The Yukon Sun (Yukon, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 48, Ed. 1 Friday, November 7, 1913 Page: 3 of 8
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A
YUKON, OKLA., SUN
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TH£ BOBQS-/i££8JLL COMMY
rheWOMAN
Atfalelfy payw
Terhune,
founded on
William G. dc Milled Ploy
Illustrated with Photo?/km r/icP/qy
okI Drawings & VLfidmcr
Congressman Standlsh and the Woman,
believing themselves In love, spend a
trial week as man and wife In a hotel
In northern New York under assumed
names. The Woman awakens to the fart
that she does not love Standlsh and calls
their eni?ag ment off. Standlsh protests
undying devotion. Wanda Kelly, tele-
phone girl at the Hotel Keswick. Wash-
ington. Is loved by Tom Blake, son of the
political boss of the house. He proposes
marriage and Is refused. She gives ns
one of her reasons her determination to
get rgvenge on Jim Blake for ruining her
father. Congressman Frank E Kelly.
Congressman Standlsh, turned insurgent.
Is fighting the Mulllns bill, a measure In
the Interests of the railroads. The ma-
chine Is seeking means to discredit Stand-
lsh in the hope of pushing the hill
through. Robertson, son-in-law of Jim
Blake, and the latter's candidate for
speaker of the house, tries to win Stand
ish over, and falling, threatens to dig
Into his past. Jim Blake finds out about
the episode of five years back at the
northern New York hotel. He secures all
the facts except the name of the Woman
and proposes to use the story as a club
to force Standlsh to allow the Mulllns hill
to pass. Jim Blake lays a trap to secure
the name of the Woman. He tells Miss
Kelly that he is going to have a talk with
Standlsh. and that at its conclusion the
latter will call up a number on the tele-
phone to warn the Woman He offers
Miss Kelly $100 for that number. At the
conclusion of the interview with Blake.
Standlsh gets a New York wire and colls
Plaza 1001. A few minutes later Robert-
son tells Miss Kelly to call Plaza 1001 and
jcet his wife or one of the servants on the
phone. Miss Kelly refuses to give Jim
Blake the number called by Standlsh.
Blake has a story of the Standlsh episode
prepared ready to send out as soon as the
Woman's nam« Is learned. Blake's daugh-
ter Grace arrives with her husband. Gov-
ernor Robertson. Miss Kelly calls on
Orace to warn her that her good name 18
threatened by Impending exposure of
Standlsh and Is Insulted for her pains.
Orace appeals to Standlsh to give up the
fight in order to protect her name. He
refuses. Graco sends for Miss Kelly,
apologizes for her rudeness and ben
"Wanda's assistance. Wanda declares she
will never betray the Woman. The ma-
chine attempts again to force Standlsh
out of the fight, without hucopah. Blake
•calls up the Associated Press to order the
publication of the story, but Is cut off and
communication is restored too late to g*>t
the story Into the morning papers. Rob
ertson attempts to force Miss Kelly to
reveal the Woman's name. She Is threat-
ened with imprisonment for cutting off
Blake's conversation with the Associated
Press because of her refusal to give the
number called by Standlsh. Grace admits
that she knows the name of the Woman
and her husband demands that she tell it.
grotesquely. He took an involuntary
step toward Van Dyke. % The latter
raised a protesting hand.
"Mark," he said, flinching not at all
before the bloodshot fury in the hus*
band's little eyes, "we are here as law-
yers, making an investigation. At last
we have struck the right trail. I am
sorry it leads where it does. I—"
He got no further. At a stride Rob-
ertson was beside his wife.
"You hear what this man insinu-
ates?" ho cried thickly "1 don't ask
yQU to foul your lips by denying it.
I'll attend to him later. Hut give me
the right to do that by telling the
Woman's name at once."
"Grace!" croaked Illake, his throat
sanded with a horror that he would
not confess, "don't you hear what
they're saying, girl?"
In his harsh eagerness, Mark forci-
tly lifted his wife's bent head
forced her eyes to meet his.
"What's the matter?" ho demanded
and done with—before you married
Mark!"
"Father!"
The Woman faced him in dry-eyed
horror. Every trace of weeping was
stared away by the flame of Buddeu
indignation. And, at the sight, Jim
Blake gave a great wordless cry and
gathered her into his arms as though
she were a baby.
"Oh, my little girl!" he choked,
"Dad's own, own little girl! We've
been tearing your poor heart to pieces
and your old father was the bitterest
against you. It's all right. 1 tell you,
girl. It's all right. Dad'll see you
through. You shan't be bothered.
There, there! Oh, don't cry like that,
darling. Don't!"
His voice grew husky. leaving her
abruptly, he crossed to Robertson
"Mark," he faltered, avoiding his
son-in law's eye, "you promised to pro-
tect her. This is the time to do it. It
wus for better, for worse.' If that
vow la any good at all. it's a good
for 'worse' as for 'better.' Mark—be
gentle with her, boy."
Slowly, with bent shoulders and
dragging step Blake made his way to
the big room's farthest end. There, in
tho window's embrasure, out of ear-
shot, his back to the others, he halted.
Drawing aside the curtains he
glanced out Into the night. The gloom
of the sleeping city was below and
around him. But, in one black mass
tiftrs upon tiers of garish lights
an(* i glowed. There, in the capitol, the
I Mullins bill was coming to a vote.
There, Matthew Standlsh, freed by a
when 1 knew you. I gave you every-
thing.
"I'm trying to irahe it easy. We've
never had a real quarrel, you and I.
Mark. So don't let us wind up our
married life with one, now. You are
In the right. 1 am hopelessly in the
wrong. I have cheated you. I admit
it, and I'll accept the consequences. It
Is in the blood. There Is much iu
heredity. My father is a—politician
I don't know who my grandfather was
And if he had been worth knowing
about. I'd know. There is a bad strain
running through the family. It cropped
out in me. Yes, I have cheated you.
You had the right to demand in our
bargain the hard-and-fast terms the
world has decreed: All of a w ife's life
suite, Wanda, with elaborate car*, was
shutting the door behind her.
Blake glanced quickly about the
room.
"Yes," said Wanda, answering the
question in his look and jerking her
pretty head back in the direction of
the rooms she had just quitted. "In
there. I wouldn't worry if 1 were you."
Jim Blake's grim face took on a
light as incongruous as the play of
sunset rays on a mummy. The mask
of age and defeat seemed to melt be-
neath it. He took an eager step to-
ward the inner door.
"Just a minute," Wanda halted him.
"You asked me to wait. If you don't
need me here any longer—"
"Yes," hesitated Blake, trouble flit-
in exchange for a frayed and battered ting acroes the new light In his
remnant of her husband's. I can't
meet those terms, though 1 tried to
fool you into believing I could. So I
must meekly give up the love whose
price I can't pay. Don't let's make it
harder by having a scene over it
. i =*
chapter XXI.
Jim Blake, Loser.
And bo for an instant they stood. It
•was an odd tableau: Grace, helpless,
shaking, dumb; Wanda, her arms
clasped protectlngly about the unheed-
ing Woman, who did not so much as
realize their presence nor feel the
- warm sympathy of their embrace;
Mark, his triumph tinged with Impa-
tience at his wife's hesitation; Blake,
still gripping the telephone and glow-
ering in angry surprise at the lawyer;
Van Dyke grim, alert, master of the
moment, his lean face set in lines of
unwonted sadness.
And It was Van Dyke who broke the
brief silence. His precise dry voice
was tinged by a note of something al-
most solemn as he addressed Robert-
son.
"Mark," he said, "Miss Kelly has
told us that she promised the—the
Woman not to tell. When did she
make that promise?"
"What does that matter now?" snap-
ped Mark. "We—"
"She never heard of the affair until
early this evening. So it must be
since then that she talked with the
Woman about it Miss Kelly has been
on duty downstairs ever since bIx
o'clock. She has not left this hotel.
How could she have communicated
with the Woman?"
"By telephone. If—"
"I think not," denied Van Dyke, the
cold sorrow in his voice now apparent
to every one. "The Woman is here
In this house."
"So much the better!" declared
Blake, again picking up the telephone.
Van Dyke, In gloomy wonder, turn-
ed on his chief.
"You have often boasted, Jim," said
he, "that you owe your success to the
fact you see things just a second soon-
er than other people. Don't you un-
derstand—even yet?"
"No," growled Blake, "I don't Out
with It. man! What are you trying to
get at? Don't beat about the bush.
You're wasting time that we haven't
got"
Van Dyke faced Roberston; his lean
face working.
"Mark," be said, tapping the dupli-
cate telephone list, "your house In
New York is charged here with two
calls. We thought It was a mistake
A wordless gurgle from Jim Blake
Interrupted him. The telephone was
set down by a hand that shook aB
though from palsy. For a single in-
stant the heavy-lidded eyes were whol-
ly, starkly unveiled In a glare of un-
believing horror. Then they turned
stupidly upon Orace who bowed her
head In a spasm of hysterical uncheck-
ed weeping before the panic query In
their gaze.
Wanda Kelly wound her arms tight-
er about the heavy body. But Grace
neither felt the contact nor heard the
whisper of eager futile comforting
Hlake stared open-mouthed, his face
greenish and flabby, the stern jaw
loose, the keen eyes bulging. Mark
Robinson was still frowning perplexed-
ly at Van Dyke.
"Don't you understand?" pleaded the
latter.
"No, I don't," returned Mark. "What
have the two phone calls to my home
got to do with—T"
"Suppose the second call were not
a mistake—?" hesitated Van Dyke
Roblnson'B face went purple. The
sharply. "Why don't you speak? Tell
Van Dyke he lies. Tells him he lies, I
say! Oh!"
His fierce appeal broke off in a cry
of pain. He had at last raised her
face and had read It. For the briefest
moment he stood stupefied, expression-
less.
"Why, Grace!" expostulated Blake,
in pitiful bravado. "You're crazy!
You don't know what you're Implying
—what you're letting them think. I
won't believe it. Not a word of it.
It's a trick to—to—"
She caught his Bhaklng hand and
murmured a broken incoherent sylla-
ble or two amid the passion of her
sobs.
"Almighty!"
Blake's legs gave way and he
sprawled inert into a chair, his head
on his breast. He had all at once
grown old—very, very old. Meantime,
Robertson had forced his own dazed
brain back into a semblance of Its
former strong control.
"Van Dyke," he said as calmly as if
he were giving a routine order, "you
will have every trace of this story de-
stroyed tonight. It must never get
beyond this room. I can count on
you?"
"Certainly," agreed Van Dyke with
equal coolness.
There was no hint in his voice or
in his manner that Mark's command
entailed the defeat of a bill, the col-
lapse of millions of dollars worth of
stocks, a probably panic on Wall
street and the money interests' total
If temporary Iosb of power In con-
gress. For the moment, the great
corporation lawyer chanced to be also
a man
On his way from the room, Van
Dyke paused beside Blake's chair.
"Jim." he Eaid hesitatingly, "I'm go-
1 Paid? Won't
We're Square?'
Haven't
miracle from the toils that craftier
men had woven about him. was win-
ning the victory which was to clear
for him the pathway to the very sum
mlt of political power.
But he found his subconscious self
straying from the picture he was so
ruthlessly drawing. His mind would
not fix Itself on the lighted capitol and
the wreck of his life-work; but crept
over buck Into the dim room behind
him. Even his tongue tricked him.
For when he would have made It re-
cite further the tale of his losses. It
muttered brokenly:
"My own little girl! Dad's own.
own little girl!"
CHAPTER XXII.
The Hour of Reckoning.
Mark Robertson and his wife, left
alone, together. In the other end of
the great library, faced the situation j your f0rgjveness i d
for which Grace had so long been pre- 1 an
paring and for which her frightened
years of preparation had proved so
useless.
Mark strove for speech. But for the
first time In his roughly aggressive ca-
reer, suitable words were denied him.
Alternately he longed to tell her In
naked terms what she was and how
utterly he despised her. Again. a
gush of self-pity urged him to reproach
her for the wrecking of his Ideals, the
blasting of his happiness. Vanity
coming part way to his aid, he framed
—and left unspoken—a curt sentence
of farewell. And, In the end, all he
could say was:
"Why didn't you tell me?"
It was not what he had Intended to
say. It was banal. It expressed none
of the Btark moods that seethed In
him. Yet as she did not answer, he
found himself asking once more:
"Why didn't you tell me?"
And now, unknown and unwished
for, there crept into Ills bald question
a note that was almost of entreaty
"Tell you?" she echoed. "Oh, if you
know how I've wanted to!"
"Then—"
"I didn't darn. I didn't dare."
"Truth and honor surely—"
"Your love meant more to me than
truth and honor. I sacrificed them to
keep It. I would sacrifice them and
everything elBe to get it back Is
that shameless? Perhaps. The truth
usually is. If I had told you, you
would never have forgiven me. You
know you wouldn't. If I've wronged
you—"
"If you had loved me as a true worn
an loves, you would have told me.
You would have had to. You could not
have deceived me like this. Love
doesn't feed on lies. It was my right
to know everything, so that I could
decide my own course. Instead, you
have led me Into this trap. There la
no escape now. And It is too late to
Good night. I'll stay with father until
you can decide Just what you want to
do and on what basis we're to sepa-
rate. If it would do any good to ask
isk It. That's
Good night, Mark."
She held out her hand with a shy
wlstfulness. He was staring straight
Into her tortured eyes and did not see
the gesture. The hand dropped back
limply to her side, and Bile moved to j
rejoin Blake.
But at the first step, Mark barred
her way. She looki d at him In tired
wonder. His face was set and hard
He made no move to touch her. His
voice, when he Bpoke, grated like a
file, bb he forced it between hlB un
willing lips.
"Grace,""he began. "I've told you my
love is dead. And 1 lied when I said 1
It. I planned to put you out of m;.
life. And, even while I planned. I
knew I couldn't do It. It doesn't mat j
ter what I want to do or what I ougiit j
to do. Out of all this hideous tangle,
blazeB forth Just one thing that 1 must
do whether I want to or not. I must
go on loving you with all my strength
and life."
"Do jou mean," Bhe panted wildly,
"do you mean that you can—that you
will—"
"I mean," he cried brokenly. Ills self-
control smashing to atoms under the
hammer blows of his heart, "I mean
then- is nothing in all this world for
me, dear love, awuy from you! I love
M>u. And I can't go on without you.
You are earth and heaven and lit 11 to
me. I love you. And 1 have forgotten
everything but that. Girl of my heart,
will you let me make you forget, too?
Oh, 1 love you! I love you!"
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Victor?
"They didn't seem exactly to be
hankering after my society In there,"
observed Wanda Kelly, "so I came
back."
Jim I'.Iake turned from the window
at sound of the telephone girl's pur
j---.' i □ ■ n ; LJ s
big
Gathered Her Into His Arms as
Though She Were a ^Baby.
lng over to the capitol. Shall I tell
Mulllns to let the bill come to a
vote?"
"Yes," answered Blake, without stir-
ring or so much as looking up.
"Yes," he Bald again, and his voice'
was dead. "Yes—I'm—I'm licked."
As Van Dyke opened the dor, Wan-
da made as though to follow him.
"If you don't need me any further,
Mr. Blake," Bhe said gertly, "I'll go."
Blake lifted a palsied hand In nega-
tion.
"In there," he muttered, pointing to-
ward the door that led to the Inner
rooms. "I must Bpeak to you—after-
ward."
When the old man raised his eyes,
Mark and Grace alone were left In the
room with him. Robertson was stand-
ing moveless unseeing. Grace'b sobs
broke the tense silence, as she fought
weakly for self-control. Blake crossed
over to her. She rose at his approach.
"Daughter," Bald Blake, almost tim-
idly, "they've all gone. None of them
will tell. But there's one thing we've
got to know. I'm with you, no matter
what you've done. But—but—tell me
veins near his temples' swelled - that—that this was all over and—
PRAISED WORK OF CANNIBALS
reproach you or to try to make you posely raised voice. Just within the
realize what you have done. You say threshold from the Inner rooms of the
your love for me kept you from tell-
ing? Believe that, If it Is any com
fort to you. I—"
"You say 1 don't know what true
love is," she laughed bitterly. I'm
afraid I can never learn It from you
So your love has died? Love can't
die, any more than God can die. You
have never loved me."
"Never. I see now that you didn't
For you don't know what love means i
I lived for you. Every thought and Henry M. Stanley Found Them Faith-
ord and act of mine was shaped for fu| Followers, Intelligent and
you. And for you alone. I knew you Trustworthy.
I knew your faults, your follleB, your
brute savagery. And I loved you for Henry M. Stanley was among the
theip as well as for the good that was flm tQ negaUve the prevailing idea
In you. But what was It you loved1 |hat raunlbaUBm wa8 lbe mark of a
The woman you married-or a snow- Bpectal aliotmant of original Bin
white saintly reputation? If you cared ,imong aborlglnes. In fact he pre-
only for the reputation that Is gone ferre(j cannibals because of their
forever. But if you loved me—11> Kreater intelligence and greater Adel- a frown wai
woman I am-then I ve been every- Now we have the oplnioI1 of Mr. , h burst fo
thing you thought I was and wanted Torday ^ hftg juBt returned from
company whe
"1 wanted to ask you- to—not to let
Tom know about this. Ills sister
"I'll never tell him," she promised
"1 sent him away so lie wouldn't llnd
out."
"You're white, clear through," gnidg
lngl> admitted lllake. "Will you do
oti' thing more?"
"What?"
"Br ng him hack me "
"If I meet him again," she assented
primly, "I'll send—"
"I didn't say 'send,'" corrected
Blake, "1 said bring.' "
"That's different. I—"
"I'm out of politics. My own game
has broken me at laet. I'm old. I
know It now. I never did till tonight.
I'm . 111 and I want my children around
me."
' I'll tell Tom," she agreed, softened
despite herself by the new suppllance
In a \oice that had never before been
turned to the uses of entreaty. "I'll tell
him I'm sure he'll roine back to you
— when he understands. Good night,
Mr Blake."
"There's another thing," he broke
In roughly, staying her departure, "n
thing that Isn't easy to Bay."
"Then, why sny It?"
"Because," he growled, "like all
tilings that aren't eaBy to say, It's a
thing that'B got to bo said. Miss Kel-
ly, hasn't tonight pretty nearly squared
the old debt between you and me?
You and yours have suffered a lot at
my hands. But, after what's ha]>-
pened here tills evening, I guess you'll
admit, as far as suffering goes, you
haven t got much on me. Haven't I
paid" Won't you say we're square?"
"We're- we're square, Mr. lilake,"
she returned in a tone she could not
make wholly steady nor Impersonal.
"And," pursued Blake, "anil -Tom?"
"That's different, too." she faltered.
"I
The Jangle of the telephone Inter-
rupted her. Blake, who was beside
the desk, picked up the instrument.
"Hello." he called Into the transmit-
ter. "Ye -yes—she's here. Who
wants her? Oh! Yes, put him ou thla
wire."
He lowered the telephone.
"Some one to speak to you, Miss
Kelly," ho reported.
Mechanically, she took up tho re-
ceiver, and, by long habit, her voice
took Its professional drone:
"Hello!" she called.
Then, turning on Blake, in surprise,
she cried:
"Why, It's Tom!"
"Yes." drawled Blake. "So I gath-
ered from the name. I'm glad. Glad
clear down to the ground. For both
of you. Tell him so, won't you?"
Tho winter Bun was butting Its way
over the eastern sky-line. The dawn
was bitter-cold, mercilessly clear.
And into the track of the first white
glittering rays walked a tired man A
man who that night had won a mighty
victory. A victory that foreshadowed
tho richest gifts his country could be-
stow. Before him the future stretched
bright as that winter's dawn. As daz-
zlingly brilliant, and as cold and stark'
ly empty.
In Matthew Stand1"' ears, ns he
returned toward the loveless abode
that he hated to call home, still rang
echoes ot the pandemonium that had
broken loose in the house when tho
Mulllns bill had gone down to defeat'
"There 1b only one lasting victory,"
he muttered dlsjolntedly to himself,:
as he moved onward In the dazzling!
ice-cold trail of light. "At the last, It
won't be the world's applause that the
world's great men will remember. It
will be the love smile of a Woman.
And—I shall never have known that
memory. What Is the rest worth?"
(TI1E END.)
URLS! GIRLS! TRY IT,
BEAUTIFY YOUR HAIR
Make It Thick, G'ossy, Wavy, Luxur-
iant and Remove Dandruff—Real
Surprise for You.
Your linir becomes light, wavy, fluf-
fy, abundant and appears as soft, lus-
trous and beautiful as a young girl's
after :i Oanderine hair cleanse." Just
try this moisten a cloth with a little
Danderine and carefully draw it
through your hair, taking one small
strand at a time. This will cleanse
the hair of dust, dirt and excessive oil
and in just a few moments you have
doubled lhe beauty of your hair.
Besides beautifying the hair at once,
Danderine dissolves every particle of
dandruff; cleanses, purifies and invig-
orates the scalp, forever stopping itch-
ing and falling hair.
Hut what will please you most will
be after a few weeks' use when you
will actually see new hair—fine and
downy at llrst yes but really new
hair—growing all over the scalp If
you care for pretty, soft hair and lots
of it, surely get a 2ij cent bottle of
Knowlton's Danderine from any store
and just try it. Adv.
Pastor to Blame.
Tho church choir had resigned, nnd
the parson asked what was the cause
of the trouble.
"Well," replied one of the ofllcers,
"you have yourself to blame. You
know you said. 'Providence having
seen fit to afflict all our choir with
bad colds, let us join in singing,
"Praise God From Whom All IJlesa-
ings Flow."'"
His Advantage.
"A judge who is wooing a woman
has one advantage over their lovers."
"What's that?"
"If she won't listen to him. he can
tine her for contempt of court."
lie is truly a great composed who
can set a hen to music.
"Don't Mope"
just because your ap-
petite is poor, the di-
gestion weak and the bowels
constipated. What you need
just now is a short course of
HOSTETTER'S
STOMACH BITTERS
It tones and strengthens the
"inner man" and helps you
back to perfect health
and happiness. But
be positive you get
"Hostetter's"
Setiiers a Year
Immigration figures
show that tire popula-
tion of Canada in-
ert-used during 1913,
by the addition of
400,OUU new settlers
where It is the custom to expose the
bodies of the dead for disposal by
beasts and birds. Cut where the dis-
ease is of so loathsome a nature as
to repel nature's scavengers the body
la eaten by the priests, which shows
that official piety has Its uses.
me to be—ever since the first moment
ihe neighborhood of l.ake Tehad In
you had the right to think of me at all. , eqUatoria] Africa. He BayB that he
I gave you my life from that time on ^ unarmed, and une8cort.
and forever. And it has been all yours '
.. . „ ed except by one friend and twenty
t ore urn, wai^m nf^. Blmbalaland porters who were all can-
"And yet you let me believe tt was nlba)g He were „the m0Bt
everything your whole llfe-you, deyoted and rel|ab)e companlon8 ,
first love. „„_,v ,h could ever wish to have In a tight cor-
"It wa«. All that was worth thf „ . ..
1 ner. The practice of cannibalism
gtvlng. All that had ever been worth
was originally confined to the bodies
tho giving. It was my self. Oh. can't .... , .
you see that a woman's body and °f relative, and was Intended as
heart and soul belong not to her firs. ™rk °f r(esP«ct KE"en,lle8 7ere tf' "
lover but to her first love? No woman ■ < *« *« <*«> their valor. Prot-
ean even guess what love Is until shn a^„the fost d^^ded form of can
has found It. And 1 found It only | niballam la to be found In Thibet,
Ought to Be, Anyhow.
At dinner Mollie gaied for a long
time at a bachelor guest, and then ex-
claimed:
"Mothyr. what Ib an old bachelor?"
as the only reply. But a
forth from the assembled
hen Mollie answered the
question to suit herself.
"Oh. I know! An old bachelor Is
an old maid's husband!"
mim
the
lited
Pleasant tor Mamma.
* And what did my little darling do
in school today?" a mother asked of
her youngest son—a second grader,
"We had nature •tudy, and it was my
turn to bring a specimen," said the
boy. "That was nice. What did you
do?" "I brought a cockroach In a
bottle and I told teacher we had lots
more and If she wanted I would bring
one every day."
States and Eurnp
Must of these have
pone on farms in the
provinces of Mani-
toba, Saskatchewan
and Alberta.
I .ord William Percy, an K nu-
ll sh NoMeman,\ ways: "The
possibilities and opportuni-
ties offered by tho Canadian
West are ho Infinitely greater
than those which exist in Eng-
land, that It seeins absurd to
think that people should be
impeded from coming to the
country where they can most
easily and certainly improve
their position.''
New districts are being opened
up. winch w ill make accessible
a great number of homesteads
in district* especially adapted
to mixed farming and grain
raising.
For illustrated literature nnd re-
duced railway rates, apply to Su-
perintendent Immigration, Otta-
wa, Canada, or
G. A. COOK.
125 W. 9th STREET. KANSAS CI TT. MO.
est Indies
S| AND I THE
Panama
17
FOUR CRUISES
from NEW ORLEANS
to KlngMfon, Cniim ( 1'niuima
Can*!) u HaVana.
lir. s. S. FUERST BISMARCK
JAN. 24 FEB. 12
S.S. KRONPRINZESSJN CECILIE
FEB. 28 ' MAR. 17
DURATION | .«10eAND
15 DAYS BACH I COST *125 UP
AI.80 (>t
SIX cncisus NEW
TIIIIK, Jn 11 14. Feht 7. 12. March
11. lS.'AprlMl by V.JU VICTORIA
LU1SK. and S. S. A.^T-HIK A.
I'd^/ur luolilet
Hamburg-
41-45 h way,
cruiHt.
[can Line
Y.( or Local Agent
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Wells, Alfred J. The Yukon Sun (Yukon, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 48, Ed. 1 Friday, November 7, 1913, newspaper, November 7, 1913; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc128517/m1/3/: accessed April 25, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.