The Tribune-Progress (Mountain View, Okla.), Vol. 17, No. 37, Ed. 1 Friday, January 21, 1916 Page: 2 of 8
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THE .MOUNTAIN VIEW TRIBUNE - PROGRESS
THE BATTLE-CRY
By CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK-
Author of “The Call of the
Illustrations by C. D. RHODES
m
8VNOP818.
—2—
Junnltn Hollnnil, a Philadelphia young
Woman of woallh, on her Journey with
her guide, Good Anne Talbott. Into the
heart of the Cumberland* to become a
teacher of the mountain children, faints
ut the door of FlaU'h McNaeh'a cabin.
While renting there ehe overhear* a talk
between Had Anew llavey, chief of hla
clan, and one of hla henchmen that ac-
quaint* her with the Huvey-McBrlur feud.
Juanita haa an unprofitable talk with Had
Anne and they become antnuonlatH.
CHAPTER II—Continued.
''It's Havey," ho Bald slowly, ‘‘but
hereabouts I've got another name
that's better known." Ho paused,,then
added with n hardened timbre of
voice, as though bent on making defi-
ant what would otherwise sound like
confession: "It's Had Anse."
The girl recoiled, ns though under
a physical shock. It seemed to her
that every way she turned she was to
meet staggering disappointments. She
had spoken almost pleadingly to the
man with whom she could make no
terms—the man whose arrogant power
and lawless Influence she must break
and paralyze before her own regime
could And standing-room In these hills.
Yet, as she looked at him standing
there, an-1 stiffened resolutely, she
could say nothtng except "Ohl"
Into the monosyllable crept many
things: repulsion, defiance and cha-
grin for her mistake, and In recognP
tlon of them all the bronzed features
of the man hardened a little and Into
the cool eyes snapped a sparkle of the
Bleeping fires she had divined.
"I made my suggestion to the wrong
man," she said steadily. “I misunder-
stood you. I thought you said you
wanted peace."
He swung himself to the saddle
again; then, as he gathered up his
reins, he turned, and in his utterance
was Immovable steadiness and gla-
cial coldness, together with a ring
of contempt and restrained anger.
"I did say that, and by Ood Al-
mighty, I meant just what I said. I
do want peace In these mountains—
but I ain’t never found no way yet to
get peace without flghtln’ for It."
She saw him ride away Into the
moonlight, with his shoulders very
straight and the battered felt hat very
high, and she looked neither to right
nor left as he went until the mists
had swallowed him.
For a long time while she sat there
on the stile gazing across the steep
banks between which the waters of
Tribulation Bltpped along In a tide of
tarnished quicksilver and beyond
which rose the near ridges of blue
and the far, dim ridges of gray.
At her back she knew that the fam-
ily and the missionary were sitting in
talk.
She sat there with hor hands clasped
about her updrawn knees as she used
to sit when some childhood grief had
weighed upon her.
She could not shake out of her mind
tho humiliation of having shown her
weakest side to I3ad Anse Havey. It
was some satisfaction to remembor
the offended stiffening of his shoul-
ders and the smoldering lire In his
eyes. She had heard much of the
strong, easily hurt pride of these
mountain men—a pride which made
them walk in strange surroundings
with upright heads and eyes, challeng-
ing criticism of their uncouthness.
She had first appealed to this man,
but at least she had also Btung him
with her scorn. Now they would be
open enemies.
She knew that this young man. in
a country where every man was poor
and no man a pauper, owned great
tracts of land that yielded only sparse
crops with the most arduous coaxing.
She knew that under his rocky acres
slept a great wealth of coni, and that
above them grew noble and virgin
forests of hardwood. The coming of
railroads and development would
make him a rich man. Yet he stood
i. there, seemingly prizing above all
' those nmgniticent certainties the
empty boast of feudal chieftainship.
Yet he was a man. With thut thought
came an unwelcome comparison. She
thought of someone whom she had
loved—and sent away—and cf their
leave-taking. That man had had every
gentle attribute which this man
lacked. All that universities, travel
and ancestry can give had shown out
in his bearing, his manners, his voice
and the expression of his eyes.
There had been a time when she
had wavered in her determination to
devote herself to the mission for which
she had been educated. She thought
that this man might be more impor-
tant than any mission; that a life
with him might be full enough Then
had come the discovery, which at first
she had rebelliously denied, but which
forced itself hatefully upon her reali-
zation. Despite his unchallengeaole
charm and gentility, he was. after all.
not quite a man. When she had ad-
mitted that beyond dispute, she had
turned, sickened, from the life which
she could not contemplate without
him The man whom she thought she
loved was 'empty and fine, libv'w
swordl -ss sheath " Very well, give
uoi 11 rp to the work of putting cm
• *e *<u’r4i'W ut hiV
(Copyright by Cbarlea Ncvllla Buck.)
Her grandfather's fortune, or for-1 and claimed its toll of lives through
' half a century, that one of the Hat-
field girls wrote on a white pillar at
the front of her often bereaved house:
"There Is no place like home.” The
sequel tells that a cynical traveler
Bussing that wuy reflected on the an-
nuls of thut dwelling and added In
postscript: "Leastwuys not this side
of hell."
The story of the Hatfleld-McCoy
feud Is In many ways that of other
"wars" which have made of the roof-
tree of the eastern divide a land be-
leuguered and unique.
In the war between the Haveys and
the McBrlars there was more than the
forgotten episode of a stray razorback
which was not surrendered to Its law-
ful owners. They had for decades
hated and killed each other with a
fidelity of bitterness that made all
their truces and Intermarriages fail of
permanent peace.
Between the territories where they
had originally settled stretched a bar-
rier of hills broken by only one gap
The McBrlars had made their first
habitations east of that ridge and gap
where the waters ran toward the sea.
The Haveys had set up their power
to the west, where the creeks and
springs fed the riverB that went down
to the Blue-Grass and to Tennessee.
Had the two clans been content to re-
main respectively on the sunrlBe and
sunset slopes of the backbone, they
might never have clashed, but there
were bright-eyed women to the west
and east. Feminine Havey eyes lured
McBriar suitors, and McBrlar girls
scorned to the Havey men worth any
dare that fate might set. So it has
been since young Montagues and
&
tunes, Blnco tho plural rather than the
singular fitted their dimensions, had
come to her with his wish that part of
them should go to advance education
In the Alleghenies. 8he was to bo
his stewardess In overseeing the work,
but thut she should go In person and
permanently to that crude environ-
ment had not boen anticipated. Those
who had known her in her life of nor-
mal luxury, of dancing and playing,
and of deliciously rhythmic person-
ality, would have laughed at the idea
as absurdly Incongruous. Of this fact
the young man had heatedly reminded
her on tho night when she gave back
his engagement ring and aunouuced
her determination.
“Juanita," ho had expostulated,
with a suffering of hopelessness In his
eyes which she ached to comfort—
"Juanita, dearest, courts and Juries
and the bayonets of militiamen have
struggled to civilize those savage
people, and for ft hundred years they
have utterly failed. Their one god
Is Implacable Hatred."
"I shan't go with Juries or bayo-
nets," she had retorted.
"You will go wliiout knowing them,
their ways, their point of view."
"1 don't know them now, but I will
know them.”
"You haven’t even a letter of in-
troduction."
“I never heard"—hor voice rang
with a note against which he knew tho
futility of argument—"that the Savior
needed letters of Introduction."
And so an Imagined heartbreak and
a crumbling world of Illusions—as she
fancied—had driven her suddenly Into
self-appointed exile—and a mission.
Her education had been pointed to i Capulets ignored deadlines and long
fitting her to oversee Buch work—done
by the hands of others. Even thon,
had not he and all the rest goaded her
with their Insistent refrain, ‘‘You can't
do It?” Now she was here.
She drew herself up straight as she
sat on the stile and impatiently dashed
away the moisture from her eyes. If
that other man had only had in him
the iron wasted on this desperado,
Anse Havey! She rose at last and
went unwillingly back to the cabin.
The host sat barefooted before the
lire and talked with the missionary.
The girl heard their conversation
through the dullness of fatigue, won-
dering how she was to sleep In this
pigsty, yet restrained from asking per-
mission to retire only by hor embar-
rassment and unfamlltarity with the
native code.
At last she heard Brother Talbott
suggest: "Hit’s gittln’ ter be late an’
we’ve got a tol’able long way ter Jour-
ney termorrer. I reckon we’d better
lay down."
Juanita began counting heads. There
wore six in the room, and the boy Jeb
was yet to return from the dance, and
whilo she was still trying to work out
the problem the woman pointed to a
corner bed and suggested: "1 reckon
you'd better bundle In with Dawn."
She saw the girl crawl Into bed
just as she was and the mission-
“You Haven’t Even a Letter of Intro-
duction."
ary kick off his brogans and shed his
coat. Taking off her own boots and
jacket, she slipped between the faded
“comforters” of the sheetless couch.
In five minutes the taper was out
and the place was silent save for the
crackling of the logs. The little girl
at her side lay quiet, and her regular
breathing proclaimed her already
asleep. In another five minutes Jua-
nita, with closed eyes and burning lids
and a<*hing muscles, heard the nasal
chorus of snoring sleepers. She alone
was awake in the hou$e.
; CHAPTER Dt
.♦ _ •
is! related in the history of the
i Haffleld-Mct’oy fead. which hurst out
i iMvne ftei&hbofs • stray *4)
before. Smoke went up from cabins
on both sides that housed men and
women of both clans. Hatred scat-
tered and set up new points of Infec-
tion all along Tribulation and beyond
Its headwaters.
In Civil war and subsequent politics
a line of fierce cleavage had yawned
between them—and each faction had
been a power.
It was to the leadership of such a
clan that Bad Anse had succeeded
when hardly twenty-one by the death
of a father whose end had not come
upon a bed of illness.
It was to the herding of such a flock
that he had ridden away from the
cabin of Fletch McNash on the night
when the girl's scornful taunt fol-
lowed him.
It was an unfortunate thing that
Cal Douglas should, on a February
afternoon, have shot to death his
brother-in-law, Noah Watt, even If, as
Cal earnestly assured the Jury, "he
was jest obleeged an’ beholden ter do
it.” All the circumstances of the af-
fair were Inopportune for his kinsman
and the kinsmen of the man who died
with a bullet through his vitals.
Cal bore a name for surly character,
and even In a land where grudge-bear-
ing is a religion he waB deemed ultra-
fanatical In fanning the flame of ha-
tred. Noah Watt himself was little
loved by either the Haveys, into whose
family he had married, or the McBri-
ars, from whom he sprang. Neigh-
bors told of frequent and violent bick-
erings between the man and his
shrewish wife, who was the twin sis-
ter of Cal Douglas.
"Cal Douglas an' Noey Watt’s wom-
an air es much alike es two peas in a
pod," went neighborhood pronounce-
ment “They air both soured on
mankind an’ they glories in human
misery."
Had the fight on that winter eve-
ning ended in the death of both par-
ticipants. McBriars and Haveys would
alike have called It a gentle riddance
and dropped the matter where it stood.
But since a Havey had slain a Mc-
Briar and the Havey still lived it
could not, in honor, be so dropped. It
left an uneven score.
Since the mountaineer has little to
do in the winter and spring save gos-
sip. tho affair grew in importance
with rehearsing, and to each telling
was added new features. It was sig-
nificantly pointed out east of the ridge
that Noah had incurred the displeas-
ure of Bad Anse Havey by the suspi-
cion of tale bearing to old Milt Mc-
Briar. It was argued that the particu-
lar wife-beating which led to the trag-
edy might have passed as uneventfully
as several similar episodes heretofore,
had not the heads of the Haveys made
it a pretext for eliminating a McBriar
who dwelt in their midst and carried
news across the ridge to his own
people.
For several years the feud had
slept, not the complete sleep of death,
but the fitful, simmering sleep of cau-
tious animosity. But neither clan felt
so overwhelmingly strong as to court
an issue Just yet and, realizing the
desperate quality of any outbreak
both Milt McBriar "over yon" and
Anse Havey over here had guarded
the more belligerent kinsmen with
Jealous eye They had until now held
them checked and leashed, though
growling.
For these reasons the trial of Cal
Douglas had -toeeo awaited with a
aausa at triate the town 4 ParU.
where ft might mean a pitched battle.
So It had been awaited, too, up and
down the creeks and branches that
crept from the ragged hills, where men
were leading morbid lives of isolation
and nursing grudges.
During tho three davs that the sus-
pense continued each recess of court
found the long-limbed frame of Milt
McBriar tlltfd back In a split-bottom
chair on tho flagstones at the front
of the hotel. His dark face and pierc-
ing eyes gazed always thoughtfully
and very calmly off across the dusky
town to the reposeful languor of the
piled-up, purple akyllne. Likewise,
each recess found seated at the other
end of the same house-front the short-
er, heavier figure of a fair-haired man
with ruddy face and sandy mustache.
Never did he appear there without two
companions, who remained at his right
and left. Never did the dark giant
speak to the florid man, yet never did
either fall to keep a glance directed
toward the other.
The man of the sandy hair was Breck
Havey, next to Bad Anse the most
influential leader of the clan. His in-
fluence here In Peril made or unmade
the officers of the law.
When these two men came together
as opposing witnesses In a homicide
case the air was fraught with ele-
ments of storm.
"Thar’s war a-brewin'," commented
a native, glancing at the quietly seat-
ed figures one noon. "An’ them fel-
lers air In ther bllln'."
CHAPTER IV.
Physical exhaustion will finally tell,
even over such handicaps aB a moun-
tain feather bed and the fumes of a
backwoods cabin.
If Juanita Holland did not at last
actually fall asleep, she drifted into a
Bort of nightmare coma from nhich
she awoke with a start.
Finally she fell again into that half
sleep which dreams of wakefulness.
It may have lasted minutes or hours,
but suddenly she roused again with a
start from a new nightmare and lay
trembling under the oppression of a
poignant foreboding. What was It that
she had subconsciously heard or Imag-
ined? She was painfully wide awake
In the slumbering cabin. At last she
was sure of a sound, low but instinct
with warning.
, Beardog was growling just outside
the door.
Then, violently and without the pref-
ace of gradual approach—precisely as
though horsemen had sprung from the
earth—there clattered and beat past
the front of the cabin a staccato thun-
der of wildly galloping hoofs and a
rattle of scattered rocks. She felt an
uncanny freezing of her marrow.
Horses travel perilous and broken
roads In that fashion only when their
riders are in wild haste.
As abruptly as the drumbeat had
come it died again Into silence, and
there was no diminuendo of hoofbeats
receding into distance. The thing was
weird and ghostly. She had not no-
ticed in the weariness of her arrival at
the cabin that the road ran deep in
sand to the corner of the fence and
that after fifty yards of rough and
broken rock it fell away again into an-
other sound-muffling stretch. She
knew only that she was thoroughly
frightened, and that whatever the
noise was, it proclaimed hot and des-
perate haste.
Yet even in her terror she had
moved only to turn her head and had
opened her eyes cautiously and nar-
rowly.
There was no sound in the cabin
now; not even the stertorous breath of
a snore. The fire flickered faintly and
occasionally sent up from its white
bed of ashes a dying spurt, before
which the darkness fell back a little
for the moment.
She could see that Fletch McNash
had half risen in his bed. His head
was partly turned in an attitude of
intent listening, and his pose was as
rigid as that of a bird-dog frozen on a
point. It had all been momentary, and
r.s Juanita gazed she saw other fig-
ures stir uneasily, though no one
spoke. The missionary lay still, but
the woman’s figure moved restlessly
beneath the heaped-up comforter.
So, for a few moments, the strange
and tense tableau held, and the girl,
watching /the householder’s alert yet
motionless pose, remembered him as
he had hunched drunkenly over his
plate a few hours ago. The two pic-
tures were hard to reconcile.
Then, at some warning which her
less acute ears failed to register, she
saw Fletch McNash's right hand sweep
outward toward the wall and come up
gripping the rifle.
Still there was no word, but the eld-
est boy’s head had risen from the
pallet.
Keyed now to concert pitch, the girl
held her body rigid, and through half-
closed lids looked across the dim
room. While she was so staring and
pretending to sleep, there drifted from
a long way off an insistent, animal-
like yell with a peculiar quaver in its
final note. She did not know that it
was the famous McBriar rallying cry,
sad that trouble inevitably fallowed
fast in the wake of Its sounding. She
knew only that it fitted in with her
childhood's conception of the Indian s
warwhoop. But she did know that
in an InBtant after it had been borne
along the wind she had seen a thing
happen which she would have disbe-
lieved had she heard it from the lips
of a narrator.
She saw in one breathing space the
half-raised figure of Fletch McNash un-
der the quilts of his bed, and that of
young Jeb under the covers of his
pallet. She saw In the next breathing
space, with no realization of bow it
had happened, both of them crouched
low at the center of the floor, the fa-
ther's eyes glued to the front door,
the son’s to the back. The older man
bent low, like a runner on his mark
awaiting the starting signal. His right
hand held the rifle at his front, his
left lightly touched the floor with
fingers spread to brace his posture,
and his face was tensely upturned.
So, while Bhe counted ten, father
and son crouched In precisely similar
poses, one covering the barred door
at tho front with a repeating rifle, tho
other seeming to stare through the
massive timbers of that at the back
with leveled pistol. No one spoke. No
one moved, but the regular swelling
breath of sleep had died, for every
pair of lips In the place was holding
its breath, bated.
Then came a fresh pounding of hoofs
and scattering of gravel and a chorus
of angry, incoherent voices sounded
above the noise of flight—or was it
pursuit? Whatever words were being
shouted out there in the night were
swallowed in the medley, except a
wake of oaths that Beemed to float be-
hind.
The noise, like the other which had
preceded it, died swiftly, but in the
instant that it lasted Fletch McNash
had lifted his left hand and brought
his rifle to the "ready” and his son had
instinctively thrust forward his
cocked revolver.
For a full minute, perhaps, the girl
in the bed had the picture of two fig-
ures bent low like' bronze emblems of
motionless preparation, yet not a syl-
lable had been spoken, and when, from
quite a distance beyond, there came
the snap of a single Bhot, followed by
the retort of a volley, they still nei-
She Could See That Fletch McNash
Had Half Risen i.i His Bed.
ther spoke nor moved. But at last,
as if by one Impulse, they rose and
turned to face each other.
Then, and then only, was there ut-
terance of any sort Inside the house.
In a voice so low that Juanita would
not have heard it save that every
sense was painfully alert, Fletch said
to his son: “I reckon ther war’s on
again.”
The boy nodded sullenly, and the
father commanded in an almost inau-
dible undertone:
“Lay down.”
The boy went back to his pallet and
the father to his bed. For a long time
there was dead silence, and then one
by one they took up again their chorus
of snores. Tomorrow might bring chaos
but tonight offered sleep. Still the
girl lay gazing helplessly up at the
rafters and wondering what things
happened out there in the grim, un-
communicative silence of the slopes.
A little while ago she had been
dreading what might come. Now, in
an access of terror, she thought of
what must come.
“Ther war’s on.” That was enough.
Evidently there had been "hell” over
there at the dance. She had reached
the country Just in time to see a new
and sanguinary chapter open.
She would in all probability see
people she actually knew, with whom
she had spoken, and whose hands she
had taken, the victims of this brutal
blood-lust.
And in the face of such things these
human beasts could sleep!
But one was not sleeping, and after
a while among the snoring slumberers
Good Anse Talbott rose and knelt be-
fore the hearth. There were still a
few glowing embers there, and as he
beht and at last took the knotted
hands aw ay from his seamed face they
cas* a feeble light upon his features
and upon the bare feet that twisted
convulsively on the stone fireplace.
It was a tortured face, and as the
girl watched him she realized for the
first time the significance of the words
“te wrestle in prayer." It suddenly
came to her that she had never before
seen a man really pray. Fer an hour
fee taefcwaadi adaato&ery feoeit then*.
pleading with Mi God for hla unrepair*
tant people.
Outside a single whippoorwill walled!
plaintively, “Theso poor hlllel Thee*
poor hills!"
CHAPTER V.
In the lowlands morning announce#
itself with tho rosy glow of dawn and
upflung shafts of light, but here in th*
hills of Appalachia even the sun come®
stealing with surreptitious caution and
veiled face, us if fearful of ambuscade.
When Juanita opened her eyes, to
find the tumbled beds empty save for
herself, Bhe told herself with a dismal
heart that a day of rain and sodden
Bkles lay ahead of her.
The dim room reeked with wet
mists, and an inquisitive young roos-
ter stalked Jauntily over the puncheon
floor, where his footfalls sounded In
tiny clicks. It was a few minutes
after five o’clock, and Juanita shivered
a little with the clammy chill as she
went over to the door and looked out.
Bending over a gushing spring at
one corner of the yard in the uncon-
scious grace of perfect naturalness,
her sleeves rolled back and her dark,
hair tumbling, knelt the girl Dawn.
Juanita crossed the yard, and as she
came near the younger girl raised a
face still glistening with the cold wa-
ter into which it had boen plunged and
glowing with shyness.
The older woman nodded with a
smile that had captivated less Blmpie
subjects than Dawn and said: "Good
morning. I think you and I are going
to be great friends. I know we are if
you will try to like me as much as 1
do you.”
Then the girl from Philadelphia
plunged her face, too, into the cold,
living water, and raised it again, smil-
ing through wet lashes.
"What makes ye like me?" Dawn
suddenly demanded in a half-challeng-
ing voice.
"You make me like you," laughed
Juanita.
The mountain girl held her eyes still
in the unwavering steadiness of her
race, then she said in a voice that car-
ried an undertone of defiance:
"Ye hain’t nuver seen me afore,
an—” ahe broke oft, then doggedly,
"an’ besides, I don’t know nuthin’.”
"I mean to see you often after this,"
announced the woman from down be-
low, “and the things you don’t know-
can be learned.”
A sudden eagerness came to tha
younger face and a sudden torrent of
questioning seemed to hover on her
lips, but it did not find utterance. She
only turned and led the way silently
back toward the house. When they
were almost at the door Dawn hesi-
tated, and Juanita halted with an en-
couraging smile. It was clear that
the mountain girl found whatever she
meant to say difficult, for Bhe stood
indecisive and her cheeks were hotly
suffused with color, so that at last
Juanita smilingly prompted: "What
is it, dear?"
"Ye said—" began Dawn hastily and
awkwardly, "ye said suthin’ ’bout me
a tryin’ ter like ye. I—I don’t hafter
try—I does hit.” Then, having made
a confession as difficult to her shy taci-
turnity as a callow boy’s first declara-
tion of love, she fled abruptly around
the corner of the house.
Juanita stood looking after her with
a puzzled brow. This hard mountain
reserve which is so strong that friends
rarely shake hands, that fathers sel-
dom embrace their children, and that
the kiss is known only to courtship,
was new to her.
At breakfast she did not see Dawn—
the dryad had vanished!
During the meal no allusion was
made to the happenings of last night,
but the girl noticed that inside tho
door leaned the householder’s "rifle-
gun” and under* young Job’s armpit
bulged the masked shape of a pistol-
butt.
Young Job’s face yesterday had
been that of a boy, this morning It was
the sullen face of a man confronting
grim realities. Had Juanita been
more familiar with the contemporary
affairs of the community, she might
have known that on many faces along
Tribulation that morning brooded tho
same scowl from the same cause. Tho
McBriar yell had been raised last
night in the heart of the Havey coun-
try, and this morning brought tho
shame of a land invaded and dishon-
ored.
Dawn did not reappear until Juanita
had mounted and turned her mule’s
head forward. Then, as she was pass-
ing the dilapidated barn, the slim, cak
ico-clad figure slipped from Its door
and intercepted her in the road, hold*
ing up a handful of queer-shaped
roots.
"I ’lowed ye mought need these
hyar,” said the girl diffidently.
Juanita smiled as she bent in her
saddle to take the gift.
‘‘Thank’ you, dear; what are they?"
“Hit’s ginseng," Dawn assured her.
"Hit grows back thar in ther woods
an’ hit’s got a powerful heap of vir-
tue. Hit frisks ther speret an’ drives
away torment. Ef yer starts ter
swoon agin, jest chaw hit.”
Juanita repressed her amusement.
"You see, dear,” she declared,
“there’s one very wonderful thing
you know that I didn’t know. And
don’t forget, when we meet again we
are old friends."
Then, when she had mounted her
mule, looking back over her shoulder,
Juanita saw the figures of both Fletch
and Jeb cross the fence at the far
side of the yard and tutn Into th»
mountain thicket. Each carried t»
rifla cradled in his bent elbow.. .
•’ (TO BE CONTINUED.* ‘ .
Cannibal God.
Fijian oaaaibals worship *
narasd Mata Waloo, whs haa sigh!
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West, H. C. The Tribune-Progress (Mountain View, Okla.), Vol. 17, No. 37, Ed. 1 Friday, January 21, 1916, newspaper, January 21, 1916; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc914318/m1/2/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.