwe New Hair *Mie -- Dont get Ml |« Q 1»« today -- It's SMeh mure plea--At aB ntl lnnlili. He, •r direct (na •Ht-SlS, Chatty ••eMh QREEN MOUNTAIN ASTHMA aaleUy teUeves the ilitnss Ufg yetetfiaa. Ml for ten --sell of lone t/lm (mtsei «l . H. _ jeMss si jAeSnsta. ita W W. H. U., CHICAGO. M6iraft*t«t2. i - i I I I. ' I I r ^ J . * i Nij; * A. * V ' ' •>