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THE POST, FRIDAY, JUNE 2, 1941
Captain Chalkley N. Booth
' * Gets Man By Clever Ruse
State Police Turn Coon Hunters
To Capture Outlaw Mountaineer
The Coon Hunters
~ When “C” Troop delivered Israel
Drake into the grasp of the District
Attorney of Cumberland County, the
District Attorney’s soul suffused
with joy. Then, because it was good,
he asked for more—asked for the
body of Carey Morrison,
In the interval, however, ‘C”
Troop had been so besought for help
from many other quarters, both of-
ficial and private, that not a single
man of the company remained free
to aid the District Attorney of Cum-
berland. So the Superintendent of
State Police referred the request to
“B” Troop, presiding over the next
nearest State Police section, with
orders that two Troopers report at
once to departmental headquarters
at Harrisbug.
In accordance with the command,
Sergeant Herbert Smith and Pri-
vate Chalkley N. Booth forthwith
reported at Harrisburg. Here they
received first a warrant for the ar-
rest of Carey Morrison, wanted for
arson, burglary, felonious assault,
and minor offenses; second, a pencil
sketch roughly showing the region
in which Morrison was supposed to
be lurking; and, third, the instruc-
tion, bare of detail, to: “go get the
man.”
Sergeant Smith and Private Booth
had talked over a possible line of
campaign while en route to head-
quarters. Nothing that they learned
there having affected their notion,
they now went out, bought them-
selves canvas hunting suits and bor-
rowed shotguns. Then they took
the next train from Harrisburg to
Mount Holly Springs Junction. At
this junction they transferred to a
goat-path railroad heading up into
the hills.
Their destiny was a tiny moun-
tain settlement, about fifteen miles,
as a crow flies, north of Gettysburg.
The two Troopers, as the little en-
gine labored up the heavy grades,
gossiped carelessly with the train-
hands concerning it. It was a place
of about ninety inhabitants, they
learned—twenty houses; a general
store and postoffice; poor mountain
people; had a hard life of it, gen-
erally. Carey Morrison, one of Israel
Drake’s gang, had worked it over
pretty thoroughly; with no light
hand. Now, since Drake’s capture by
the Troopers, folks did say Carey
was hiding out, ‘but—better not
count on that!
Philadelphia Sportsmen?
At the General Store and Post-
office the two officers asked where
they could find board. They let it
be understood that they were Phila-
delphia sportsmen, friends of Mr.
‘Cameron, owner of much forest
thereabout, and they would like to
do a little hunting by themselves
while waiting the arrival of their
host with the dogs.
Only one house in the settlement
could accommodate boarders, they
were told. So they applied and were
received at that little farm. For a
day or two they tramped the woods
with their guns, stopping hither and
yon at mountain cabins for a light
for their pipes, for a drink of water,
for a bit of casual talk, striving
always to pick up news.
But news of Carey Morrison was
very hard to get. The entire moun-
tain population was literally afraid
to mention his name. In this his
peculiar haunt he was greatly dread-
ed as was his leader, Israel Drake,
in a wider field. Three times he
had robbed the store and rifled the
postoffice safe. Twice he had burned
the mountain-side. He had commit-
ted innumerable robberies and as-
saults. Once he had walked up to
a farmer as he stood in his shed
chopping wood, with the preemp-
tory demand: “I want five dollars
of ye!”
And when the farmer ventured to
demur, Carey snatching the axe out
of the mans’ grasp, chopped off his
right hand.
Almost every Constable in the
County held a copy of the warrant
for Carey’s arrest, but, small blame
to them, Carey still went free. Very
recently the local Constable had
“hired out” to a farmer to pick the
apples in an orchard high on the
mountain-side. Perhaps the orchard
lay too high, too near his own eyrie,
to please Carey Morrison. At all
events, when Carey, moving over his
domain, espied the village officer so
engaged, he descended at once to
the orchard owner's house.
Towering in the doorway, shutting
out the sunlight with the terror of
his big and sinewy bulk, he issued
his edict:
“Constable is picking apples up in
your orchard. Tell him if I ever!
see him here again I am going to
kill him!”
The farmer tremblingly obeyed.
The Constable trembling conformed.
And no one would willingly pro-
nounce the name of Carey Morrison
for fear the very shadows might be
his messengers.
Yet through their silence pierced
once and again some little rays of!
light. Brought all together these
showed the general direction and
area in which the man should be
sought. Unfortunately, that area
lay in a territory obviously bad for
hunting, while the good game
grounds started from the opposite
Ta
RIVERSIDE PRESS GRANTS
PERMISSION TO PUBLISH
STORY ABOUT CAPT. BOOTH
One of the original members
of the Pennsylvania Constabu-
lary when that body of men
was organized at the conclusion
of the Spanish-American War,
the late Capt. Chalkley N. Booth
of Dallas had many thrilling ex-
periences with criminals who
soon learned to respect the new
“State Wild Cats.” The late
Katherine Mayo, author of
“Mother India,” included many
of Captain Booth’s exploits with
other members of the force in
articles contributed to The Sat-
urday Evening Post and in her
book, “The Standard Bearers.”
The editors of The Post are
grateful to the Houghton-Mifflin
Company, the Riverside Press,
Boston, for their kind permis-
sion to reprint the chapter on
the “Coon Hunters” from “The
Standard Bearers.” It is a
tribute to a fine police officer
who brought lasting honors to
the “force” during his more
than forty years of active police
work in Pennsylvania.
The Decoy Letters
Meantime, in the boarding house,
the strongly developed native cur-
iosity of their host and hostess in-
creased apace. On the very day of
their arrival the Troopers had seen
the necessity of satisfying it with
food fit for their ends. Private
Booth, therefore, had written two
decoy letters—one to an imaginary
friend in Boston, another to a creat-
ure of his brain elsewhere ad-
dressed, dealing with hunting dogs
and discussing plans for a trip.
These letters he had left on his
bureau carelessly unsealed; and he
had found with satisfaction, when
next he returned to his room, that
the two missives had met with their
intended fate.
But the soporific did not long suf-
fice, and, to make matters vastly
worse, it chanced that a series of
burglaries, begun in the region just
previous to their arrival now con-
tinued nightly. The spinster teacher
of the district school, resident in
the house, conceived the pestilen-
tial idea that the two ‘hunters’
were no other than the burglars in
disguise. Harping on that string
she so imbued the rest of the house-
hold with her own belief and fear
that several persons sat up each
night to spy upon the possible go-
ings and comings of the “Philadel-
phia sportsmen.”
This was hampering enough, but
when at last the village Constable,
he who. dared not displease Carey
Morrison, began stealthily trailing
them about in the woods, the two
officers were more amused than
vexed.
Coon Dogs
Nevertheless, the diurnal routine
of losing the Constable came soon
to be rather a handicap. For now
the trail was growing warm. The
“hunters” had discovered in a
mountaineer named Cox, a brother-
in-law of Morrison. Cox, lank and
idle, butternut-jeaned, lived high
among the ledges, far above the set-
tlement and alone. Constitutionally
suspicious of strangers, he too, was
prone to curiosity in the wildwood
way of his kind. Like wily snarers
of a light winged bird, the Troopers
at first played for his interest by
hunting around his perch, without
visible remark of his existence be-
yond a passing nod. Next day they
drew a little closer. Later, they
ventured a word, and so by increas-
ingly rapid degrees, became friends.
Some odds and ends of dogs were
hanging about the shack.
“These look like promising coon-
dogs,” hazarded Private Booth.
“Good coon-dogs them be,” re-
joined the mountaineer with
warmth.
“If there’s anything I do love, it’s
coon-hunting,” cried Booth,
“Good coon-hunting back yonder,”
vouchsafed Butternut-Jeans, with a
jerk of the thumb toward the
woods, ‘but them dogs belong to a
brother-in-law of mine. They won't
do their best work for me.”
“I'll give you ten dollars if you'll
take us out with ’em anyway,”
Booth pursued, with growing en-
thusiasm.
“Nothin” agin that,” assented the
mountaineer. “When d’yer want to
go?”
“Well, let's see,” Booth pondered;
looking interrogatively at Smith.
“Not before tomorrow night, I
reckon.” “Make it tomorrow night,”
responded Smith, with decision.
And so, having arranged to meet
again at Cox’s cabin on the following
noon they parted for the day.
As the two Troopers dropped
down the mountain-side toward
supper and their distrustful house-
mates, Sergeant Herbert Smith di-
vulged his plan. The details of that
plan are his secret—the fruit of his
own wily brain. But his statement
to his comrade ended thus:
“And so you see,
jealisd away. He'll leave tomorrow
Cox will be
afternoon. And we two will manage
the rest very easily.
True to their appointment the two
reappeared at Cox's shack at the
hour agreed. The mountaineer sat
on his door-step, his hat pushed
back on his head, whittling a stick
without purpose. Plainly, his state
of mind was mixed. “Reckon I
can’t take you fellers out tonight,
arter all,” he remarked without
looking up.
“Oh,
Booth,
man ?”’
“Got a call to go away for a
couple o’ days,” answered the whit-
tler, gruff with embarrassing pride.
“Business. Got to leave before sun-
down, sure.”
“Well, now,”
1”
come now!
“‘what’s
remonstrated
come over you,
ejaculated Sergeant
Smith, “if that isn’t the meanest
yet! Why, we've got to get back
home in a couple of days ourselves,
and I did want a night’s coon-hunt-
ing the worst way.”
“I kinda hate to lose that ten
dollars, too,” reflected Cox.
“Oh, look here,” protested Smith.
“We can’t let it go like this. Say
if you'll find some one to take us
out with the dogs tonight, we'll give
you that ten dollars, anyway, and
square it with the other man be-
sides.”
Cox meditated, brightening.
“Maybe I might fix that,” he con-
ceded. “But there's only one other
man could work them dogs. That's
my brother-in-law, he owns ’em.
And I ain’t sure he'd do it. You see
you don’t know who my brother-in-
law is, yet. Well, I'll tell ye: He's
Carey Morrison.”
Cox paused with patient satisfac-
tion to see the bomb fall.
“You don’t mean it,” gasped the
coon-hunters, looking askance over
their shoulders as though the woods
had suddenly rustled with ghosts.
“Thought I'd scare ye,” chuckled
Cox. “But you don’t need to be
scared of him jest now, not so much
as usual. Fact is, he’s hidin’ out
these days. You see, he’s done what
he pleased in these here mountains
so long that he didn’t ever reckon
no other way. He'd got all the folks
trained to give him his own will,
peaceably. They never interfere
with him. But here, the other day,
after a little sport that Israel
Drake had with a couple of old
misers, what does the District At-
torney down to Carlisle do but up
and hand out a warrant to the State
Wild Cats!
“And I'm damned if them crazy
Wild Cats didn’t go in and nab
Israel Drake the very first jump!
Him that had laughed at the whole
County for years and years! You
most couldn’t believe it!
“So now, that’s why Carey's a
little skeered. He doesn’t mind no-
body else on God's green earth, but
he sure does fear them as got Israel
Drake.
“Of course, there's a lot of us
that’s his brothers and cousins, kin
and kind, round the mountain, that
will stand by him ’till hell freezes
shet. But it seems like he’d got
these State’s men on his mind. I
reckon he’s hipped about it. They
ain’t never been seen round these
woods. And none of ’em ain’t goin’
to dare show themselves here
neither. But since they got Israel
Drake, Carey's like he’s plumb
locoed. He's looking for ’em behind
every bush not knowing what shape
they'll come in. But you fellers
wait for me here and I'll go over to
Carey's place and ask him. Reckon
he might like a little money himself,
just now, to skip away out of this.”
Looking For Carey
The two Troopers let Cox get out
of sight. Then with their trained
woodsman’s skill they trailed him,
soundless as Indians. As he reached
his destination—a little barn-like
slab shack buried in thick brush by
the edge of an abandoned slate
quarry—they had him well in view.
“Carey!” Cox called within the
door and again in a suppressed voice
around the place, “Carey! Carey!”
No answer. Cox sought a little,
further, as though his man might
be sleeping in the cover of some
rock or bush. Then he turned, evi-
dently convinced that the search
was useless.
When he regained his own cabin
the two coon-hunters were lying on
their backs in the shade of the wall,
half asleep, smoking their pipes.
“Well,” asked Smith, rearing up
on one elbow with a yawn, “Did you
find him?”
“He ain’t there. But I reckon to
find him on my way out. Ill start
now so’s to have time to hunt him
and I'll send him here to ye. Will
that do?”
“First rate,” answered Smith
heartily. “Where shall I leave the
money for you, if he comes up?”
“Oh, leave it in yonder coffee-
can, inside on the shelf under the
beans. I'll tell Carey about it.”
And the mountaineer, with a good-
bye nod, vanished in the forests.
Hours passed, while the pair
conscientiously enacted the role of
care-free idlers, dozing and loafing
about the empty cabin. Well aware
that the wary eyes of the outlaw
might be scanning their every move
from behind some nearby screen of
leaves, they gave their best thought
to the behavior natural to coon-
hunters under such circumstances,
and they conducted themselves ac-
cordingly to a hair's breadth.
But though chipmunks, rabbits,
and blue jays came to gaze upon
How The Reds Hops. To Halt Panzers a
A Russian infantryman is shown about to hurl a hand grenade at the tracks of a tank in an effort to halt
the juggernaut.
performing similarly today as they seek to halt the invading Germans.
This photo was made during recent Red army maneuvers, but Soviet troops probably are
(Central Press)
them with impartial interest, no hu-
man being appeared—no Carey Mor-
rison.
“No use,” murmured Smith, at
last, as twilight began to fall,
“either Cox didn’t find him, or else
he’s too scary and won’t come.”
“My idea,” said Booth, “would be
to go back to the settlement and
get a fresh start in the morning.”
That night, as Sergeant Smith
blew out his candle, he was dis-
tinctly aware of an eye withdrawn
from his keyhole, of a rustle re-
treating down the hall.
“If we don’t provide some ex-
citement for her soon, it will be a
cruel and unusual punishment,” he
said to himself as he dropped into
his first sleep.
Bearding The Lion
Next dawn as the Troopers sat
over their cornbread and bacon,
their host’s face was full of puzzled
distrust. As he left the table he
crossed the room and took his gun
from its nail on the wall.
“They were another house-break-
ing on the Mountain last night,” said
he casually examining the lock of
the weapon.” If we could lay hands
on them fellers once—” And he
looked up sharply at his two strang-
er guests as though he expected
to find them wearing faces of
guilt.
That morning the village Con-
stable, cheerfully unconscious that
he was himself observed, kept up
his forest watch with the tenacity
of a dragging bramble, so that it
cost the Troopers a half hour of
patient doubling to lose him effec-
tually.
“This sort of thing would get to
be a nuisance,” growled Smith, as
they finally cast off their pursuer.
“Now let's get down to the job.”
Cutting across buttresses and ra-
vines that they had come to know
as well as they knew the insides
for the old slate quarry smothered
in the brush.
As they neared the spot, they
separated with the agreement that
Sergeant Smith should come up up-
on the rear of the shack, while Pri-
vate Booth approached from the
other direction.
Gliding noiselessly, Smith had
already attained his chosen position
—the cover of a stone wall close at
the back of the cabin, while Booth
had advanced to within two hundred
feet of the front door,—when that
door opened and a man came out,
a big man, heavy and tall. His man-
ner was unconcerned and free.
Clearly, he thought himself alone.
“Hello, Cox,” called Booth.
No answer, but the man, looking
up, instantly averted his head.
The glimpse had been enough. In
that full, heavy, visage, in those
black eyes, Booth recognized beyond
a doubt the description of Carey
Morrison.
“Morrison,” he commanded,
“throw up your hands. You are un-
der arrest.” As he spoke, he cocked
one barrel of his shotgun.
Morrison, swinging like a flash,
drew a heavy revolver, an Army
€olt—fired twice and missed. In
the same instant Booth fired also.
Morrison flinched as though lead
had touched him, and jumped for
the cover of a tree at the side of
the house. But this move brought
him unawares within range of Ser-
geant Smith. And so, as Private
Booth, standing in the open, coolly
waited his chance at a shot at Mor-
rison, and as Morrison, behind the
tree, as coolly debated the deadliest
moment for Private Booth, Sergeant
Herbert Smith, congratulating him-
self on the unusual ammunition that
he had persuaded his duck gun to
hold, shot the bandit with exact
calculation just above the knee.
“Dont shoot! Oh, don’t shoot any
more. “I give up!” implored Mor-
rison, crumpling down in a heap,
then writhing his full length on the
ground.
Booth was runnihg in,—had al-
most reached him—when the out-
law, with a snarl, jerked himself to
his elbow and threw up his gun to
fire.
But before he could drop the ham-
mer something as sudden as a thun-
derbolt happened to that aiming
arm, and Morrison found himself
again sprawling on his back,
gazing with amazement into the dis-
of their own pockets, they madej
concerting eyes of Sergeant Herbert
Smith.
“Here!” said the Sergeant re-
proachfully, “dont’ you know you're
under arrest? Now be still till we
put a tourniquet on you, or you'll
bleed to death.” :
As the two officers worked over
the body of the prostrate man, the
pain of the wound, the fear of pun-
ishment, the dread of prison, so
worked upon his mind that before
them his nerve, disappeared utterly.
“Shoot me! Shoot me now!” he
entreated. “Just shoot me through
the head and be done with it. I
can’t live in prison, I can’t stand
this pain. Oh, shoot me now! Do!
Do!”
Soon the practiced skill of the of-
ficers had stopped the flow of blood
from the wounded leg. So much
achieved, Trooper Booth started off
to find a conveyance, while the
Sergeant remained with the prison-
er. Nothing was more probable than
an attempt at rescue should Mor-
rison’s friends learn of his plight.
So the Sergeant, after looking to his
own weapons, reloaded the outlaw’s
gun and laid that, too, ready at
hand, while with eye and ear he
kept lynx’s watch upon the encom-
passing circle of brush.
Meantime Trooper Booth was cut-
ting down and across the forest,
seeking a man with a cart. Finally,
by happy chance, he found that very
phenomenon. Near a mud-clinked
cabin, in a clearing, backed up to
a pile of freshly-dug potatoes, was
a cart. A horse stood between the
shafts and a big, rawboned, thick
whiskered mountaineer was just
preparing to load the. crop.
“How do you do,” said the Troop-
er.
“Howdy,” rejoined the other civil-
ly enough.
“I'd like to hire your horse and
wagon to go to Benderville. A man
has been shot up in the woods. We
have to take him to the nearest
doctor.”
“Well—t’aint very convenient. I
was just getting ready to load. But
if the man is bad hurt, I suppose
you can have the rig.”
And then idly, “Who’s the man?”
“Carey Morrison.” *
“You can’t have this wagon,”
exclaimed roughly.
“Will you get into the wagon and
come along peaceably ?”
“I tell ye, I won't come at all.”
Booth drew his service Colt’s.
“Get on that wagon,” he said.
The mountaineer did as he was
bid.
Booth guided his gloomy captive
back toward the quarry. They
hitched the horse at the point of
road nearest the quarry trail. Then
they went in, and all three aiding,
carried the helpless prisoner out in
their arms.
The mountaineer’s bearded visage
was a moving map of contradictory
emotions as he looked from the
Terror of the Mountain, now so in-
credibly abject in his whimpering
defeat, to the two who were so
unconcernedly bearing him away.
Carey must have given them a
fight; so much sure, no matter how
craven he seemed now. And yet
they were handling him as gently,
and yet they were as careful to
spare him pain, as if he had been
their comrade and their friend.
And again, this whining mass of
flesh and fear, this inconsiderable
carcass that could no longer hurt a
mouse, this was the very being that
for years had imposed his bloody
will upon the country-side and whom
all the country-side . had obeyed
with panic in its heart.
How had it happened. What could
it mean ?
“Stranger,” he broke out at last,
“askin’ your pardon, who might ye
be?”
“Officers of the State Police.”
“Them the bad niggers calls State
Wild Cats?” he ventured further,
breathlessly daring.
“Yes.”
The mountaineer looked to right
and left, and behind, as if to re-
assure himself of the place, of his
auditors.
“Them”—and he whispered as
gingerly as if the words might burn
his lips—them as got Israel Drake ?”
“No,” rejoined the Sergeant’
“they were comrades of ours, of
the State Police, but they didn’t
have time for a little Siok Hae this, %
he
and with a depreciative gesture of
the chin he indicated the inert figure
they were now loading into the
cart.
With dropped jaw the mountain-
eer drank in each word.
In the whole Borough of Benders-
ville there are about three hundred
and fifty inhabitants. On the main
street of the town are the doctor’s
house, the “hotel,” a few shops and
a few dwellings. Into the doctor’s
door the Troopers now bore Mor-
rison.
“Will you be so good as to look
him over, doctor, and give him first
aid ?”’ requested the Sergeant. “We'll
take him to the nearest hospital
when you've fixed him up for the
trip.”
The doctor examined the wounded
man with some care. “I suppose I
might bandage him up fresh,” he
said, as he finished. “But the fact
is you boys have applied first aid as
well as I could myself and—In
Heaven’s name, what's happening
outside 7”
The street outside was filled with
people—with strange, wild-looking
men, gaunt-faced, fierce-eyed, lean-
framed, rifles in hand and revolvers
at belt—with women as strange,
wild-eyed, and fierce. By twos and
threes, in carts and on horseback,
they had been descending into the
village from the mountain roads and
trails ever since the advent of Carey
Morrison in his captors’ hands. By
what telegraphy they had learned,
in their widely scattered eyries, of
the mischance befallen their kins-
man and chief, who shall guess?
But here they were on the very
heels of disaster, pressing hard
around the doctors’ door.
Their sympathies lay all with the
prisoner—that was clear. Loud and
louder rose their curses of the un-
known who had dared to intrude
his domain. Loud and louder rose
their threats of attack and rescue,
as their numbers grew. And then,
with a rumor of climax running be-
fore it, came a movement down the’
center of the crowd, a tossing to
right and left like the tossing spray
by the prow of the ship, as a tall,
savage woman clove her way
through.
She burst open the door and stood |
on the threshold of the little office.
She was hard of feature, arrow-eyed,!
with straight, coarse, true-black
hair; a half-breed Indian.
“Where is my man?”
manded, in a terrible voice.
Then her glance fell on the figure
collapsed on the doctor's lounge.
She paused as if fascinated, eyes riv-
eted to Carey's white, whimpering
face, while her magnificent fury
slowly faded into a flat contempt.
“And two strangers could bring
YOU to THAT!’ she said as if to
herself.
She wheeled to leave the room.
From the doorstep she flung back a
barb:—
“Why if I'd been there I'd have
killed them both myself!”
If Carey Morrison should ever re-
turn to the world, he must seek a
new mate.
But another, who had pressed into
the room in the wake of the wife,
remained to gaze with wonder and
incredibility upon the prisoner’s
face.
“Who done it to ye, Carey?” he
burst out at last.
It was as if the tone and words
gave the wreck on the couch the
one spur that could arouse him to
speech. Slowly he opened his eyes
and gazed his interlocutor full in
the face.
“Cox, IT WAS YOUR COON-
HUNTERS DONE IT TO ME,” retort-
ed he and gasped into silence.
Angry faces, threatening faces,
came thrusting over Cox’s shoulder.
The place was filling up. '
“Doctor,” said the Sergeant, “with
your permission we will clear the
office. After that we will clear the
town.”
“Go ahead,” whispered the doctor,
“but don’t say I said so—and good
luck to you.”
Trooper Booth pulled out his
watch. “If any of you wish to say
gooy-bye to Carey Morrison, say it
now,” said he. “In just two minutes
you will have vacated this room.”
He stood watch in hand, while the
crowd,
she de-
| backed into the street.
Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Post ob-
served their 37th wedding anniver-
sary Sunday and spent the day with
their daughter and son-in-law, Mr.
and Mrs. Charles Long.
Mrs. Ira Button is spending the
week with her daughter and son-
in-law and family, Mr. and Mrs.
Truman Stewart, at Stroudsburg.
Mrs. Otis Allen of Harvey’s Lake
spent Tuesday with Mr. and Mrs.
Corey Allen.
Boy Scouts from here together
with their scout master, Mr. Machell,
spent the week-end at Camp Acha-
hela.
* * *
Mrs. Charles Allen called on Mrs.
| Glen Morris Thursday afternoon.
Miss Verna Edwards has returned
after assisting with work at the
parsonage for several weeks.
D. E. Davenport is ill.
Mr. and Mrs. Machael Melkanic
and daughter of Loyalville called on
Mr. and Mrs. Joe Natt Saturday
evening.
Edna and Esther Englehard visit-
ed Lillian Baer Monday afternoon.
* * *
Dayton Long is spending the
week-end with his aunt and uncle,
Mr. and Mrs. John Richards at Ves-
tal, N. Y.
Mr. and Mrs. Fred Bredbenner of
New York are spending some time
with Mrs. Hattie Edwards.
Revival services will begin at Lew
Smith's farm at Lehman Sunday
afternoon at 3 o'clock and will con-
tinue for a week each evening at
8. There will be special music and
singing. Every one welcome.
* * *
Entertain For Son
Mr. and Mrs. McKinley Long en-
tertained at supper and later at a
party in honor of their son, Jay,
Wednesday evening Rev. and Mrs.
Ira Button, Janet and Philip Stew-
art, Lewis Button, Alice Fine, Mr.
and Mrs. Charles Long, Mr. and Mrs.
McKinley Long, Jay, Dalton, Doris"
and June Long, Bill Ferry,
* * *
Services
Christ of Christ—Rev. E. J. Wat-
erstripe, pastor: S. S., 10; Commun-
ion, 11; C. E., 7:15; Evening Wor-
ship, 8
Christian—Rev. Ira Button, pas-
tor: S. S.,, 10; Worship, 11; C. E,,
7:15; Evening Worship, 8
Orange 4-H Sewing Club
Takes In New Members
The first meeting of the Orange
4-H Sewing Club was organized
June 10, under the supervision of
Miss E. Nitzkowski and Mrs. Joseph
Perry. The following officers were
elected: President, Doris Perry;
vice-president, Emily Motichka; sec-
retary-treasurer, Betty Bryant,
There were twenty members pres-
ent, three mothers, and a visitor.
The second meeting was held
June 17, with eighteen members
present, three mothers and a visitor,
Two new members who joined this
week are Eudora Berlew and Mil-
dred Bell.
Then Sergeant Smith addressed
the mob outside.
“We are officers of the State Po-
lice,” said he, slowly, clearly, with
exceeding directness, and showing
his badge. ‘“We have arrested Carey
Morrison, in the name of the law.
He is wounded because he unlaw-
fully resisted arrest. We shall now
take him to jail. Meantime you will
all quietly disperse to your own
homes. I give you just ten minutes
to get out of town.”
For a moment the crowd stared
at the officer as though weighing the
echo of his words—testing the judg-
ment of its own ears. Then it be-
gan to move, to split apart. On
the outskirts arose the rattle of
wheels diminishing — the lessening
clatter of hoofs. In ten minutes’
time the streets were clear. Not
one of the recent visitors remained.
How did it happen? How did
they do it? Perhaps they scarcely
could have told themselves. They
cared not a whit for any law or
peace officer within ken—would
have thought nothing of taking his
life—and they had never before seen
the State Police.
But there lay Carey Morrison.
And they knew the fate of Israel
Drake. And this strange man, who
issued his orders so sternly, whose
eyes were terrible, like blue light-
ning, and who knew no fear at all—
this strange man EXPECTED TO BE
OBEYED.
Somehow they dared not hesitate.
Since that day there had been a
saying in those mountains—a say-
ing with a sound basis of truth: —
“When the State Police want a
man from here, they don’t have to
fetch him. They send a post card
and he comes in.”
The doctor got out his two-horse
wagon to convey the wounded out-
law to the hospital at Carlisle. On
the road they stopped at the board-
ing-house for the Troopers’ “effects.
Like magic the entire settlement as-
sembled to gaze upon its late guests
as men with a feeling utterly new.
“Why didn’t you say who you
were ?”’
“So you are the State Troopers!
I never guessed!”
“Well, you'll always be welcome
in THIS town! That's ONE thing
sure.” ;
“rd like to shake hands with you
boys.” “Me, too!” “And me!” came
greetings from every side.
But the school-teacher beamed
lowering and = muttering,’
happiest of all. “I knew they were
“Didn't I tell you
something remarkable « all along,” A
} wi she.