The Supply Republican (Supply, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 40, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 2, 1922 Page: 3 of 8
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THE REPUBLICAN. SUPPLY. OKLAHOMA
The Strength of the Pines
— • • *■-
LINDAI
SYNOPSIS.—At the death of hla
foster father, Bruce Duncan. In an
eastern city, receives a mysterious
message, sent by a Mrs Ross, sum-
moning him peremptorily to south-
ern Oregon—to meet "Ulnda"
Bruce has vivid but baffling recol-
lections of his childhood In an or-
phanage. before his adoption by
Newton Duncan, with the girl IJn-
da. At his destination. Trail's End.
news that a message has been sent
to Bruce Is received with marked
displeasure by a man Introduced
to the reader as "Simon " ls-avlng
the train. Uruce Is astonished at
his apparent familiarity with the
surroundings, though to his knowl-
edge he has never been there.
Obedient to the message, Bruce
makes Ids way to Martin's cross-
roads store, for direction as to
reaching Mrs. Ross' cabin. On the
way. "Blmon" sternly warns him
to give up his quest and return
East. Bruce refuses. Mrs. Ross,
aged and Infirm, welcomes him
with emotion. She hastens him on
his way—the end of ''Pine-Needle
Trail."
EDISON MARSHALL
Author of “The Voice of the Pack”
light did not answer
(tree the picture he bud carried of
Linda.
He remembered her us u blond-
heuded Utile girl with Irregular fea-
tures and u rather unreasonable al-
lowance of homeliness. AH the way
he had thought of her ns a baby sla-
ter—not as a woman In her flower.
For a long second he gazed at her lu
speechless amazement.
Her hair was no longer blond.
True. It had peculiar red lights when
the flrellglu alione through It; but he
In the least de- I and no longer lived with the family
I mentioned before. I came here, to
this old house—and made It decent
to live In. I cut my own wood for my
fuel except when one of the men
tried to please me by cutting It for
me. I wouldn't use It at first. Oh,
Bruce—I wouldn't touch • It I”
Her face was no longer lovely. It
was drawn with terrible passions.
Hut she quieted at once.
“At lust 1 saw plainly that I was a
little fool—thnf all they would do for
The, the better off I was. At first, I
knew hy the light of day It would be ! almost starved to death because I
CHAPTER VIII—Continued.
—3—
He examined the mnd about the
spring, and there was plenty of evi-
dence that the forest creatures had
passed that way. Here was n little
triangle where a buck had stepped,
and further away he found two pairs
of deer tracks—evidently those of a
doe with fawn. A wolf had slopped
to cool Ills heated tongue In the wa-
ters. possibly In the middle of some
terrible hunt In the twilight hours.
Then he found a huge abrasion In
the mud that puzzled 1dm still more.
At the first he couldn't believe that
It was a track. The reason was sim-
ply flint the site of the thing was In-
credible—ns 11 some one had laid a
flour sack in the mud and taken It up
again. He did not think of any of
the modern-day forest creatures ns
being of such proportions. It was
very stale and had been almost oblit-
erated by many days of sun. Perhaps
he had been mistaken In thinking it
an Imprint of n living creature. lie
went to his knees to examine It.
Hut In one Instant he knew that he
had not been mistaken. It was a
track not greatly different from that
of an enormous human foot; and the
separate toes were entirely distinct.
It was a hear track, of course, hut
one of such size that the general run
of little black hears that Inhabited
the hills could almost use It for a den
of hibernation!
He got up and went on—farther
toward Trail's End. He walked more
swiftly now, for he hoped to reach
the end of IMne-Needle Trnll before
nightfall, but he had no intention of
halting In ense night enme upon him
before he reached It. He had waited
too long already to And I.inda.
Another hour ended the day's sun-
light. The shadows fell quickly, but
It was a long time yet until darkness.
He yet might make the trail-end. He
gave no thought to fatigue. In the
first place, he had stood up remark-
ably well under the day's tramp for
no other reason than that lie had al-
ways made n point of keeping In the
tiest of physical condition. Hesldes.
there was something more potent than
mere physical strength to sustain
him now. It was the realization of
the nearing end of the trail—a knowl-
edge of tremendous revelations that
would come to him In a few hours
more.
Already great truths were taking
shape In his brain; he only needed a
single senttnee of explanation to con-
nect them all together. He began
to feel a growing excitement and Im-
patience.
It was qnltp dark now. and he
could barely see the trail. For the
first time he began to despair, feeling
that another night of overpowering
impatience must be spent before he
could reach Trull’s End. The stars
began to push through the darkening
sky. Then, fainter than the gleam of
a firefly, he saw the faint light of u
far distant camp fire.
His heart bounded. He knew what
was there. It was the end of the
trail at last. And It guided him the
rest of the way. When lie reached
fhe top of a little rise in the trnll, the
whole scene was laid out In mystery
below him.
The fire hnd been built at the door
of a mountain house—a log structure
of perhaps four rooms. The firelight
played In Its open doorway. Some-
thing beside It caught Ids nttentlon,
and Instinctively he followed It with
tils eyes until it ended In an Incred-
ible region of the stars. It was a
great pine tree, the largest he hnd
ever seen—seemingly a great sentinel
over all the land.
Hut the sudden awe that enme over
him at the sight of It was out short
hy the sight of a girl’s figure In the
firelight lie had an instant's sense
that he hnd come to the wilderness'
heart at Inst, that this tnll tree was
Its symbol, that If he could under-
stand the eternal watch that It kept
over this mountain world, he would
have on understanding of all things—
out all these thoughts were submerged
in the renllzntlon that he hud come
bark tp Linda at Inst.
He hnd known how the mountains
would seem. All that he hnd beheld
today was Just the reeurrenre of
things beheld long ago. Nothing had
seemed different from what he hnd
expected; rather he had a sense that
a lost world had been returned to him.
end It was almost as If he had never
a wav Rut the girl in the flrw-
deep brown. He remembered her as
an awkward little thing thnt was
hardly able to keep her feet under
her. This tnll girl had the wilderness
grace—which is the grace of a deer
and only blind eyes CHnnot see it. He
dimly knew that she wore a klmkl-
eolored skirt and a simple blouse of
white tied with a blue Renrf. Her
urms were bare In the fire's gleam.
And there was n dark beauty ubout
her face that simply could uot he
denied.
She enme toward him, and her
hands were open before her. And her
lips trembled. Hruce could see them
In the firelight.
It was a strunge meeting. The fire-
light gate It a tone of unreality, and
the whole forest world seemed to
pause lu its whispered business as If
to watch. It was as If they had been
brought fare to face hy the mandates
of an Inexorable destiny.
“So you've come?” the girl said.
The words were spoken unusually
soft, scarcely above a whisper; hut
they were Inexpressibly vivid to
Hruce. They told first of n boundless
relief and Joy at his coming. Hut
more than ttiat. In these deep vibrant
tones was the expression of an un-
quenchable life and spirit. Every
fiber of the body lived In the fullest
sense; he knew this fact the Instant
that she spoke.
She smiled nt him, ever so quietly.
“Kwovnboo," she said, recalling the
name hy which she called him In her
babyhood, “you've come to Linda.’’
CHAPTER IX
As the fire burned down to conls
nnd the sturs wheeled through the
sky, Linda told her story. The two
of them were seated in the soft grass
In front of the cabin, and the moon-
light was on Linda's face ns she
talked. She talked very low at first.
Indeed there was no need for loud
tones. The whole wilderness world
was heavy with silence, nnd a whis-
per carried far. Besides, Hruce was
Just beside her, watching her with
narrowed eyes, forgetful of every-
thing except her story.
“I've waited a long time to tell you
this," she told him. “Of course, when
we were huhles together In the or-
phanage, I didn't even know it. It
has taken me a long time since to
learn nil the details; most of them I
got from my aunt, old Elmira, whom
you talked to on the way out. I’art
of it I knew by Intuition, and a little
of It Is still doubtful.
“You ought to know first how hard
I have tried to reach you. Of course,
I didn’t try openly except at first—
the first years after I came here, and
before I wns old enough to under-
stand." She spoke the last word with
a curious depth of feeling and a per-
ceptible hardness about her lips and
eyes. "I remembered Just two things.
Thnt the man who had adopted you
was Newton Duncan; one of the
nurses at the asylum told me that.
And I remembered the nnme of the
city where he hnd taken you.
“You must understand the difficul-
ties I worked under. There Is no
rural free delivery up here, you know, I
Bruce. Our mall Is sent from and
delivered to the little post office at J
Martin’s store — over fifteen miles
from here. And some one member of
a certain family that lives near here
goes down every week to get the mall
for the entire district.
“At first—and thnt was before I
really understood—I wrote you many
letters and gnve them to one of tills
family to mail for me. I wns just n
child then, you must know, and I
lived In the same house with these
people. They were Just bnhy let-
ters from—from I.lndn-Tindn to Bwov-
nhoo—letlers about the deer and the
berries and the squirrels—and all the
wild things thHt lived up here.”
“Berries!" Hruce cried. “I had some
on the way up." IJIs tone wavered,
anJl he seemed to lie speaking far
away. “1 hud some once—long ago."
“Yes. .You will understand, soon.
I didn't understand why you didn't
answer uiy letters. I understand now,
though. You never got them."
"No. I never got them. But there
are several Duncans In my city. They
might have gone astray."
"They went astray—but It was be-
fore they ever renched the post office.
They wore never mntled, Bruce. I
was to know why, later. Even then
it was purt of ‘he plan thnt I should
never get In communication with you
again—that you would be lost to me
forever.
“When I got older. I tried other
tacks. I wrote to the asylum, enclos-
ing a letter to you. Hut those letters
were not mailed, either.
“Now we can skip a long time. I
( grew up. 1 knew everything at last
wouldn't use the food that they sent
me. I tried to grub it out of the hills.
Hut I came to It at last. But. Hruce,
there were many things I didn't come
to. Since I learned the truth, I have
never given one of them a smile ex-
cept In scorn, not a word that Wasn't
a word of hate.
“You are a city mnn, Hruce. You
don’t know what hate means. It
doesn't live In the cities. Hut It lives
up here. Believe me, If you ever be-
lieved anything—that It lives up here.
Tlie most hitter nnd the blackest hate
—from birth until death! It burns
out the heart, Hruce. Hut I don't
know that I cun make you under-
stand.”
She paused, nnd Bruce looked away
Into the pine forest. He believed the
girl. He knew that this grim land
was the home of direct and primitive
emotions. Such tilings us mercy and
remorse were out of place In the
game trails where the wolf pack
hunted the deer.
"When they knew how I hated
them,” she went on, “they begun to
watch me. And once they knew that
I had fully understood the situation,
1 was no longer allowed to leave this
little volley. There are only two
trails, Bruce. One goes to Elmira's
cnbln on the way to the store. The
other encircles the mountain. With
all I heir numbers. It was easy to keep
watch of those trails. And they told
me what they would do If they found
me trying to go past.”
“You don't nieun—they threatened
you?”
She threw back her hend and
laughed, hut the sound had no Joy In
it. “Threatened! If you think
threats are common up here, you are
a greener tenderfoot than ever I took
you for. Bruce, the law up here Is
tho law of force. The strongest wins.
The weakest dies. Walt till you see
Simon. You'll understand then—and
you'll shake In your shoes.”
The words grnted upon him, yet he
didn't resent them. “I’ve seen Si-
mon,” he told her.
She glanced toward him quickly,
and It wns entirely plain that the
quiet tone in his voice had surprised
t ’
W' '
Perhaps the Faintest Flicker of Ad-
miration Cams Into Her Eyes.
her. Perhaps the faintest flicker of
admiration came Into her eyes.
“He tried to stop you, did he? Of
course he would. And you came, any-
way. May heaven bless you for It,
Bruce!” She leaned toward him. ap-
pealing. “And forgive nte what I
Raid.”
Itruee stared at her In amazement.
He could hardly realize thnt tills was
the same voice that hnd been so torn
with pnsslon a moment before. In an
instant all her hardness was gone,
and the tenderness of a sweet and
wholesome nature had taken Its place,
lie felt a curious warmth steuling
over him.
“They meant what they sold, Bruce.
Believe me, If those men can do no
other thing, they can keep their word.
They didn't Just threaten death to
me. I could have run the risk of that.
Bndly as I wanted to make them pay
before I (lied, I would have gladly
run that risk. t
“You are amazed at the free way I
speak of death. The girls you know,
In the city, don't even know the word.
They don’t know what It means. They
don't understand the sudden end of
the light—tfie darkness—the cold
the nwful fear that It Is! It's a renl-
Ity here, aomething to fight against
every hour of every day. There are
Just three things to do In the moun-
tains—to live and love and hate.
Therc'a no softness. There's' no mid-
dle ground." Site smiled grimly.
“I’ve lived with death, and I’ve
heard of It. and I’ve seen It all my
life. If there hadn't been any other
way, I would hnve seen It In the dra-
mas of the wild creatures that go on
around me all the time. You'll get
down to cases here. Bruce—or else
you'll run awHy. These men said
they'd do worse things to me than
kill me—and I didn't dare tuke the
risk.
"But once or twice I wns able to
get word to old Elmira—the only ally
I had left. Stic was of the true breed,
Bruce. You'll call her a hng, hut
she's a woman to be reckoned with.
She could hate too—worse than a
slip-rattlesnake hates the man that
killed her mate—and hating Is all
that's kept her alive. You shrink |
when 1 spy the word. Maybe you
won’t shrink when I’m done.
"This old woman tried to get In
communication with every stranger
that visited the hills. You see, Hruce,
she couldn't write, herself. And the
one time I managed to get n written
message down to her, telling her to
give It to the first stranger to mall—
one of my enemies got It away from
her. • I exjiected to die that night. I
wnsn’t going to tie alive when the
clan came. The only reason I didn't
was because Simon—the greatest of
them all and the one I hate the most—
kept tils elan from coming. He had
his own rensons.
"Front then on she hnd to depend
on word of mouth. Hut at last—Just
a few weeks ago—she found a man
that knew you. And It is your story
front now on.”
They were still n little while. Hniee
arose und threw more wood on the
tire.
“It’s only the beginning.'* he snld.
"And you want me to tell you all?"
she asked hesitantly.
“Of course. Why did I come here?"
“You won't believe me when I say
that I’m almost sorry I sent for you."
She spoke almost breathlessly. "I
didn't know flint It would be like tills.
That you would come with n stnlle on
your face nnd a light In your eyes,
looking for happiness. And Instead
of happiness—to find all tills 1"
She stretched out her arms to the
forests. Bruce understood her per-
fectly. She did not mean the woods
In the literal sense. She meant the
primal emotions thnt were their spirit.
’To know the rest, you've got to go
back a whole generation. Hruce, hnve
yon henrd of the terrible blood-feuda
thnt the mountain families sometimes
have?"
"Of course. Many times."
“These mountains of Trnll's End
have been the scene of as deadly a
blood-feud ns was ever known In the
West. And for once, the wrong was
all on one side.
“A few miles from here there Is n
wonderful valley, where a stream
flows. There Is not much tillable land
In these mountains, Bruce, but there,
along that little stream, there are al-
most five sections—three thousand
acres—of ns rich land ns was ever
plowed. That tract of land wns ac-
quired long ago by a family named
Boss, nnd they got It through some
kind of grant. I enn't be definite ns
to the legal nspeets of all this story.
They don't matter anyway—only the
results remain.
"These Ross men were frontiersmen
of the first order. They were virtuous
men too—trusting every one, nnd oh!
what strength they had I With their
own hands they cleared away the for-
est and put the land Into rich pasture
and hay and grain. They raised great
herds of rattle and had flocks of sheep
too.
“It was then thnt dark days began
to come. Another family—headed by
the father of the man I call Simon—
migrated here from the mountain dis-
tricts of Okluliomn. But they were
not so Ignorant ns ninny mountain
people, and they were ‘killers.’ I’er-
haps that's n word you don’t know.
Perhaps you didn't know It exlRted. A
killer Is a man thnt has killed other
men. It Isn’t a hard thing to do at
all, Bruce, after you nre used to It.
These jieople were used to It. And
because they wanted these great lands
—my own fnther's home—they began
to kill the Bosses.
"At first they made no war on the
Kolgers. The Folgers, you must know,
were good people, too, honest to the
lost penny. They were connected, hy
liinrriage only, to the Boss family.
They were on our Ride clear through.
At the beginning of the feud the head
of the Folger family was Jusl a young
man, newly married. And he hud a
son after a while.
“The newcomers called it a feud.
But It wnsn’t a feud—It wns simply
murder. Oh. yes, we killed some of
them. Folger and my father nnd all
Ills kin united against them, making a
great clan—hut they were nothing In
strength compared to the usurpers.
Simon himself wns Just a boy when
It began. But he grew to be the great-
est power, the leader of the enemy
clan before he was twenty-one.
“Yon must know, Bruce, thnt my
own father held the land. But he wns
so generous that his brothers who
helped hint farm It hardly realized
that possession was In his nnme. And
father was a dead shot. It took a
long time liefore they could kill him.”
The coldness that hnd come over
her words did not In the least hide her
depth of feeling. She gosed moodily
| Into the darkness and si«ike almost In
ii monotone.
“But Simon—Just a hoy then—and
Dave, his brother, and the other* of
them kept after us like so many
wolves. There was no escape. The
only thing we could do was to fight
hack- and thnt was the way we
learned to hate. A man can hate,
Bruce, when he Is fighting fur hla
home, lie can learn It very well when
he sees hla brother fall dead, or his
father—or a si ray bullet hit Ills wife.
A woman can leum It, too, as old El-
mira did, when she finds her son's
body In the dead leaves. There was
no law here to stop It. The little sem-
blance of law that was In the valleys
below regarded It as a blood-feud, and
didn’t bother Itself about It. Besides—
at first we were too proud to cull for
help. And after our numbers were
few, the trails were watched- -and
those who tried to g» down Into the
valleys—never got there
“One after another the Bosses were
kilted, Hnd I needn't iqyke It any
worse for you than I enn Help—— hy
telling of each killing. Enough to say
that at last no one wns left except
a few old men whose eyes were too
dlin to shoot straight, and my own
father. And I waa a baby then Just
burn. «
"Then onr* night my father—seeing
the fate that was coming down upon
them—took the last course to defeat
them. Matthew Folger -a connection
The Girl Was Speaking Slowly Now,
Evidently Watching the Effect of
Her Words on Her Lietenor.
hy marriage—was still alive. Simon’s
clan hadn’t attacked him yet. He had
no share In the land, but Instead lived
In this house I live In now. He had
a few cnttle and some pasture land
farther down the Divide. There had
been no purpose In killing him. He
hadn't been worth the extrn bullet.
"One night my father left me asleep
nnd stole through the forests to talk
to him. They made an agreement. I
hnve pieced It out, n little nt a time.
My father deeded all his land to Fol-
ger.
"I can understand now. The enemy
clan pretended It was a Mood-fend
only—and thnt It was fair war to kill
the Bosses. Although my father knew
their real aim wns to obtain the land
he didn’t think they would dare kill
Mntthew Folger to get It. He knew
thnt he himself would fall, sooner or
later, hut he thought that to kill Fol-
ger would show their cards—nnd that
would be too much, even for Simon's
people. But he didn't know. He
hadn't foreseen to whut lengths they
would go."
Hruce leaned forward. “So they
killed—Mntthew Folger?" he asked.
He didn't know that Mr face hnd
gone suddenly stnrk white, nnd that
a curious glitter hnd come to his eyes.
He Rpoke breathlessly. For the name
—Matthew Folger—called up vague
memories thnt seemed to revenl great
truths to him. The girl smiled grimly.
“Let me go on. My father deeded
Folger the land. The deed wns to
go on record so that all the world
would know that Folger owned It, and
if the clan killed him It wns plainly
for the purposes of greed nlone. But
there wns also a secret agreement—
drawn up In black and white and
be kept hidden for twenty-one years.
In tills agreement, Folger promised to
return to me—the only living heir
the Bosses—the lands acquired by the
deed. In renllty, he was only holding
them In trust for me. and was to re
turn them when I was twenty-one.
In ense of my father's death, Folger
wns to he my guardian until that time,
"Folger knew the risk he run, hut
he wus a brave man Hnd he did not
enre. Besides, he wns my father's
friend—nnd friendship goes far in the
mountains. And my father was shot
down before n week was past.
“The elan hnd acted quick, you see
When Folger henrd of It, before the
dawn, he came to my father's house
nnd carried me away. Before another
night was done he was killed too.”
The perspiration leaped out on
Bruce's forehead. The red glow of
the fire wne In his eyes.
"He fell almost where this fire Is
built, with a thirty-thirty bullet In his
brain. Which one of the clan killed
him I do not know—lint In all prob-
ability It was Simon himself— at thnt
time only eighteen years of age. And
Folger's little boy—something past
four years old—wandered out In the
moonlight, to find Ids fnther's body "
The girl was speaking slowly now
evidently watching the effect of hef
words on her listener. He wns bent
forward, nnd Ids breath came In queer,
whispering gusts. “Uo onl" he or-
dered savagely. "Tell ms ft* WBL
Why do you k«»-p me waiting?”
The girl smiled again—like a sor-
ceress. “Folger's wife was from ths
plains country," she told hint slowlyj
“If she hnd been of I tie mountains she
might have remained to do some kill-
ing on her own account. Like old El-
inlra herself remained to do—killing
low own account I Hut she a-as
from elites. Just ns you are. but she—
unlike you—hnd no mouutuln blood In
her. She wasn't used to deuth. and
perhaps she didn't know how to hate.
She only knew how to he nfrald.
They say that shp went nlmost In-
sane nt the sight of that strong, bravo
man of hera lying still In the pin*
needles. She hadn't even known ho
was out of the house. He had gono
out on some secret business—late at
night. She hnd only one thing left—
her baby hoy and her little foster-
daughter—little Linda Boss, who Is
before yon now. Her only thought
was to get those children out of thnt
dreadful land of bloodshed and to
hide them so that they could never
come hack. And she didn’t even want
them to know their true parentage.
She seemed to realize thnt If they laid
known, both of them would return
some time—to collect their debts.
Sooner or Inter, that hoy with the Fol-
ger blood In k'ln and that girl with
the Boss Mood would return, to at-
tempt to regain their undent holdings,
nnd to make tHo elan pay!
"All that was left were s few old
women with hate In their hearts and
strange tradition to take the plnea
of hope. They said that some time. It
death spared them, ttiey would sea
Folger's son come hack nguln, nnd
assert his rights. They said that a
new champion would arise and right
their wrongs, ltut mostly death didn't
spare them. Only old Elintra Is left.
\Vh*t became of the secret ngrev
ment I do not know. 1 haven’t any
hope that you do, either. The deed
was carried down to the courts by
Sharp, one of the wltnessss who man-
aged to get past the guard, nnd put
on file soon after It was written. Ttie
rest Is short, Simon and his clan took
up the hind, swearing that Matthew
Folger had deeded It to them the day
he hnd procured It. They had a deed
to show for It—a forgery. And the
one thing that they feared, the one
weak chain, was that this secret
agreement between Folger and my
father would lie found.
“You see what that would mean. It
would show that he hnd no right to
deed nwa.v the land, ns he was simply
holding It In trust for me. Old Elmira
explained the matter to me—If I get
mixed up on the legal end of It, ex-
cuse It If that document could b*
found, their forged deed would be ob-
viously liivnlhl. And It nngered them
that they could not find It.
“Of course they never filed thelf
forged deed—afraid that the forgery
would be discovered—but they kept
It to show to any one th.it was In-
terested. But they wanted to mak*
themselves still sufer.
“There had been two witnesses to
the agreement. One of them, a man
named Sharp, died—or was killed—
shortly after. The other, an old train
per named Hudson, wns Indifferent t#
the whole matter—he was Just pass-
ing through und wns at Folger's houss
for dinner the night Boss came. He Is
still living In these mountains, and ha
might be of value to us yet.
“Of course the clan did not feel at
ull secure. They suspected the secret
agreement hnd been mailed to some|
one to take care of, and they wero
afraid that It would be brought to light
when the time wus ripe. Ttiey knew
perfectly that their forged deed would
never stand the teat, so one of tha
things to do was to prevent their claim
ever being contested. That meant to
keep Folger's sou In Ignorance of th*
whole matter.
"I hope I can make that clear. Tha
deed from my father to Folger was on
record, Folger wns dead, and Folger’s
son would have every right and op-
portunity to contest the clan's claim to
the lund. If he could get the matter
Into court, he would surely win.
“The second thing to do was to wla
me over. I was Just a child, and It
looked the easiest course of all. That'a
why I was stolen from the orphanage
by one of Simon's brothers. The idea
wns simply that when the time cam#
I would marry one of the clan and e*
tubllsh their claim to the land forever.
"Up to a few weeks ago It seemed
to me that sooner or later I would win
out. Bruce, you can't dream what It
meant I I thought that some tlma 4
could drive them out and make them
pay, a little, for all they have done.
But they've tricked me, after all. I
thought that I would get word to Fol-
ger’s son. who by Inheritance would
have a clear title to the land, and he,
with the aid of the courts, could drive
these usurpers out. But Just recently
I've found out that even this chant*
Is all but gone.
(TO BB CONTINUED.)
Origin of the Zuider Zee.
The Zuider Zee is a result of the
bursting of the dykes. This tj^ppened
m tlie Thirteenth century, und, la
addition to Holland being cut in two)
und Frieslaud being separated from
the rest of the country by a large
sheet of water, hundreds of village*
were submerged and about 80,000 pen
sons were drowned.
Judgment.
Matrimony seems, generally spenli
Ing, to be a court proposition. He b«i
gins by suing for her hand, and efci
ends by sulug him for alimony.
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Anderson, L. A. The Supply Republican (Supply, Okla.), Vol. 21, No. 40, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 2, 1922, newspaper, November 2, 1922; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc952066/m1/3/: accessed April 19, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.