OCR Text |
Show A GOOD STORY Harry Carey, the big westerner with a fighting grin, drove a herd of beef toward the- loading platform at Yuma, Arizona It was a star-studded desert night and he was shipping a herd of blooded stock to his ranch in the San Francisquito canyon in Southern California. The station telegraph tel-egraph operator found him" "at the door of the cattle-car and gave him a message. Carey read it, hurled a perfectly good sombrero In the air and looked at his watch. There was no train for three hours and Los Angeles was 500 miles away. "Piftoon mimitps later he wah hurl ing a roaring roadster against slug-glish slug-glish desert sand. The car stalled. He deflated the tires and carried on. Three hours later he was on the high way leading for Calexico. A speed cop shouted at him. Carey stepped on the gas. The man on the motorcycle crouched over the handle bars and twisted his wrists to seventy, car ahead of him threw a wheel. The motorcycle roared alongside. Carey grinned and handed the cursing curs-ing rider the telegram. "Take my motorcycle to Calexico; leave' it there and get another car," he said. Harry Carey hit Calexico In time to catch a limited train. Motorists' who passed an hour later saw a speed cop sitting in a wrecked car with a telegram tele-gram in his hand. He was smiling. The telegram read: "Unto us a son Is born; and his name shall be called Harry." It' a great baby that Universal star is entertaining these days on his ranch. |