(Continued from last week).
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER 1.—Arriving at the lonely
little railroad station of EI Cajon, New
Mexico, Madeline Hammond, New York
1, finds no one to meet her. While in
e waiting room a drunken cowboy en-
ters, asks if she is married, and departs,
leaving her terrified, He returns with a
priest, who goes through some sort of
ceremony, and the cowboy forces her to
vy ‘‘Si.”” Asking her name and learning
her identity the cowboy seems dazed. In
a shooting scrape outside the room a
Mexican is killed. The cowboy lets a
gic “Bonita,” take his horse and escape,
en conducts Madeline to Florence
Kingsley, friend of her brother. ¢
CHAPTER I11.—Florence welcomes her,
learns her story, and dismisses the cow-
boy, Gene Stewart, Next day Alfred
Hammond, Madeline's brother, takes
Stewart to task. Madeline exonerates
him of. ‘any wrong intent.
CHAPTER IIl.—Alfred, scion of a
wealthy family, had been dismissed from
his home because of his dissipation.
Madeline sees that the West has re-
deemed him. She meets Stillwell, Al's
employer, typical western ranchman.
Madeline learns Stewart has gone over
the border.
CHAPTER IV.—Danny Mains, one of
Stillwell’s cowboys, has disappeared,
with some of Stillwell's money. His
friends link his name with the girl Bo-
nita.
CHAPTER V
The Round-Up.
It was a crackling and roaring of
fire that awakened Madeline next
morning, and the first thing she saw
was a huge stone fireplace in which lay
8. bundle of blazing sticks. Some one
had kindled a fire while she slept. For
a moment the curious sensation of be-
ing lost returned to her. She just
dimly remembered reaching the ranch
and being taken into a huge house
and a huge, dimly lighted room. And
it seemed to her that she had gone to
sleep at once, and had awakened with-
out remembering how she had gotten
to bed.
With a knock on the door and a
cheerful greeting, Florence entered,
carrying steaming hot water.
“Good mawnin’, Miss Hammond.
Hope you slept well. You sure were
tired last night. I imagine you'll find
this old ranch-house as cold as a barn.
It'll warm up directly. Al's gone with
the boys and Bill. We're to ride down
on the range after a while when your
baggage comes. Breakfast will be
ready soon, and after that we'll look
about the place.”
Madeline was charmed with the old i
Spanish house, and the more she saw !
of it the more she thought what a de-
lightful home it could be made. All
the doors opened into a courtyard, or
patio, as Florence called it. The
house was low, in the shape of a rect-
angle, and so immense. in size that
Madeline wondered if it had been a
Spanish barracks. Florence led the
way out on a porch and waved a hand
at a vast, colored void. “That's what
Bill likes,” she said.
At first Madeline could not tell what
was sky and what was land. The im-
meusity of the scene stunned her facul-
ties of conception. She sat down in
one of the old rocking-chairs and
looked and looked, and knew that she
was not grasping the reality of what
stretched wondrously before her.
“Were up at the edge of the foot-
hills,” Florence said. “Ill sure take
you a little while to get used to being
up high and seeing so much That's
the secret—we're up high, the air is
clear, and there's the whole bare
world beneath us. Here—see that
cloud of dust down in the valley? It's
the round-up. The boys are there, and
the cattle. Wait, I'll get the glasses.”
“The round-up! TI want to know all
about it—to see it,” declared Madeline.
“Please tell me what it means, what
it’s for, and then take me down there.”
“It'll sure open your eyes, Miss Ham-
mond. I'm glad you care to know.
Your brother would have made a big
success in this cattle business if it
hadn’t been for crooked work by rival
ranchers. He'll make it yet, in spite
of them.”
“Indeed he shall,” replied Madeline.
“But tell me, please, all about the
round-up.”
“Well, in the first place, every cat-
tleman has to have a brand to identify
his stock. Without it no cattleman,
nor half a hundred cowboys, if he had
80 many, could ever recognize all the
cattle in a big herd. There are no
fences on our ranges. They are all
open to everybody. Every year we
have two big round-ups, but the boys
do some branding all the year. A calf
should be branded as soon as it's
found, This is a safeguard against
cattle-thieves. We don’t have the
rustling of herds and bunches of cat-
tle like we used to.
“We have our biz round-up in the
fall, when there's plenty of grass and
water, and all the riding-stock as well
a8 the cattle are in fine shape. The
cattlemen in the valley meet with their
cowboys and drive in all the cattle
they can find. Then they brand and
cut out each man’s herd and drive it
toward home. Then they go on up or
down the valley, make another camp,
and drive in more cattle. It takes
weeks.”
For Madeline the morning hours flew
by, with a goodly part of the time
spent on the porch gazing out over that
ever-changing vista. At noon a team-
+ ster drove up with her trunks. Then
while Florence helped the Mexican
woman get lunch Madeline unpackea
vart of her effects and got out things
tor which she would have immediate
aeed. After lunch she changed her
dress for a riding-habit and, going out:
side, found Florence waiting with the
horses,
As Madeline rode along she made
geod use of her eyes. The soil was
sandy and porous, and she understood
why the rain and water from the few
springs disappeared so quickly. What
surprised her was the fact that,
though she and Florence had seemed
to be riding quite awhile, they bad
apparently not drawn any closer to
the round-up. The slope of the valley
was noticeable after some miles had
been traversed.
Gradually black dots enlarged and
assumed shape of cattle and horses
moving round a great dusty patch. In
another half-hour Madeline rode be
hind Florence to the outskirts of the
72
7 /
Z
“Z,
Sars
GN \
\
Xx
Gradually Black Dots Enlarged and
Assumed Shape of Cattle and Horses
Moving Around a Great Dusty Patch.
scene of action. A roar of tramping
noofs filled her ears. The lines of
marching cattle had merged into a
great, moving herd half obscured by
lust.
The bawling and bellowing, the
rrackling of horns and pounding of
10fs, the dusty whirl of cattle. and
‘he flying cowboys disconcerted Made-
Jne and frightened her a little.
“Look, Miss Hammond, there’s Don
Darlos!” said Florence. “Look at that
slack horse!”
Madeline saw a dark-faced Mexican
‘iding by. He was too far away for
rer to distinguish his features, but he
‘eminded her of an Italian brigand.
He bestrode a magnificent horse.
Stillwell rode up to the girls then
ind greeted them in his big voice.
“Right in the thick of it, hey? Wal,
het’s sure fine. I'm glad to see, Miss
Majesty, thet you ain't afraid of a
ittle dust or smell of burnin’ hide an’
air.”
Madeline's brother joined the group,
tvidently in search of Stillwell. “Bili,
Nels just rode in,” he said.
“Good! Any news of Danny Mains”
“No. Nels said he lost the trail
rhen he got on hard ground.”
“Wal, wal. Say, Al, your sister is
mire takin’ to the round-up, An’ the
)oys are gettin’ wise. See thet sun-
f-a-gun Ambrose cuttin’ capers aif
round. He'll sure do his prettiest.
Ambrose is a ladies’ man, he thinks.”
The two men and Florence joined
in a little pleasant teasing of Made-
ine, and drew her attention to what
ippeared to be really unnecessary feats
f horsemanship all made in her vi-
einity. The cowboys evinced their in-
terest in covert glances while recoiling
4 lasso or while passing to and fro.
ft was all too serious for Madeline to
be amused at that moment, She did
not care to talk. She sat her horse
and watched.
CHAPTER VI
A Gift and a Purchase,
. For a week the scene of the round-
up lay within riding-distance of the
ranch-house, and Madeline passed most
of this time in the saddle, watching
the strenuous labors of the vaqueros
and cowboys. She overestimated her
strength, and more than once had to
be lifted from her horse. Stillwell’s
pleasure in her attendance gave place
to concern. He tried to persuade her
to stay away from the round-up, and
Florence grew even more solicitous.
Madeline, however, wus not moved
by fheir entreaties.
She grasped only dimly the truth
of what it was she was learning—
something infinitely more than the
rounding up of cattle by cowboys, and
she was loath to lose an hour of her
opportunity.
Before the week was out, however,
Alfred found occasion to tell her thet
it would be wiser for her to let the
round-up go without gracing it further
with her presence. He said it laugh-
ingly; nevertheless, he was serious.
And when Madeline turned to kim in
surprise he said, bluntly:
“I don’t like the way Don Carios
follows you arourd. Bill's afraid that
Nels or Ambrose or one of the cow-
boys will take a fall out of the Mexi-
can. They're itching for the chance.
Of course, dear, it’s absurd to you, hut
it's true.”
Absurd it certainly was, yet it served
to show Madeline how intensely ocen-
pled she had been with her own feet-
ings, roused by the tumult and toil or
the round-up. She recalled that Dan
Carlos had been presented to her, ana
that she had not liked his dark, strik-
ing face with its bold, prominent, glit-
tering eyes and sinister lines; and she
bad not liked his suave, sweet, insin-
uaring voice or his subtle manner, with
its slow hows and gestures.
“Don Carlos has been after Fior-
ence for a long time! sald Alfred,
“Tle's not a young man by any means.
He's fifty, Bill says; but you can se:-
own tell & Mexican'’s age from win
wows, Don Carlos is well educa:
fn a man ‘we know very little anos,
Mexicans of his stamp don't rezaid
women as we white men do. Now,
iny dear, beautiful sister from New
York, I haven’t much use for Den Car-
los; but I don’t want Nels or Ambrese
to make a wild throw with a rope aud
pull the Don off his horse. So you hud
better ride up to the house and stay
there.”
“Alfred. you are joking, teasing me,’
said Madeline.
“Indeed not,” replied Alfred.
about it, Flo?”
Florence replied that the cowboys
would upon the slightest provocation
treat Don Carlos with less ceremony
and gentleness than a roped steer. Oid
BIlI Stillwell came up to be importuned
by Alfred regarding the conduct of
cowboys on occasion, and he not only
corroborated the assertion, but added
emphasis and evidence of his own.
“An’, Miss Majesty,” he concluded,
“I reckon if Gene Stewart was ridin’
fer me, thet grinnin’ Greaser wouid
hev hed a bump in the dust before
now.”
Madeline had been wavering between
sobriety and laughter until Stillwell’s
mention of his ideal of cowboy chiv-
alry decided in favor of the laughter.
“I am not convinced, but I surren-
der,” she said. “You have only some
occult motive for driving me away. I
am sure that handsome Don Carlos is
being unjustly suspected. But as I
have seen a little of cowhoys’ singular
imagination and gallantry, I am rather
inclined to fear their possibilities. So
good-by.”
Then she rode with Florence up the
iong, gray slope to the ranch-house,
That night she suffered from excessive
weariness, which she attributed: more
to the strange working of her mind
than to riding and sitting her horse.
Morning, however, found her in no dis-
position to rest. It was not activity
that she craved.
pleasure.
clear from the thronging sensations of
the last few days, told her that she
had missed something in life. What-
ever this something was, she had baf-
fling intimations of it, hopes that faded
on the verge of realizations, haunting
promises that were unfulfilled. What-
ever it was, it had remained hidden
“How
and unknown at home, and here in the !
West it began to allure and drive her
to discovery. Therefore she could not
rest; she wanted to go and see; she
was no longer chasing phantoms; it
was a hunt for treasure that held
aloof, as intangible as the substance of
dreams.
Upon the morning after the end of
the round-up, when she went out on
the porch, her brother and Stillwell
appeared to be arguing about the iden-
tity of a horse.
“Wal, 1 reckon it’s my old roan,”
said Stillwell, shading his eyes with
his hand.
“Bill, if that isn’t Stewart’s horse
my eyes are going back on me,” replied
Al. “It’s not the color or shape—the
distance is too far to judge by that.
It’s the motion—the swing.”
“Al, mebbe you're right.
ain’t no rider up on thet hoss.
fetch my glass.”
Florence went into the house, while
Madeline tried to discover the object
of attention. Presently far up the gray
hollow along a foothill she saw dust,
and then the dark, moving figure of a
horse. She was watching when Flor-
ence returned with the glass. Bill
took a long look, adjusted the glasses
carefully, and tried again.
“Wal, I hate to admit my eyes are
gettin’ pore. But I guess I'll hev to.
Thet's Gene Stewart's hoss, saddled,
an’ comin’ at a fast clip without a
rider. It’s amazin’ strange, an’ some
in keepin’ with other things concernin’
Gene.”
“Give me the glass,” said Al. “Yes,
I was right. Bill, the ‘horse is not
frightened. He's coming steadily; he's
got something on his mind.”
The wide hollow sloping up into the
foothills lay open to unobstructed
view, and less than half a mile distant’
Madeline saw the riderless horse com-
ing along the white trail at a rapid
canter. A shrill, piercing whistle pealed
in.
“Wal, he's seen us, thet’s sure,” sald
Bill,
The horse neared the corrals, disap-
peared into a lane, and then, breaking
his gait again, thundered into the in-
closure and pounded to a halt some
twenty yards from where Stillwell
waited for him.
One look at him at close raage In
the clear light of day was enough for
Madeline to award him a blue ribbon
over all horses, even the prize-winner,
But they
Flo,
or excitement, or'
An unerring instinct, rising
White Stockings.
The cowboy’s great
steed was no lithe, slender-bodied mus-
stang. He was a charger, almost tre-
mendous of build, with a black coat
faintly mottled in gray, and it shone
like polished glass in the sun. REvi-
dently he had been carefully dressed
down for this occasion, for there was
no dust on him, nor a kink in his beau-
tiful mane, nor a mark on his glossy
hide.
“Come hyar, you son-of-a-gun,” said
Stillwell.
The horse dropped his head, snorted,
and came obediently up. He was nei-
ther shy nor wild. Unhooking the stir
rups from the pommel, Stillwell let
them fall and began to search the sai.
dle for something which he evidently
expected to find. Presently from some
where among the trappings he pro-
duced a folded bit of paper, and after
scrutinizing it handed it to Al
“Addressed to you; an’ I'll bet yeu
two bits I know what's in it,” he said.
Alfred unfolded the letter, read fr,
and then looked at Stillwell.
“Bill, yon're a pretty good guesser,
Gene's made for the horder. Fle sent
ihe horse by somebody, ne names men-
tloned, ana wants my sister to have
him if she will accept.”
“Any mention of Danny
asked the rancher.
“Not a word.”
“Thet’s bad. Gene’d know about
Danny if anybody did. But he's a
close-mouthed cuss. So he’s sure hit-
tin’ for Mexico. Wonder if Danny's
goin’, too? Wal, there's two of the
best cowmen I ever seen, gone to h—l,
an’ I'm sorry.”
With that he bowed his head and,
grumbling to himself, went into the
house. Alfred lifted the reins over
the head of the horse and, leading him
to Madeline, slipped the knot over her
arm and placed the letter in her hand.
“Majesty, I'd accept the horse,” he
said. “Stewart is only a cowboy now,
and as tough as any I've known. But
he comes of a good family. He was a
college man and a gentleman once. He
went to the bad out here, like so many
fellows go, like I nearly did. Then
he had told me about his sister and
mother. He cared a good deal for
them. TI think he has been a source of
unhappiness to them. It was mostly
when he was reminded of this in some
way that he’d get drunk. I have al-
ways stuck to him, and T would do so
yet if T had a chance. You read the
letter, sister, and accept the horse.”
In silence Madeline bent her gaze
from her brother’s face to the letter:
“Friend Al: I'm sending my horse
down to you because I'm going away
and haven't the nerve to take him
where he'd get hurt or fall into
strange hands.
“If you think it’s all right, why, give
him to your sister with my respects.
But if you don’t like the idea, Al, or
if she won't have him, then he’s for
you. I'm hoping your sister will take
him. She'll be good to him, and she
can afford to take care of him. And,
while I'm waiting to be plugged by a
Greaser bullet, if I happen to have
a picture in mind of how she'll look
upon my horse, why. man, it's not
going to make any difference to you.
She needn't ever know it,
“Between you and me, Al, don’t let
her or Flo ride alone over Don Carlos’
way. If I had time I could tell you
something about that slick Greaser.
And tell your sister, if there's ever
Mains?"
. any reason for her to run away from
anybody when she's up on that roan.
just let her lean over and yell in his
ear. She'll find herself ridirg the
wind. So long.
“GENE STEWARL.”
Madeline thoughtfully folded the
“How He Must Love His Horse!”
letter and murmured, “How he must
love his horse!”
“Well, I should say so,” replied Al-
fred. “Flo will tell you. She's the
only person Gene ever let ride that
horse. Well, sister mine, how about
ft—will you accept the horse?”
“Assuredly. And very happy in
deed am I to get him. Al, you said,
I think, that Mr. Stewart named him
after me—saw my nickname in the
New York paper?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I will not change his name.
But, Al, how shall I ever climb up on
him? He's taller than I am. What
a giant of a horse! Oh, look at him—
he's nosing my hand. I really believe
he understood what I said. Al, did
you ever see such a splendid head and
such beautiful eyes? They are so
large and dark and soft—and human.
«Oh, I am a fickle woman, for I am
forgetting White Stockings.”
“PH gamble he'll make you forget
any other horse,” said Alfred.
have to get on him from the porch.”
Madeline led the horse to and fro.
and was delighted with his gentleness.
She discovered that he did not need
to be led. He came at her call, fol-
lowed her like a pet dog, rubbed his
black muzzle against ber. Sometimes.
at the turns in their walk, he lifted
his head and with ears forward looked
up the trail by which he had come.
and beyond the foothills. He was
looking over the range. Someone was
calling to him, perhaps, from beyond
the mountains. Madeline liked him
the better for that memory, and pitied
the wayward cowboy who had parted
with "his only possession for very
love of it.
At supper-time Madeline was unusu-
ally thoughtful. Later, when they as-
sembled on the porch to watch the
sunset. Stillwell’s humorous com-
plainings inspired the inception of an
fdea which flashed up in her mind
swift as lightning. And then by lis-
teninz symrathetically she encouraged |
hin to recite the troubles of a poo
enttleman. They were many and long
and interesting, and rather numbing
to the life of her inspired idea.
“Mr. Stillwell, could ranching here
on a large scale, with up-to-date meth-
ods, be made—well, not profitable, ex-
actly, but to pay—to run without
loss?” she asked, determined to kill
her new-born idea at birth or else give
it breath and hope of life.
“Wal, I reckon it could,” he replied, |
with a short laugh. “It'd sure be a
money-maker.
luck an’ poor equipment I've lived
pretty well an’ paid my debts an’
haven't lost any money except the
original outlay. I reckon thet’s sunk
fer good.”
“Would you sell—if someone would
pay your price?”
“Miss Majesty, I'd jump at the
chance. Yet somehow I'd hate to
leave hyar. I'd jest be fool enough to
g0 sink the money in another ranch.”
“Would Don Carlos and these other
Mexicans sell?”
“They sure would. The Don has
been after me fer years, wantin’ to
sell thet old rancho of his; an’ these
herders in the valley with their stray
cattle, they’d fall daid at sight of a
little money.”
“Please tell me, Mr. Stillwell, ex-
actly what you would do here if you
had unlimited means?’ went on Made-
line.
“Good Lud!” ejaculated the rancher.
“Wall, Miss Majesty, it jest makes my
old heart warm up to think of such
a thing. I dreamed a lot when I first
come hyar. What would I do if 1
hed unlimited money? Listen. T’d
buy out Don Carlos an’ the Greasers.
I'd give a job to every good cowman
in this country. I'd make them pros-
per as I prospered myself. I'd buy
all the good horses on the ranges. I'd
fence twenty thousand acres of the
best grazin’. I'd drill fer water in the
valley. I'd pipe water down from the
mountains. I'd dam up that draw out
there. A mile-long dam from hill to
hill would give me a big lake, an’
hevin’ an eye fer beauty, I'd plant cot-
tonwoods around it. I'd fill that lake
full of fish. I'd put in the biggest field
of alfalfa in the Southwest. I'd plant
fruit-trees an’ garden. I'd tear down
them old corrals ar’ barns an’ bunk-
houses to build new ones, I'd make
this old rancho some ccmfortable an’
fine. I'd put in grass an’ flowers ali
around an’ bring young pine trees
down from the mountains. An’ when
all thet was done I'd sit in my chair
an’ smoke an’ watch the cattle string-
in’ in fer water an’ stragglin’ back '
into the valley. An’ thet red sun out
there wouldn’t set on a happier man
in the world than Bill Stillwell, last
of the old cattlemen.”
Madeline thanked the rancher, and
then rather abruptly retired to her
room, where she felt no restraint to
hide the force of that wonderful idea,
now full-grown and tenacious -and
alluring,
Upon the next day, late in the after-
noon, she asked Alfred if it would be
safe for her to ride out to the mesa.
“I'll go with you,” he said gayly.
“Dear fellow, I want to go alone,”
she replied.
“Ah!” Alfred exclaimed, suddenly
serious. He gave her just a quick
glance, then turned away. “Go ahead.
I think it’s safe. I'll make it safe by
sitting here with mv glass and keep-
ing an eye on you. 3e careful coming
down the trail. Let the horse pick
his way. That's all.”
She rode Majesty across the wide
flat, up the zigzag trail, across the
S ing /
cd Gr fa
mERS —
She Rode Majestic Across the Wide
Flat, Up the Zigzag Trail, Across the :
“You'll |
RT,
Beautiful Grassy Level to the Far
Rim of the Mesa—
beautiful grassy ievel to the far rim
of the mesa, and not till then did she
lift her eyes to face the southwest.
Tn that darkening desert there was
something illimitable. Madeline saw
the hollow of a stupendous hand; she
felt a mighty hold upon her heart. Out
of the endless space, out of silence
and desolation and mystery and age,
come slow-changing colored shadows,
phantoms of peace, and they whis-
rered to Madeline. They whispered
that it was a great, grim, immutable
earth; that time was eternity; that
life was fleeting. They whispered for
her to be a woman; to love someone
hefore it was too late; to love any-
ame, everyone; to realize the need of
work, and thus find happiness.
She rode back across the mesa and
down the trail, and, once more upon
the flat, she called to the horse and
made him run. His spirit seemed to
meee with hers. The wind of his speed
| blew her hair from its fastenings.
When he thundered te a halt at the
porch steps Madeline, breathless and
sep the many business details of Her
Majesty’s Rancho and to keep a rec-
ord of them. Madeline found the
course of business training upon which
Why, with all my bad |
ber father had insisted to be invalu-
able to her now. It helped her to as-
similate and arrange the practical
details of cattle-raising as put forth
by the blunt Stillwell. She established
2n extensive vegetable farm, and she
| planted orchards. The climate was
| superior to that of California, and,
with abundant water, trees and plants
and gardens flourished and bloomed
in a way wonderful to behold. Here
in the farming section of the ranch
Madeline found employment for the
little colony of Mexicans. Their lives
had been as hard and barren as the
dry valley where they had lived. But
as the valley had been transformed
by the soft, rich touch of water, so
their lives had been transformed by
help and sympathy and work. The
children were wretched no more, and
many that had been blind could now
see, and Madeline had become to them
f new and blessed Virgin.
Madeline looked abroad over these
lands and likened the change in them
and those who lived by them to the
change in her heart. It may have been
fancy, but the sun seemed to be
brighter, the sky bluer, the wind
sweeter. Certain it was that the deep
green of grass and garden was not
fancy, nor the white and pink of blos-
som, nor the blaze and perfume of
flower, nor the sheen of lake and the
fluttering of new-born leaves. Where
there had been monotonous gray there
was now vivid and changing color.
Formerly there had been silence both
day and night; now during the sunny
hours there was music. The whistle
of prancing stallions pealed in from
the grassy ridges. Innumerable birds
had come and, like the northwara-
journeying ducks, they had tarried to
stay. The song of meadow-lark and
blackbird and robin, familiar to Made-
line from childhood, mingled with the
new and strange heart-throbbing song
| of the mocking-bird and the piercing
i blast of the desert eagle and the mel-
| ancholy moan of the turtle-dove.
|
|
(To be continued).
LEGION MEN ARE
RADIO BOOSTERS.
The radio as a means of dissemina-
tion of information to American Le-
gion posts and as a possible opportu-
nity for Legion members to hear the
utterances of the national officer is
‘growing in favor.
One of the first occasions that the
radio has been used by the Legion
was in Lincoln, Neb., where National
Commander Alvin Owsley’ s “key note”
address was broadcast over the coun-
try, to be received by stations as far
away as the Atlantic coast.
Future addresses by Commander
Owsley may be heard in this manner.
The Legion leader is to dedicate a new
home for the Legion in Kansas City,
Mo., on April 21, and arrangements
have been made to have that address
sent out by a powerful station of that
city. Legionnaires in five States have
been asked to “stand by” their instru-
ments to hear this address.-
An invitation for broadcasting an
address at St. Louis, Mo., through the
station “KSD,” operated by the St.
Louis Post Dispatch has been receiv-
ed. Commander Owsley is to dedicate
the new Theodore Roosevelt High
school on April 22 and may use the
radio station on this visit. This sta-
tion has been heard 400 miles south
of the equator.
On the first visit of the Legion head
to Detroit, he has been invited to use
the well known “WWJ” station of the
Detroit News as the means of address-
ing Legionnaires in that section. This
is another of the country’s most pow-
erful stations.
Plans have been made by the com-
mittee in charge of the Memorial day
celebration in San Francisco this year
to have the address of Commander
Owsley on that day relayed by radio
from a station there.
Several instances have been report-
ed where State Legion organizations
are using broadcasting stations as a
method to reaching their membership
and the general use of the radio by the
American Legion is foretold by the in-
stallation of receiving sets in the Le-
gion homes all over the country.
is Promised Veterans of
World War.
A new deal for world war veterans
who have been endeavoring to obtain
vocational educational training and
compensation from the veterans’ bu-
reau has been promised by Brigadier
General Frank T. Hines, new director
of the bureau.
Applications now pending will be
divided into three classes with a view
of getting prompt action for veterans
who have become discouraged through
delays heretofore.
New Deal