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© by Doubleday Doran Co., Inc.
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4
SYNOPSIS
Sam Stanley, wealthy owner
of the Desert Moon ranch, tells
his bousekeeper, Mary Magin,
f that his former wife's twin
daughters, Danielle and Gabri.
elle, are coming to the ranch to
live, their mother being dead and
their father, Daniel Canneziano,
who had been the cause of Sam's
divorcing his wife, in the peni-
tentiary Sam has adopted a
boy, lohn, now grown to man-
hood, ind a girl, Martha, physi-
:ally healthy but weak-minded
Mrs. Ollie Ricker, Martha's nurse,
lives with them. Hubert Hand,
a wanderer, and Chadwick Cau-
field, John's wartime buddy, an
expert ventriloquist, are the oth.
er members of the household
The girls arrive. Mrs. Magin has
cause to believe there is a sin-
ister motive in the twins’ pres-
ence at the ranch. John becomes
engaged to Danielle, Caufield
shows a pronounced liking for
Gabrielle,
CHAPTER IV
Bun
The Cabin
The girls had been on the Desert
Moon a little better than six weeks
when, one evening, Sam came out into
my kitchen where I was setting bread.
“Mary,” he began, real solemn for
him, “the ancients used to have cities
that they called cities of refuge. No
matter what a fellow had done, if he
could get inside into one of those
eitizs, he was safe. Your kitchen al.
ways kinda seems lke that to me—a
city of refuge.”
“Lands, Sam,” 1 sald, “what have
you been up to that you are heading
this safety first movement?”
“l haven't been ap to anything,”
Sam answered, “and | don’t aim to be.
But, Mary, some time ago you came
to me with some suspicions. I laughed
them off. I am not laughing now.
Tm worried. Queer things are going
on around here. What I want to
know, nov is what do you know?”
“Nothing. What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you suspect, then, Sam?”
“Nothing. What do you?”
“Nothing.”
That, I see now, wouldn’t have been
a bad place for us both to laugh.
Neither of us did.
“Have you any idea,” Sam ques-
tioned, “why the girls go prowling all
over the place, afoot and horseback,
daytimes, and nighttimes, too, when
they should be in their beds?”
“Well, all 1 know is just what I've
known all along. They are hunting
for something.”
“Sure they are hunting for some-
thing. But what?” :
“l don’t know. But whatever ft Is,
they are going to use it to get revenge,
to injure maliciously somebody.”
“Revenge, h—I11"” Sawn said.
“Have it your own way. Only 1
happened one night to hear Gaby say
to Danny that they had come to this
ranch for the purpose of revenge.”
“Revenge, h—I11" Sam repeated b!m.
self. “Unless they are sore at me
about Canneziano. What else did they
say, when you happened to overhear
this revenge remark?”
If he was ready, at last, to listen,
1 was more than ready to tell what
little 1 knew. | told; even to confess
ing about hiding in the clothes closet.
“Well, well.” he drawled, when |
bad finished my story, “we are prob.
ahly making a8 mountain out of a
molehill. | wouldn't go pussy-footing
around after them, any more, if |
were you, Mary. There's a screw
loose somewhere. that's sure; but ft
18 not in the Desert Moon's machinery
We've got nothing on our consciences.
We don’t need to worry.”
Don’t need to worry! Sam and |,
sitting in that peaceful kitchen, talk.
ing se smart and frivolous, and de
ciding that we did no! need to worry
is a memory 1 could well be shed of
We didn’t need to worry a bit more
than if I'd used arsenic in my covered
pan of bread; not a bit more than it
there Pad heen a den of rattlesnakes
in the cupboard under the sink, or
gasoline instead of water in the tans
en the hack of the stove. That is how
safe and peaceful we really were. at
that minute, If we had had sense
enough to know it. When | realize
that four weeks from that very eve
ming, three people—
But 1 guess it would be better to
tell things straight along, as they hap
pened It seems to me a good hook
cannot be hurried, any more than a
good cake ean “Mix and sift the dry
ingredients,” is the way all recipes for
cakes begin.
. * . . ° . ®
For hree days, beginning with the
Fourth of July, t"ere wus to he a big
celebration and rodeo at Telko
Sam suggested at noon on the sec
ond of July while we were at dinner
that maybe all of us would tike to go:
all, that is. except Martha and him
self. ('elehrations were never good
for Martha
I spoke right up and said to count
me out. | know the deserts in July
But the boys were enthusinstic abom
it, and Danny was interested. (Gaby
eomiug in lute, greeted the idea with
IEEE LEER RRR RRARR EE NEARER NRRL
The Desert Moon Mystery
by KAY CLEAVER STRAHAN
the same enthusiasm with which a
woman greets moths in the clothes
closet.
“Whence the crave for a Fourth of
July celebration?” she asked.
“We have never seen a rodeo,” Dan-
ay answered.
“Go, by all means,” Gaby said.
“Buy pink lemonade. March in the
parade. Ride in the Liberty car. Mrs.
Magin would be stunning as the god-
dess of Liberty, with—"
‘Don’t let my stunningness stop
anything,” 1 said. “I am not going.”
“We'll think it over,” Danny said.
“It would be a long, hot ride. Prob
ably we should all have a pleasanter
time, right here at home.”
But there was something in the way
she had said it, too quickly in an-
swer to a look from Gaby, that made
me think there was more to her back-
ing out of the plan than had appeared
on the surface.
Gaby nad just begun her dinner.
The rest of us had finished; so, ac-
cording to our custom, we excused
ourselves and went our ways. Chad
tried to stay with Gaby, but Martha
fussed and insisted that he come with
her.
I bad a sure feeling that Danny
would return, and that she and Gaby
would have something to say to each
other. I went into the kitchen,
stepped back into the pass-pantry, and
opened the pass-window a crack.
Just as I opened the window I heard
John say, “I thought Danny was in
here.”
“No,” Gaby said. “But won't you
come in and talk to me?”
“What about?”
“About—this.”
I dared not peek, so I did not know
what she meant until she said, “Why
won't you kiss me?”
“Shall I say, I don’t want to pick
flowers in Hubert Hand's yard?”
“I hate you!”
“Don’t be sore at me, Gaby,” John
said. “But I'm telling you, that's a
lot nearer the truth than—than what
you usually say.”
John was one of the poorest talk-
ers ever heard. One of those strong,
silent men supposed to abound in the
West, and who are likewise supposed
to make every word that they say
count. If John's did, they counted
backwards.
“My dear, haven't 1 proven over and
over again that I love you? In every
way. | have made myself ridiculous,
here, because I haven't been able to
conceal my feelings for you.”
“I think,” John said, “that most of
that stuff you pull is just to spite
Danny. It doesn’t spite her, though.
She knows she's the only girl in the
world for me. [I wish you'd cut it
out—all of that, Gabby. Won't you,
and just be good friends?”
“You'd not want me for an enemy,
would you?”
“Getting at anything, going any
place, Gaby?”
“Perhaps. If Danny should hear
that you have made love to me—"
“lI have never made love to you. It
would be your word against mine. 1
think Danny would take mine, if it
came to a showdown. Listen here,
child; don’t you try to make trouble
between Danny and me.”
“Meaning?”
“Nothing. Except that it wouldn't
be healthy for anyone who tried it.”
“Boo-0oo! Dangerous Dan McGrew
stuff? Out where men are men?
Killer loose tonight—all that, eh,
Johnnie?”
A door opened. “John,” came in
Danny's voice, “uncle is looking every-
where for you.”
“What,” Dammy questioned, when
the door had closed behind John,
“made you both look so angry, just
now ?”
“Never mind. Are you going to that
fools’ celebration, with only a day or
two left, now?”
“1 suppose not, if yon don’t want me
to. I'd love going. | know there is
no use in staying here.”
“In other words, you would sacrifice
my future for a rodeo? 1 more than
half believe that vou know—"
“What possible object could | have?”
“Many, my dear. Very many
hough 1 think that getting rid of me
would outweigh the others. Listen to
me, Danielle Cunneziano, if 1 thought
that you were keeping this from me.
in order to bury me alive in this God-
forsaken hole, and force me to watch
you and John—"
“Gaby I”
“I've been a fool! Why can't 1
learn to take into consideration your
d—n moralities? Understand this
Dan. Don’t fancy for one instant that
failure 18 going to keep me here. Did
you think, with a weapon like that in
my nands, that I'd stand for anything
less than a fifty fifty propesition? Our
original plan would have been hetter
—ensier, simpler But I'll have my
share out of this, anyway. So, if you
do know-—"
“Gaby."l don't know. Pl] swear that
1 don’t. How could 17 But surely
you wouldn’t—wouldn't attempt—"
“That is for you to say. darling.”
Darling, as she said it then, was as
wicked a word as | had ever lis
tened to.
“For me to say?’
R
WNU Service
SULT nnn
“Give John to me. [@'ve changed my
mind. If you'll do that, I'll stay right
here, and settle down, and do an imi
tation of a moral, model wife that
would satisfy even you.”
“Gaby, you speak as if John were
a child's toy, to be passed about. I
couldn't give him to you, if I were
willing to.”
“You could, and you know It. You
won't. So, that’s that. But keep your
righteous fingers out of my life; stop
your d—n preaching, and meddling. 1
am going to the cabin now. You
would better come with me.”
“We've searched that cabin a thou-
sand times.”
“All the same, it 1s the one logical
place; far removed, and under cover.”
The cabin is the one Sam built to
live in when he first came to the val-
ley. It is up Boulder creek, about
half a mile from the ranchhouse,
Sam has kept it in repair, inside and
out; owing, 1 think, to sentimental
memories, though he declares it 1s be-
cause he dislikes wreckage on the
place. When John and Martha were
little things, Sam used to hide their
Christmas presents up there, under
the shelf in the kitchen.
The shelf, ubout three feet wide, is
built across one end of the kitchen.
It served Sam for a table, pantry, and
sink. Being a man, he built it right
handily, like a chest, so that the en-
tire top of it had to be raised to get
to the storage place underneath.
There was no secret about it. All any-
one had to do, was to move everything
off the top of it, and lift the lid. But
I had read how the hardest problems
for detectives always turned out to be
something that had been too simple
to notice; sc my plan was to go up
there and raise the lid.
On my way, I met the girls coming
home, I imagined that they looked at
me with suspicion. 1 passed a remark
about the sweet-smelling clover hay,
and hurried right along.
Half an hour later, when 1 was ex-
pecting instant death at any minute,
I thought about that sweet clover
smell, and how unappreciative 1 have
been of it, and of the blue sky and
fresh air, and of the green things,
lighted yellow with sunshine, and 1
took a vow that, if 1 ever did get a
chance to enjoy them again, 1 would
spend the remainder of my life in so
doing, and in being grateful to the
Creator of them.
In the cabin, I went at once to the
kitchen; and, removing fish-baskets,
fly-books, and reels from the shelf,
lifted it back.
1 am sure that I had expected to
find it empty. What 1 had not ex-
pected to find, and what I certainly
had never hoped to find, was what
was there: any number of neatly
wrapped packages, addressed to Mr.
Sam Stanley, sent by express, and
labeled, variously, “Danger.” “Explo-
sives.” “Handle with Care.”
It did not take any common sense to
know, straight off, that, sent to him or
not, Sam was not mixed up in any
business that had to do with explo
sives, bombs, and Bolshevism. It was
easy enough to remember, then, that
Sam had not been to Rattail for the
past ten days; that Hubert Hand had
been making the trips down for the
mail, expressage, and supplies.
Just as he came into my mind, I
heard his voice.- It was a startling
coincidence; but I need a better ex-
THE PATTON COURIER
cuse than that, for surely ne mortal
ever did a more foolish thing than |
did then. 1 climbed into that chest,
along with those packages, and low-
ered the lid down over me, If | had
any Idea, 1 suppose it must have heen
a desire not to let him know that |
had discovered his secret—his and
Gaby’s together, undoubtediy—but 1
can’t remember having any thought
at all until, just as the lid ‘osed, 1
remembered the sad poem about the
bride and the mistletoe chest.
Then &¢ heard, through the thin
boards, Hubert Hand, talking to some
one, come Into the kitchen. I chose
death by suffocation or combustion.
“My dear woman,” were the first
words | hear¢ from him, “yoo may set
your mind at rest. | am not going to
marry the girl. 1 am not a marrying
man, as you know; and, if 1 were, she
wouldn’t have me,”
“You leave her alone, then.
stand me. Leave her alone.”
If I believed my ears, that was
Mrs. Ricker's voice; that was Mrs.
Under-
I Am Sure That | Had Expected to
Find It Empty.
Ricker, not only talking, but talking
like that to Hubert Hand.
“You flatter me,” he said. “Jeal-
ous, still, after all these years? |
told you that I wouldn't marry her,
and that she wouldn't have me, if 1
were willing to.”
“Wouldn't she, though? Wouldn't
she? She is mad about you. She can't
look at you without love :n her eyes,
nor speak to you without love in her
voice. She tries to hide it; but she
can’t hide it from me. I know, She
loves you.”
I am not sure whether I read it, or
whether 1 figured it out for myself;
but 1 do know it is a fact that no
woman ever accuses another woman
of being in love with a man unless
she could imagine being in love with
him herself.
“As to that,” Hubert Hand said,
“what possible difference would it
make to you, Ollie?”
“Only that I would kill her, and
you, too, before I would let her have
you.”
“Easy on, there, my girl. Your last
attempt at murder—at least 1 hope
that was your last attempt, was not,
you may recall, very successful.”
“lI would be successful another
time.”
I kept quiet; very quiet. Surround-
ed, in there by explosives, and out
there by people who talked of murder
as calmly and as comfortably as if
they were discussing moss-roses, very
quiet did not seem half quiet enough.
They went into the other room of
the cabin and stayed there for a few
minutes. I could not hear what they
FIFI INK IR INH HHA IIHR HHI HH HHH HH HTH
Feign Death to Escape Its Actual Visitation
Nature has provided the majority
of animals with some means of self.
preservation. The bold overcome the
enemy by fighting “tooth and claw”;
the timid escape by rapid flight. Some
creatures take shelter behind a plat.
ing of armor; others rely mainly upon
their protective coloration, Some in
ject deadly poisons; others emit nau-
seating fluids and even electric shocks.
But probably the most remarkable
of all methads of evading the enemy
is that of shamming death; and one
need not necessarily travel beyond
the confines of one's own garden for
proof of the fact that some creatures
do sham death, for quite a number
of caterpillars, spiders, toads and
snakes are addicted to the habit, says
M. D. D. in the Times of India Illus
trated Weekly.
It is a well-known fact that cer
tain birds will pretend to be lume or
wonnded in the wing in order to draw
away Intruders from the vicinity of
Had Few Nerves in Teeth
Study of the teeth of the saber
tooth cats and of the giant wolves
that lived and died in prehistoric
times, has shown why these animals
and their descendants knew no such
things as toothache.
Examination of teeth found in as
phalt pits in California revealed that
in every case. the teeth of an adult
of the species had only a scanty sup
ply of nerves. As the animal grew
up. the root canal, which is the main
route for the nerves into the pulp
chamber of the tooth, became eom
paratively shut off.—I’opular Mechan
«cs Magazine,
‘their eggs or young. The American
ground dove, the ruffled grouse, the
green plover and the wild duck are
among those that practice this art of
deception. Among birds that actually
sham death may be mentioned the
land rail and the water rail,
So Simple
Mrs. Suburbs, who was absorbed in
a romance of the Seventeenth century,
suddenly looked up at her hushand.
“George,” she remarked, “listen to
this: ‘By my halidom, exclaimed Sir
Percival, ‘it ig past the hour of 120
Now, what is a halidom, George?”
“What do you suppose it is?” he re
sponded. “Doesn't the context tel
you? Sir What’s-his-name said it was
past 12 by his halidom, didn't he?
Well, I should have thought anybody
could have seen that halidom was the
make of his wateh.”
Sight Influences Handwriting
If the average handwriting of a
person with normal vision ig taken as
a standard, that of the individual suf
fering from nearsightedness will he
found to he much smaller and that
of the farsighted individual much
larger,
The nearsizhted person does not
realize that his writing is small, for
he sees it enlarged. and the farsighted
person does not know that he writes
large. for his eyes reduce the image
for him,
Pointer for Executives
It you encountered no difficulties.
the offic® hoy could tuke your place.—
B. C. Forbes,
were saying, but I did not budge an
inch, After 1 heard them passing the
window, and was sure that they had
left the cabin, I remained, very quiet,
in the chest for about five minutes
longer before climbing out of it.
I was progressing toward home,
shivering in every bone, limping, since
both my legs had gone to sleep, when
Sam, riding his had-tempered bronco
named Wishbone, came up behind me
and dismounted.
“Corns bad, Mary?” he questioned.
“Want to climb up on Wishbone and
have me lead him?"
“When | go to meet death,” | told
him, *1 sha'n’t go on the back of a
nasty-tempered bronco. Considering
that everyone on the Desert Moon is,
at this minute, in mortal danger of
their lives, all your lighthearted jest.
ting seems pretty much out of place.”
I told him, then, about the packiges
of explosives hiillden under the shelf.
I had not told him about my climbing
in with them; so I was in no way pre-
pared for his actions.
He stopped. He dropped Wishhone's
bridle. He put both his hands on his
stomach and leaned over and burst
Into uproarious laughter. “Ho-ho-ho.”
it rolled out, seeming to fill the entire
valley.
“Fireworks,” he gasped. “lI got i
them for Martha. Going to surprise |
her on the Fourth. Sent for them
months ago. Hid them up there.
Ho-ho-ho! I told you to stop pussy-
footing around, Mary. Ho-ho-ho! ‘Do
not look for wrong and evil, you will
find them if you do—'"
With as much dignity as a heavy
woman, with both of her legs asleep,
could muster, I turnea and left him.
His words and his actions had cer-
tainly given me one decision. From
this time on, I would tell Sam Stanley
nothing.
When 1 got back to the house, John
was driving up the road in the sedan.
He had been to Rattail for supplies
and for the mail. He tossed the mail-
bag out to me and drove around to the
kitchen door to unload. There was
a letter for Gaby, postmarked France.
About a month before this, Gaby
had received another letter that was
a duplicate of this one; the same gray
paper, the same sprawling handwrit-
ing. Instead of taking it indifferently, |
as she did other letters, and reading |
it wherever she happened to be, she |
had snatched it out of my hand and |
had run off to her room. All that |
evening she had seeme. to be preve- |
cupied, and worried. Sending only |
two letters in close to two months, it |
seemed to me that whoever had writ- |
ten them did not write unless he
or she had something of importance to
say. I was still puzzling over it, when {
Gaby came into the room. |
Sure enough, she snatched it out of |
my hands, just as she had done with |
the other letter, and ran straight up- |
stairs with it, {
When John and Danny came in, a!
few minntes later, | went upstairs. |
Habit stopped me at Gaby's door for |
a minute, with my ear to the keyhole. |
Faintly, sounds don’t come plainly |
through our thick doors, I heard the |
portable typewriter that she brought !
| with her when she came to the ranch, |
click, clicking away. |
I was tuckered and tired. So, after |
telephoning some instructions to the |
kitchen, I took plenty of time to tidy |
myself up. I dawdled in my bath, ard
1 cut my corns, and rubbed hair tonic |
into my scalp. But, when on my way |
downstairs again, I stopped for a sec |
ond at Gaby’s door, the typewriter was |
still going. There was nothing to be
made out of it, so I went along. It |
was fortunate that I did, because, be
fore I had reached the top of the
stairway, Gaby’s door flung open and
she called to me, with something in
her voice that made me shake in my
shoes.
1 turned and looked at her. Hei
face wore an expression that was not
human; an expression that would
have made any decent woman do as
I did, and turn her eyes quickly away
“Tell Danny to come up here,” she
sald.
I hurried off downstairs, and de
livered the message to Danny whe
wus with John In the living room.
“What's the matter, Mary?’ Johr
questioned, when Danny had gone up
stairs. “You look as if you had seer
a ghost.”
“I think,” I answered, “that I haw
—the ghost of Sin.”
“Doggone that girl,” he said. *
wish she were in Jericho.”
“Gaby, you mean?”
“You're darn right. She's causing
all the trouble around here.”
“What trouble?” I asked, just for s
feeler.
“l don’t know—exactly. She keeps
Danny miserable. But that isn't it, o
not all of it. Don’t you seem to fee!
trouble around here, all the time? |
thought everyone did. I do, Gosh
knows.”
“1 know,” 1 said. “1 feel it, too. |
think Sam does, though he won't alto
gether admit it. Just the same, John
there iesn’'t a thing we can put our
fingers on, is there?”
“1 suppose not. Sometimes, though,
when I see Danny looking as she
looked when she went upstairs just
now, I feel as if it would be a good
thing If somebody would put their
fingers around that vixen’s throat.”
“John,” 1 spoke sharply to him,
“don’t say things like that. You don't
mean it. It is wrong to say it.”
[ was sure that he did rot mean
it. 1 was sure that only the voice of
one of hia rare ugly moods had
spoken, and that the wicked thought
had died with the wicked words. But,
from that dae to this, I have never
repeated those words to a living soul, |
Because that was the way that Gaby
was murdered: choked to death, with |
great brutal bruises ieft on her throat,
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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Martyr
Since Chief of Motor Vehicles
Shook started the fad, California has
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To this question a girl gave the
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The Real Question
Father—I shall allow my daughter
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Why, You Idiot!
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Everything Fixed for
Speed in Elopement
The modern Romeo was making ar
rangements for eloping with his Juliet,
“Now, darling,” he said, “we'll run
over our schedule for the' last time.
The car will be at the door just be-
fore midnight. You understand that?"
“Yes, precious.”
“I'll creep round to your window
and throw a handful of stones up
against it to let you know I'm there.
Do you follow me, swetheart?"”
“Absolutely, my own.”
“You will the~ creep downstairs
with your suitcase. You'll be quite
ready with it when I arrive, won't
you?”
She nodded.
“Quite, dearest,” she replied. “Moth-
er is packing it for me now!”
Better Had
Mabel—Now that I'm all dressed,
where shall we go?
Jack—Er, iet's go swimming.
People with sharp tongues make
cutting remarks.
Children hate to take medicine
as a rule, but every child loves the
taste of Castoria. And this pure
vegetable preparation is just as
good as it tastes; just as bland
and harmless as the recipe reads.
(The wrapper tells you just what
Castoria contains.)
When Baby's cry warns of colic,
a few drops of Castoria has him
soothed, asleep again in a jiffy.
Nothing is more valuable in diar-
rhea. When coated tongue or bad
breath tell of constipation, invoke
its gentle aid to cleanse and regu-
late a child's bowels, In colds or
children’s diseases, use it to keep
the system from clogging. Your
doctor will tell you Castoria
& ! e \ Cro TT TIT
\ || AVegetable Preparationors:
lating the Food by Regula
Es in en)
INFANTS 7 CHILDREN
Thereby Promoting Digestion [888
Cheeruness and Ret Costas
neither Opium, Morphine not
Mineral. NoT NARCOTIC
resalting therefrom ial4%
Tac Sismike Signature of
ttn.
4
THE CENTAUR CQ_NEW YOR
LL oo
re
Fwe-mirnil
iru
Rt
deserves a place in the family
medicine cabinet until your child
is grown. He knows it is safe for
the tiniest baby; effective for a
boy in his teens, With this special
children’s remedy handy, you need
never risk giving a boy or girl
medicine meant for grown-ups.
Castoria is sold in every drug
store; the genuine always bears
Chas. H. Fletcher's signature,
—————
FINNE!
WELL WIFE
GoT To GO ON
BUSDIESS TR
(Copyright, W. N. |
MICKIE
D by the MoClu
ll