The Enid Events. (Enid, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 20, Ed. 1 Thursday, February 26, 1914 Page: 3 of 8
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THK ENID EVENTS.
V
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Abysmal Brute
By JACK LONDON
= jCopyright, 1913, by The Century Co. =
PROLOGUE.
Few authors living today have
the force and directness, the
rugged strength and vitality of
style of Jack London. This new
novel is one of his best. It is a
story of the prize ring, a real
man's story, big and vigorous
and ihrilling. Behind the tense
life, the excitement of the fight
itself, one can see in reading
it the crookedness, the devious
ways of the keen witted men who
stage the big fight and reap the
profits. More than this, one can
see into the soul of the Abys-
mal Brute himself, one of the
strangest, most human and fas-
cinating characters London has
ever drawn, a bruiser who is a
scholar as well, who is honest
and clean and innocent up to
the moment of his disillusion-
ment—a veritable cross section
of a strange phase of American
life.
CHAPTER 1.
SAM STOBENER ran through his
mail carelessly anil rapidly. As
became a manager of prize
fighters, he was accustomed to
a various and bizarre correspondence.
Every crank, sport, near sport and re-
former seemed to have ideas to impart
to him.
From dire threats against his life to
tnilder threats, such as pushing in the
front of his face, from rabbit foot
fetishes to lucky horseshoes, from
dinky jerkwater bids to the quarter of
a million offers of irresponsible nobod-
ies, he knew the whole run of the sur-
prise portion of his mail. In his time
having received a razor strop made
from the skin of a lynched negro and
a finger, withered and sun dried, cut
from the body of a white man found
in Death valley, he was of the opinion
that never again would the postman
bring him anything that could startle
liim.
But this morning he opened a letter
that he read a second time, put away
in his pocket and took out for a third
reading. It was postmarked from some
unheard of postoflice in Siskiyou coun-
ty, and it ran:
Dear Sam—You don't know me. except
my reputation. You come after my time,
and I've been out of the game a long time.
But, take It from me, I ain't been asleep.
I've followed the whole game, and I've
followed you from the time Kal Aufman
knocked you out of your last handling of
Nat Belson, and 1 take It you're the nifti-
est thing In the line of managers that ever
came down the pike.
I got a proposition for you. I got the
greatest unknown that ever happened.
This ain't con. It's the straight goods.
"What do you think of a husky that tips
the scales at 220 pounds fighting weight.
Is twenty-two years old and can hit a
kick twice as hard as my best ever?
That's him, my boy, Young Pat Olendon.
that's tho name he'll fight under. I've
planned it all out. Now. the best thing
you can do is hit the first train and come
up here.
1 bred him, and I trained him. All that
3 ever had In my head I've hammered Into
his. And maybe you won't believe It, but
he's added to It. lie's a born fighter. He's
& wonder nt time and distance. He just
knows to the second and the Inch, and
lie don't have to think about It at all.
His si* Inch Jolt is more tho real sleep
medicine than the full arm swing of most
(eeze-s.
Talk about.the hope of the white race.
This Is him. Come and tako a peep.
When you was managing Jeffries you
was crazy about hurting.
Come along and I'll give you some real
hunting and fishing that will make your
moving picture winnings look like 30 cents.
I'll send Young Pat out with you. 1 ain't
able to get around. That's why I'm send-
ing for you.
I was going to manage him myself, but
It ain't no use. I'm all In and likely to
pass out any time. So get a move on. 1
want you to manage him. There'a a for-
tune In it for both of you, but I want to
draw up the contract. Tours truly,
PAT OLENDON.
Btubener was puz:sle<l. It seemed.
on the face of it, a Joke—the men in
the fighting game were notorious jok-
ers—and he tried to discern the fine
hand of Corbett or the big friendly
paw of Fltzsimmons in the screed be-
fore him. But if It were genuine, he
knew it was worth looking into.
Pat Giendon was before his time,
though, as a cub, he had once seen
Old Pat spar at the benefit for Jack'
Dempsey. Even then he was called
"Old" Pat and had been out of the !
ring for years. Ue had antedated Sul-
livan in the old London prize ring
rules, though his last fading battles
had been put up under the incoming
Marquis of Queensherry rules.
What ring follower did not know of
Pat Giendon?—though few were alive
who had seen hlni In his prime, and
there were not many more who had
seen blm ut all
Yet bis name bad come down In the
history of the ring, and no sporting
writer's lexicon was complete without
it Ills fame was paradoxical.
No man was honored higher, and
yet he had never attained champion-
ship honors. He had been unfortunate
and had been known as the unlucky
fighter.
Four times lie all but won the heavy-
weight championship, and each time he
had deserved to win it There was
the time on the barge, In San Fran-
cisco bay, when, at the moment lie
had the championship going, ho snap-
ped his own forearm, nnd on the is-
land in the Thames, sloshing about in
six inches of rising tide, he broke a
leg at a similar stage in a winning
fight In Texas, too, there was the
never to be forgotten day when the
police broke In Just as he had his man
going in all certainty.
And finally, there was the fight in
the Mechanics' pavilion in San Fran-
cisco, when lie was secretly Jobbed
from the first by a gun fighting bad
man of a referee backed by a small
syndicate of bettors. Pat Giendon had
had no accidents in that fight, but
when he had knocked his man cold
with a right to the jaw and a left to
the solar plexus, the referee calmly
disqualified him for fouling. Every
ringside witness, every sporting ex-
pert. and the whole sporting world
knew there had been no foul.
Yet, like all lighters, Pat Giendon
had agreed to abide by the decision of
the referee. Pat abided and accepted it
as in keeping with the rest of his bad
luck.
This was Pat Giendon. What both-
ered Stubener was whether or not Put
had written the letter. He curried it
downtown with him.
"What's become of Pat Giendon?"
Such was his greeting to all sports
that morning. Nobody seemed to know.
Some thought he must be dead, but
none knew positively. The tight editor
of a morning daily looked up the rec-
ords and was able to state that his
death had not been noted, it was from j
,Tim Donovan that be got a clew.
"Sure an' he ain't dead," said Dono- !
van. "How could that be—a man of
his make that never boozed or blew
himself? Ho made money and. what's
more, he saved it and invested it. I
Didn't he have three saloons at one !
time? An' wasn't he makin' slathers I
of money with them when he sold out? j
"Now that I'm thinkin', that was the j
last time I laid eyes on him—when be j
sold them out. 'T was all of twenty |
years and more ago. His wife had just
died. 1 met him headin' for the ferry, j
'Where away, old sport?' says I. 'It's I
me for the woods,' says be. 'I've quit, i
Goodby, Tim, tne boy.' And I've never !
seen him from that day to this. Of
course be ain't dead."
"You say when his wife died—did he
have any children?" Stubener queried.
"One. a little baby. He was iuggiu' ;
it in his arms that very day."
"Was it a boy?"
"How should 1 be knowin'?"
It was then that Sam Stubener
8tubeiTl>r struck the trail. Oh. yes;
Pat Giendon lived out beyond. You
took the stage at Alpine, which was
forty miles and which was a logging
camp. From Alpine, on horseback,
you rode up Antelope valley and cross-
ed the divide to Bear creek. Pat
Giendon lived somewhere beyond that
The people of Alpine would know.
Y'es, there was a young Pat. The!
storekeeper had teen him. He bad
been Into Deer I.lck two years back, i
Old Pat had not put In an appearance'
for five years. He bought bis supplies
at the etore and always paid by check, ]
and he was a white haired strange old
man. That was all the storekeeper
knew, but the folks at Alpine c.iuld
give blm final directions.
It looked good to Stubener. Beyond
doubt there was a young Pat Gien-
don, as well as an old one, living out
beyond.
That night the manager speut at the
logging camp of Alpine, and early the
following morning be roue a moun-
tain cayuse up Antelope valley. He
Baldy. An' he has a hankerln' for the
drawln1 o' pitchers of things, an' of
spouting about 'Lucifer or night' from !
the poetry books he got from the red
headed school teacher.
"But 'tis only his youngness. He'll I
settle down to the game once we get
him started, but watch out for
grouches when It first comes to llvin' |
In a city for htm."
The Fight Editor Was Able to State
That His Death Had Not Been Noted.
reached a decision, and that night
found him In a Pullman speeding to-
ward the wilds of northern California.
Stubener was dropped olT the over-
land at IJeer I.lck in the early morn-
ing. anil he kicked his heels for an
hour before the saloon opened its
doors.
No, the saloon keeper didn't know
anything about Pat Giendon, had nev-
er heard of him, and If he was In that
part of tho country he must be out
beyond somewhere. Neither had the
one banger on ever heard of Pat Gien-
don.
At the hotel the same Ignorance ob-
tained. and It was not until the store-
keeper and postmaster opened up that
Q rb
"Jeffries could 'a' worried the young un
a bit."
rode over the divide and down Bear
creek. He rode all day through the
wildest, roughest country he had ever
seen, and at sunset turned up Pinto
valley on a trail so stiff and narrow
that more than once he elected to get
off and wnlk.
It was li o'clock when he dismount-
ed before a log cabin nnd was greeted
by the baying of two huge deerhounds.
Then Pat Giendon opened the door, fell
on bis neck and took him in.
"I knew ye'd come. Sam. me boy,"
said Pat. the while he limped about,
building a fire, boiling coffee and fry-
ing a bear steak. "The young un ain't
home the night. We was gettin' short
of meat, and hq went out about suu-
down to pick up a deer. But I'll say
no more. Wait till ye see him. He'll
be home in the morn, and then you can
try him out There's the gloves. But
wait till ye see him.
"As for me, I'm finished. Eighty-one
come next January an' pretty good for
an ex-bruiser. But I never wasted me-
self, Sam, nor kept late hours an' burn-
ed the candle at all ends. I had a
dashed good candle an' made the most
of it, as you'll grant at lookin' at me.
And I've taught the same to the young
nn. What do you think of a lad of
twenty-two that's never had a drink in
his life nor tasted tobacco? That's
him.
"He's a giant, and he's lived natural
all his days. Wait till he takes you
out after deer. He'll break your heart
travelin' light, him a-carryin' the out-
fit and a big buck deer belike. He's a
child of the open air an' winter nor
summer has be slept under a roof. The
open for him. as 1 taught him.
"The one thing that worries me is
how he'll take to sleepln' In houses an
how he'll stand the tobacco smoke in
the ring. 'Tis a terrible thing, that
smoke, when you're lighting hard an'
gaspin' for air. But no more. Sum, me
boy. You're tired an' sure should be
sleepln'. Wait till you see blm. that's
all. Wait till you see him."
But the garrulousness of nge was on
old Pat, and It was long before lie per
initted Stuhener's eyes to close.
"He can run a deer down with bis
own legs, that young un." be broke
out again. " 'Tis the dandy trainln
for the lungs, the hunter's life. lie
don't know much of else, though lie's
read a few books at times an' poetry
stuff. He's just plain pure natural, as
you'll see when you clap eyes on him
He's got the old Irish strong In blm.
"Sometimes, the way he moons about
It's thinkin' strong I am that lie be-
lieves in the fairies and such like. He's
a nature lover If ever there was one,
an' he's nfeard of cities. He's read
about them, but the biggest he was
evor In was Deer I.lck, He misliked the
many people, and his report was that
they'll stand weedln'. out That was
two years agope—the first and the last
time he's seen a locomotive and a train
of cars.
"Sometimes It's wrong I'm thinkin' I
am. brlngln' him up a natural. It's
given him wind and stamina and the
strength of wild hulls. So city grown
man can have a look-in against him.
I'm wlilln' to grant fhat Jeffries at his
best could 'a' worried the y.oung un a
bit. but only a bit. The young un
could 'a' broke him like n straw. An'
be don't look It That's the everlasting
wonder of It. He's only a fine Beem-
Ing young husky; but It's the quality
#f bis muscle that's different But wait
Ull ye see him, that's all.
"A strange liking the boy has for
posies, on' little meadows, a bit of pine
with the moon beyond, windy sunsets
or the sun o' morns from the top of old
CHAPTER
A GOOD thing; he's woman shy.
They'll not bother him for '
years," continued Old Pat j
"Ho can't bring himself to j
understand the creatures, au' few of
them has be seen at that 'Twas tho
schoolteacher over at Samson's Flat j
that put the poetry stuff In his head.
She was clean daffy over the young ,
"un, an' he never a-knowln'.
"A warm haired girl she was—not a
mountain girl, but from down in the
flat lands—an' as time went by she
was fair desperate, an' the way she
went after blm was shameless. An'
what d'ye think the boy did when be
tumbled to It? He was scared as a
Jackrabblt He took blankets an' am-
munition an' hiked for tall timber.
"Not for a month did 1 lay eyes on
him, an' then be sneaked In after dark
and was gone in the inorn. Nor would
he as much as peep nt her letters.
'Burn 'em,' he said. Au' burn 'em 1
did. Twice she rode over on a cayuse
all the way from Samson's Flat an' I
was sorry for the young creature. She
was fair hungry for the boy. and she
looked It in her face. An' at the end
of three months she gave up school
an' went back to lier own country, an'
then it was that the boy came home
to the shack to live again.
"Women ha' been the ruination of
many a good fighter, but they won't be
of him. He blushes like a girl if any-
thing young In skirts looks at him a
second time or too long on tho first
one. An' they ail look at him. But
when he Cghts. when he fights! It's
the old savage Irish that flares In
blm, an' drives the fists of him.
"Not that he goes off his base. Don't
walk away with that At my best I
was never as cool as he. I misdoubt
'twas the wrath of me that brought
the accidents. But he's an Iceberg.
He's hot an' cold at the one time, a
live wire in an ice chest."
Stubener was dozing when the old
mnn's mumble aroused him. He listen-
ed drowsily.
"I made 11 man o' hlrnl I made u man
o' blm, with the two fists of blm, an'
the upstanding legs of him, an' the
straight seein' eyes. And I know the
gam** In my head, an' I've kept up
with the times nnd the modern
changes. The crouch?
"Sure, he knows all the styles an'
economies. He never moves two Inches
when an inch ar.d a half will do the
turn. And when bo wants he enn
Bpring like a buck kangaroo. Infight-
ln'? Walt till you see. Better than his
outflghtin', and he could sure 'a' spar-
red with Peter Jackson an' outfooted
Corbett in his best I tell you. I've
taught'm It nil, to tho last trick, and
he's Improved on the teachin'. He's
a fair genius at the game.
"An' he's had plenty of husky moun-
tain men to try out on. I gave him
the fancy work and they gave him the
sluggin'. Nothing shy or delicate about
them. Boarln' bulls an' big grizzly
beurs, that's what they are, when it
comes tq huggln' in a clinch or swing-
In' rougblike in the rushes. An' he
plays with 'em. Man, d'ye hear me?
He plays with them, like you an' me
would play with little puppy dogs."
Another time Stubener awoke, to
hear the old man mumbling:
"'Tis the funny think be don't take
lightln' seriously, it's that easy to
him be thinks it play. But wait till
bo's tapped a swift one. That's all-
wait An' you'll see 'in throw on the
juice in that cold storage plant of his
an' turn loose the prettiest scientific
wa'lopiif that ever you laid eyes on."
In the shivery gray of mountain
dawn Stubener was routed from his
blankets by old Pat.
"He's coinln' np the trail now," was
the hoarse whisper. "Out with ye an'
take your first peep at the biggest
tightin' man the ring has ever seen, or
will ever see in a thousand years
again."
The manager peered through the
open door, rubbing the sleep from his
heavy eyes, and saw a young giant
walk Into the clearing. In one hand
was a rifle, across his shoulders a
heavy deer, under which be moved us
If it were weightless.
He was dressed roughly in blue over-
alls and woolen shirt, open at the
throat Coat he had none, and on his
feet Instead of brogans were mocca
sins. Stubener noted that his walk
was smooth and catlike, without sug
gestlon of his 220 pounds of weight to
which that of the deer was added.
The fight manager was impressed
from the first glimpse. Formidable
the young fellow certainly was, but
the manager sensed the sirangeness
and unusualness of liiiu. He was a
new typo, something different from the
run of fighters.
He seemed a creature of the wild,
more a night roaming figure from
some old fairy story or folk tale than
a twentieth century youth.
A thing Stubener quickly discovered
was that young Pat was Dot much of a
talker. He acknowledged old Put's in-
troduction with a grip of the hand, but
without speech, and slleutly set to
work at building the fire and getting
breakfast
To his father's direct questions he
answered In monosyllables, as. f >r In
stance, when asked where be he! pick
ed up the deer.
"South fork." was all be vouchsafed.
"Eleven miles across the mountains,"
the old man exposlted prldefully to
Stubener, "an' a trail that'd break
your heart"
Breakfast consisted of black coffee,
■our dough bread and an immense
quantity of bear meat broiled over the
coals. Of this the young fellow ate
ravenously, nnd Stubener divined that
both the Gletidons were accustomed to
an almost straight meat diet
Old Pat did all the talking, though It
was not till the meal was ended that
be broached the subject he bad at
heart
"Pat, boy," he began, "you know
who the gentleman Is?"
Young Pat nodded nnd cast a quick,
comprehensive glance at the inunuger.
"Well, he'll be takln1 you away wltb
blm nnd down to San Francisco."
"I'd sooner stay here, dad," was the
answer.
Stubener felt a prick of disappoint-
ment It was a wild goose chase aft-
er all. This was no fighter, eager and
fretting to be at it His buge brawn
counted for nothing. It was nothing
new. It was the big fellows tbnt
usually had tho streak of fat
But old Pat's Celtic wrath flared up
and his voice was harsh with com-
mand.
"You'll go down to the cities an'
fight, me boy. That's what I've train-
ed you for an' you'll do It"
"All right," was the unexpected re-
sponse, rumbled apathetically from the
deep chest
"And fight like the old man
added.
Again Stubener felt disappointment
at the absence of flush and fire in the
young man's eyes as ho answered:
"All right When do we start?"
"Oh, Snm, here, he'll be wanfln' a
little huntln' and to fish a bit as well
as to try you out with the gloves."
Ho looked nt Sam, who nodded.
"Suppose you strip and give 'm a
taste of your quality."
An hour later Sam Stubener had his
eyes opened. An ex-fighter himself, a
heavyweight at that, he was even a
better judge of fighters, and never had
he seen one strip to like advantage.
"Seo the softness of him," old Pat
chanted. " 'Tis rtie true stuff. Look
at the slope of tho shoulders an' the
lungs of him. Clean, all clean, to the
Inst drop nil' ounce of him. You're
lookin' nt n man, Sam. the like of
which was never seen before. Not a
muscle of him bound.
"No weight lifter or Sandow exercise
artist there. See tile fat snakes of
muscles a-crawlln' soft an' lazyllke.
Wait till you seo them flnshln' like a
strlkln' rattler. He's good for forty
rounds this blessed Instnnt, or a hun-
dred. Go to It! Time!"
They went to it for three minute
rounds with a minute rests, and Sam
Stubener was Immediately undeceived.
Here was no streak of fat, no apa-
thy, only n lazy, good natured play of
gloves and tricks, with a brusque stiff-
ness and harsh sharpness In the con-
tacts that he knew belonged only to
the trained and instinctive lighting
man.
"Easy, now, easy," old Pnt warned.
"Sam's not the man he used to be."
This nettled Snm, as It was Intend-
ed to do, and he played his most fa-
mous trick and favorite punch—a feint
for a clinch and n right rip to the
stomach. But, quickly as it was deliv-
ered young Pat saw it and, though it
landed, his body was going away.
The next time his body did not go
away. As the rip started be moved
forward and twisted his left hip to
meet it It was only a matter of sev-
eral Inches, yet It blocked the blow.
And thereafter, try as he would,
Stubener's gloves got no farther than
that hip.
Stubener had roughed it with big
men in bis time, and, in exhibition
bouts, bad creditably held his own.
But there was no holding his own
here.
Young Pat played with him, and In
the clinches made him feel as power-
less as a bnby, landing on blm seem-
Once In a clinch the fight manage*
heeled his glove on young Pat'B mouth,
and there was just a bint of vlcloua-
ness in the manner of doing it A mo-
ment later, In the next clinch, Sam re-
ceived the beel of the other's glove on
his own mouth.
There was nothing snappy about It,
but the pressure, stolidly lazy an It
was, put Ills head hack till the joints
cracked, and for the momeDt ha
thought his neck was broken. He
slacked bis body and dropped hla im
in token that the bout was over, felt
the Instant release and staggered clear.
"He'll—he'll do!" be gasped. looking
the admiration be lacked the braatk to
utter.
To be Continued
Lover Correspondence
By Betty
*
The young man who wants a girl
to love or even like him should not
neglect the little courtesies of life.
Of course the hero of romance al-
ways saves the heroine's life or turns
off some equally brilliant stunt. But
in the modern civilized world life sav-
ing is a profession which few of us
have a chance to practice every day.
And yet not a day passes without oc-
casions for courtesy.
Despite her success in business, the
modern girl has not lost her appre-
ciation of the little graces and re-
finements which are so big a part of
the charm of social life. And the
modern young man who opens doors
for her and picks up her handker-
chief will find favor in her eyes more
quickly than the youth who is such
a "hustler" that he hasn't time to be
polite.
It's just as illogical to Introduce
business curtness Into one's social re-
lations as to try to mix social ex-
pansion with office brevity
"S. H." writes: "A few days ago
I met a certain young man for the
first time. Now every time he sees
me he calls tne such names as 'Sweet-
heart' and 'Honey.' Is it proper for
him to do this on so short an ac-
quaintance?"
It is not only improper but imper-
tinent.
"A. A." writes: "Is It proper for
a girl of fifteen to accept attentions
from a young man who is in the same
high school with her and whom she
has known all her life?"
1 think she Is too young to be ac-
cepting formal 'attentions' from any-
body, though she may have boy
friend;?.
"N. II.'' writes: "There is a young
man who has been paying me atten-
tion for some time, although we are
too young to think of marriage.
What would be a suitable birthday
present for him?"
A book or a box of home made
candy.
Old Pat's Celtic Wrath Flared Up.
Ingly at will, locking und blocking
with masterful accuracy and scarcely
noticing or acknowledging his exist-
ence.
Half the time young Pnt seemed to
spend In gazing off and out at the
landscape In a dreamy sort of way
Aud right here Stubener made anoth-
er mistake. He took It for a trick of
old Pat's training, tried to sneak in a
short arm Jolt found bis arm In a
lightning lock nnd had both his ears
cuffed for his pains.
"The Instinct for a blow." the old
man chortled. " 'Tis not put on. I'm
tellin' you. He Is a wiz. He knows
a blow without the lookin', when It
starts au' where, the speed nn' space
an' likeness of It An' 'tis nothing
I ever showed him. "l'ls Inspiration
He was so boru."
THK Hl'SBAXD WHO
.STAYED AT HOME NIGHTS.
fn an Ohio city a wife has recently
won a divorce because among other
things, hubby, after a hard day's
work, wouldn't pilot her to the mov-
ies or go out pnd make calls, but in-
sisted upon donning Smoking jacket
and slippers and reading the paper
as he puffed his pipe and toasted his
toes
Note the words "among other
things." 01' course it takes more than
tiredness or selfishness to legalize a
divorce in Ohio. But the other things
needn't concern us now. The present
point is, was tired hubhy's staying at
home selfish?
With all due sympathy for a tired
man, we guess he must have been
guilty as charged Don't you suppose
wife was tired, too? She'd been
cooped up within the four walls of
home all day, as busy at her work as
hubby ever was with his. Moreover,
her day began ere his did and no
whistle ended it at night. With her
it was work and drudge day after day
with rarely a bit of variety to break
the sameness.
Do you wonder, then, that some-
times, in the evening, she wanted a
little amusement, wanted to step be-
yond her prison door?
Of course, it's bad never to stay
at home nights; but there's danger,
also, at the other extreme. Stay-at-
home husbands, husbands who never
take their wives calling, become stu-
pid, crusty chaps, don't they? For
their own good they ought to get out
now and then and mix with their
neighbors.
Mr. and Mrs. Frank Corry and son.
John, left for Memphis, Tenn. From
Memphis Mrs. Corry and son go to
Kisslmmee, Florida, where they will
he the guests of Miss Vera Holt, who
was formerly kindergarten teacher in
this cltv. After attending to busi-
ness matters In Memphis, iMr. Corry
will return to Enid.
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Purcell, F. Everett. The Enid Events. (Enid, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 20, Ed. 1 Thursday, February 26, 1914, newspaper, February 26, 1914; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc161201/m1/3/?rotate=90: accessed July 17, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.