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Show Ike Lamp "Vattev BY ARTHUR STRINGER 1 .V; V 7 . w- N- U- Service " TE STORY SO FAR Sidney Lander, mining engineer. Is Csrol'i father dl engaged to Barbara Trumbull, but ap- unproven claim which TTumbuUn" ,UBh' " Chaktana to fight for her purcntly has fallen In love with Carol testing. Lander nuiu to i T l"'X Clalm' He himse" g Cobum. Matanuska school teacher. Sa- comes field manager for toe Ma tarn, l" bm the new Matanuska; it larla Bryson. one of her pupils, a big Valley project sIUZ fehMatanu5ka has become too "civilized." out-door glrl. is also in iove with him. sourdough! cTZT Z concern fo'rTe new IZkT' INSTALLMENT XV were fed on tainted beef and big promises. Your women and chil-dren chil-dren waded through mud and you were told to grub out spruce roots or go without a crop. And when your children fell sick they were taken away from the homes where they belonged and carried off to a jerry-built pesthouse and kept prisoners pris-oners there while a couple of overfed over-fed she-nurses sat around smoking cigarettes and playing checkers with an imported sawbones who lined up your little ones and vaccinated them whether they needed it or not. And now it's about time" That was as much as I heard. For a wave of resentment went through my body and rang a little bell somewhere some-where at the back of my brain. I found myself clambering up on the porch beside the momentarily silenced si-lenced Ericson. "Wait a minute," I heard my own voice shouting above the jeers and the derisive laughter my over-abrupt eruption gave birth to. "I want to tell you the truth about this troublemaker trouble-maker and what he's doing to this colony. For if you're fools enough to let him poison your minds with his cheap lies and his half-baked Red ideas you don't deserve the i ' i can DreaK trail ror me back hills where a he-man's still got breathin'-room," was his solemn-noted solemn-noted reply. "I can mush on to a valley val-ley that ain't overrun with weak-lin's weak-lin's and womenfolks." "Thanks," I said. "I ain't got nothin' against you, girlie." he said. "I've been strong for you from the first crack out o' (lie box. I savvied, from that snowy day I spotted you on the trail, you was good leather. And later on I savvied you was mixed up with a bunch o' snakes here. That's why I kind o' hate t' mush on and leave you sitlin' out on a limb." "I've always managed to take care of myself," I assured him. "That's what you think," said oock-Eye. "But it's time some plain-spoken plain-spoken hombre put a bee or two in your bonnet. For I savvy a heap more'ti you imagine, girlie. You think Big John Trumbull'll give you a square deal on your claim trial. But he won't He ain't built that way. And there's a glib-talkin' tarantula ta-rantula right over in that transient-camp transient-camp who's flggerin' on bustin' you up in this colony, when the chance comes around. And he's got Trumbull Trum-bull behind him." "Is that Eric the Red?" I demanded, de-manded, my thoughts suddenly back to more Imminent things. "That's the bird," acknowledged Sock-Eye as a leathery old claw stroked his six-gun holster. "And in the good old days when us sourdoughs sour-doughs cleaned up a camp as she ought to be cleaned up that wind-jammer'd wind-jammer'd have swung from a tamarack tam-arack bough afore he'd passed out his second mess o" pizen-talk. I don't like what he's sayin' about you and Sid Lander. I don't like anything he says." "What's he got against Lander?" I asked. "One item worth mentionin'," Sock-Eye said with his not unkindly smile, "is the fact that Lander's ridin' range for you." "Why should he ride range, as you put it, for me?" I Inquired with purely defensive obtuseness. Sock-Eye took another chew before be-fore deigning to answer. "Why, that long-legged giloot's so crazy about you, girlie, he can't see straight." I could feel the color come up into my face. But I managed to keep control of my voice. "Did he ever tell you this?" I asked. "That hombre," asserted the frowning Sock-Eye, "ain't given to talkin' much. But when he gits set on doin' a thing he does it in his own way." "But it would be in an honest way," I proudly proclaimed. Sock-Eye's shaggy head nodded its dubious assent "He's a straight-shooter all right. But that's jus' where the hitch is. He's too straight. And considerin' what he's facin' it ain't gittin' him far." Sock-Eye's gaze wavered away and regarded the design I'd embroidered em-broidered on a gunny sack for a floor mat. "I ain't nosin' into that tie-up with the Trumbull dame. That's something some-thing 'twixt him and his Creator. But there's that girl o' Sam Bry-son's. Bry-son's. S'lary ain't what you'd meb-be meb-be call civilized." "She has her good points," I regretfully re-gretfully admitted. "Mebbe she has. But when a maverick in petticoats like that gits an idee in her head, when she's set on somethin' she ain't no special right to, she's a-goin' after it like a wildcat after a rabbit." I began to discern the threatening bush about which my old friend was so artfully beating. "Lander seems able to take care of himself," I ventured. , "Mebbe he is," retorted Sock-Eye. "And mebbe he ain't' But book learnin' and shadow-boxin' with the Ten Commandments ain't goin' f help you much when you're compet-in' compet-in' against a she-wolf." "I haven't," I ventured, "seen signs of any conflict." "You wouldn't," acceded Sock-Eye. Sock-Eye. "But as I told you once afore, gold's where you find it And so is a hombre's consolation for hvin' alone. But it's mebbe worth re-memberin' re-memberin' that both the man and the metal is usually corraled by the forager who's first f hightail it in f where the strike is." I sat, deep in thought, after he had gone. I picked up two letters which had to go to the post office at Palmer and at the same time gave me a ponderable excuse for invading invad-ing that forbidden territory. As I approached the Commissary I realized that crowd was doing more than loiter. A few of the men had pitchforks in their hands; a few had pick handles and axes. Still others, I noticed, carried heavy clubs of spruce wood. And a broken cheer went up from them as Eric the Red pushed through their ranks and mounted the porch end. "Are we cattle." he demanded, "or are we freeborn Americans? Instead In-stead of coming to a colony of homes you were brought like driven sheep to a hobo ( Ity of lousy tents. You eater was so far forgetting himself as to disembowel a helpless enemy. But I could see, when it was all over, that the flashing knife blade had merely severed Ericson's belt and slashed loose his trouser legs, leaving leav-ing him standing there bare-kneed below his ridiculous cotton shorts. Then with incredible dexterity the old desert-rat swung the twisted leg cloth around the younger man's startled star-tled body, knotting him there a prisoner pris-oner against the post His movements move-ments were more leisurely as he tied a third strip about Ericson's thin neck, I had no clear suspicion of Sock-Eye's Sock-Eye's intentions until I saw him stroll down the steps and pick up an empty salmon tin lying in the road dust. There he eyed it with solemn approval. His steps were distressingly unsteady un-steady as he returned to the porch and placed the tin on Ericson's head. A laugh went up from the crowd when Ericson shook the can from its resting place. Sock-Eye solemnly replaced it. "Do that again," he croaked, "and I'll sure fan the bump o' veneration off'n your skull." He backed slowly away, the full length of the porch. "That gun-fanning old fool's going go-ing to pull the William Tell trick," cried someone at the edge of the crowd. "Better get an apple," cried another an-other guttural voice. But I couldn't see any excuse for mirth in the situation. I could feel my heart come up in my mouth as I saw Sock-Eye's long arm swing about in an airy half-circle, with the heavy six-gun in the tremulous old hand. My impulse was to stop such madness. mad-ness. I even called out and started forward. But I was too late. The shot rang out before I could reach the porch. And at the same time the empty salmon tin went spinning through the evening air. Sock-Eye, ignoring the shouts of the crowd, went solemnly after it His intention, apparently, was to repeat re-peat that foolish and perilous performance. per-formance. But it was cut short when a military-looking car swung in from the highway and Colonel Hart flung out of the seat beside his driver. "Arrest that man," he called to the Anchorage marshal who stood on the running board. But with an altogether unexpected nimbleness Sock-Eye rounded the Commissary, dodged out past the stock shed, and disappeared in the spruce scrub, at the same time that Katie and her Black Maria roared closer along the highway that skirted skirt-ed the railway siding. On the seat beside her was Salaria, armed with a rifle, and plainly a self-appointed vigilante. "Who's hurt?" I heard Colonel Hart call out as the ambulance shuddered shud-dered to a stop. "Two transients caught setting a fire," answered Katie. "They showed fight and had to be subdued." sub-dued." "And it was Sid Lander done the subduin'," proudly announced the self-appointed vigilante at her side. CHAPTER XIX When Barbara Trumbull and her father came in, they came by plane. What prompted that return was, of course, unknown to me. But I was more worried, at the time, by Sock-Eye's abrupt disappearance. disap-pearance. The bullheaded old gun-fanner gun-fanner had possessed himself of two pack mules, which he hid in the hills beyond Knik Glacier and loaded down with grub and equipment and three cases of dynamite. Rumor had it that S'lary Bryson had not only been his go-between during those preparations but had been his companion com-panion and trail mate on his first day's travel out through the hills. And after that the silence had swallowed swal-lowed him up. When I went to the Bryson shack, to glean a little more light on the matter, I found Sam alone there, alone and singularly acid-spirited. But when I questioned if Sock-Eye wasn't too old and erratic-minded for lone-fire prospecting like that he refused to share in my fears. "That ol' sourdough knows his hills. And he knows how t' mush through 'em, winter or summer." "Where's Salaria?" I asked as I made a show of producing the textbooks text-books that motivated my visit. "Bear shootin'," was Sam'$ truculent trucu-lent reply. "I'm sorry," I said, "that she's missing a lesson." That seemed to give Sam the opening open-ing he wanted. "It ain't wringin' no tears out o' me," he protested. And there was no mistaking the tremor of indignation indigna-tion in his voice. "What's more," he continued, "instead o' all this book-readin' doin' my S'lary a bit o' good, it's fillin' her up with enough loco idees t' founder a pack horse. And I ain't thankin' you or anyone else for pizenin' her mind and mak-in' mak-in' her about as easy t' live with as an underfed she-gnzzly." (TO HE CtlMIM I I), "You've a chance to conquer this last frontier." chance this Project is giving you. You've a chance to be nation-builders. You've a chance to be heroes. You've a chance to conquer this last frontier and make happy homes here and " But the envious rabble-rouser at my side had no intention, obviously, of surrendering the stage to an outsider. There was a shout of laughter as I was unceremoniously bumped off the porch end. "Don't listen to this kid-tamer," I could hear Ericson shouting as I gathered myself up. "She can't pull that kindergarten stuff with men like us who know our own minds. And know, as well, that she's the private pastry of that imported college-dude engineer who's trying" And that, still again, was as far as Eric the Red got. His speech was cut short by a bullet that splintered the porch post within ten inches of his head. Before Be-fore he could recover from his astonishment aston-ishment at that interruption a second sec-ond bullet cut through the crown of his hat and buried itself in the woodwork wood-work behind him. I glanced back, at that second shot, and caught sight of Sock-Eye standing just beyond the outer fringe of the crowd. "Grab that old fool," someone cried. "He's drunk." "Drunk, am I?" he croaked as he advanced slowly toward the porch end, the clustered bodies making way for him as he so threateningly moved forward. "Mebbe I am; but I'm .still sober enough t' scotch a two-iegged snake." The only person who didn't fall back was Ericson. I don't know whether it was courage, or whether it was hopelessness. But he remained re-mained there at the porch end, white-faced and motionless, with his narrowed eyes on the swaying old-timer. old-timer. Sock-Eye took three slow steps toward to-ward him. "Now dance high, tenderfoot, he suddenly barked out. And with equal abruptness the two poised pistols repeated re-peated that bark, splintering the porch floor at Ericson's feet Ericson didn't exactly dance. His foot-movement, as a third bullet nipped the toe of his foot, must have been largely an involuntary one. But his repeated movement, as another bullet cut into the sole-edge of his other boot, might have been interpreted inter-preted as a none too happy dance step And that was repeated until he stood with his back against the porch post. When he suddenly holstered one of his revolvers and jerked out his sheath knife I thought, for a dread-ful dread-ful second or two. that the old fue- |