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Local News of the Week.
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Mrs. J: B. Crockett visited with
friends at Farmerville this week.
I M. Wheelis, of Strong, was a
business visitor in Huttig Tuesday.
T. B Weaver was at Farmer
ville this week on company busi
ness. _
Miss Bessie Spencer is visitir g
with relatives and friends at Fai
merville this week.
Mrs J. R. Rushing is at Mena
visiting with her son, Dr. H. C.
Rushing a«d family.
Geo. S. Tatum, deputy tax as
s ssor. was here Monday and Tues
aay assessing personal taxes for
1914.
Mrs. O. F. Watts, who now re
sides at Alexandria, La., is here
this weex the guest of her sister,
Mrs. Sid Nash.
Mrs. William Manning, residirg
southeast of town, was called to
Louisiana Monday by the serious
illness of her mother.
The Children's Day exercises at
the Methodist church last Sunday
night were largely attended and the
children rendered a very pleasing
4 program.
F. A. Gadd, president of tl e
Wisconsin Lumber Company, and
D. A. Orebaugh, also connected
with that company, were here from
Chicago this week on business.
No. 666
This ii a prescription prepared especially
for MALARIA or CHILLS A. FEVER.
Five or six dose* will break any case, and
if taken then as a tonic the Fever will not
return. It acta on the liver better than
Calomel and does not gripe or sicken. 25c
The Emancipation Day celebra
flt'-, of the nsgroat wiU »* held
Saturday, Juft* 20th. instead of
Friday, the 19th, and all the mills
will be shut dowo on that day to
allow all to participate.
Mrs. W. E. Chadwick arrivrd
home Tuesday from a visit with
relatives and friends at Bokhoma,
Okla. She was accompanied by
her daughter, Mrs. Joe Clary, who
will visit here for some time.
Rev. O. E. Bryan, of Waco, Tex.,
formerly of Little Rock and who
has conducted several revival here,
will arrive in Huttig next Tuesday
to assist Rev. W. T. King in the
meeting now going on at the Bap
tist church. Everybody should
hear him as he is a forceful
speaker.
Baker Clark, Grand Lecturer of
Arkansas for the Masonic fraterni
ty, was a Huttig visitor the first of
this week and conducted a very in
teresting school of instruction Mon
day and Tuesday evenings for the
members of Rowland Lodge No.
594. A large number of the mem
bers were present and enjoyed his
work very much.
In Winsted, Conn., a picture
show had reached the point where
ihe lovers embraced each other,
when the silence was broken by
voice of a little girl, who, turning
to her father, exclaimed loudly:
“Oh papa, that is what the doctor
did to mama.” The remark caused
uproarious laughter throughout the
theatre, but "papa" did not join in
the merriment.
There la more Catarrh In this section of
the country than all otlar diseases put
together, and until the last few years
was supposed to be Incurable. For a great
many years doctors pronounced It a local
disease and prescribed local remedies, and
by constantly failing to cure with local
treatment, pronounced It Incurable. Sci
ence has proven Catarrh to bo a consti
tutional disease, and therefore requires
constitutional treatment. Hall’s Catarrh
Cure, manufactured by F. J. Cheney &
Co., Toledo, Ohio, Is the only Constitu
tional cure cn the market. It Is taken in
terhallfr In doses from 11 drops to a ttea
spoonful. It a'-ts directly on the blood
and mucous surfaces of the system. They
pfTer one hundred dollars for any cas~ It
f-'lls to eure. Send for circulars and tes
timonials.
Address: T. ,T. CHENEY A CO., Toledo, O.
Fold I t Pmi"—ls*s, Te.
Take Ball’s Family Pills for constipation.
Adv
RUB-MY-TISM
Will cure your Rheumatism
Neuralgia, Headaches, Cramps,
Colic, Sprains, Bruises, Cuts and
Burns, Old Sores, Stings of Insects
Etc. Antiseptic Anodyne, used in
ternally and externally. Price 25c.
Mrs. Phoebe Sehon. residing,
went of town, celebrated her 79th j
oirth anniversary on May 29th by
iavi: g a family reunion at her
lome. There were 58 children,
rrandchildren and great - grand-!
hildren present and the four gen
rations all had a most enjoyable
'.ime. We wish for Mrs. Sehon
nany more as happy anniversaries.
Heroism on the Increase.
The papers lately have teemed with
accidents. Catastrophe after catastro
phe has shaken the public nerves, and
rent open all those great unanswer
able questions which from time to
time distress the public mind like half
healed wounds. The quiet dwellers by
the fireside have been watching fear
ful sights. Groups of men occupied
in their lawful callings have been sud
denly overtaken by death before our
very eyes. In quick succession the
scenes rise before us. They are laid
In the depths of the earth. A dramat
ic demand has been made upon human
daring, and it has been satisfied in a
measure which makes it difficult to
deny that heroism Is on the increase.
It is extraordinary that it should be
so—indeed, tt would seem to be al
most miraculous. All the perceptible
currents of emotion are blowing the
other direction. Races depend for
their salvation upon their capacity
for heroism. Just now the straws are
apparently drifting toward destine
Mon. At the same time salvation
seems to draw near, coming like a
storm against the wind.—London Spec
tator.
On Term* of Intimacy.
"Aunt Alice must be very intimate
with God, mother," a thoughtful child
remarked upon his return from a visit
to the relative named.
“Why, dear?”'
“ ’Cause, when Bhe says her prayers
she whispers. 1 s’pose she knows him
so well that they have secrets togeth
er and he just leans down his ear.'
For Sale by B. F. Moody.
LODGE DIRECTORY
ROWLAND LODGE No. 594 F. &, A
M.meets every second and fourth Satur
lay evenings at 7:30 o'clock. Visitin;
Masons always welcome.
F. 0. Mahony, W. M.
D. F. Collett, Sec’y.
HOWARD CHAPTER. No. 122, R. A
M. meets every first and third Thurs
clay evening at Masonic hall. Visitint
companions welcome.
D. F Collett, H. P.
C. A. Berry, Secy.
HUTT1G CHAPTER No. 320, Order o'
the Eastern Star, meets every first anc
third Friday evening at 7:30 o'clock
Visiting brothers and sisters welcome.
Mrs. A. E. Lucas, W. M.
Mrs. L. G. Gibson. Sec’y.
HUTT1G LODGE No. 348 1. 0. 0. F.
meets every Tuesday evening. Visitinp
brethern cordially invited to attend.
M. H. Claybaugh, N. G.
E. L. Ware. Secy.
HIJTTIG REBEKAH LODGE No. 6C,
meets every Monday night at 7:30 .o'clock
Visitors are invited.
Mrs. Chas. Saxe. N. G.
Mrs. May Claybaugh, Secy.
SWEET BAY CAMP No. 41 IW.O.W
meets every first and third Saturday eve
nings. Visitors made welcome.
C. M. Caldwell, C. C.
J. C. Bridges, Clerk.
NEILL G. MARSH
Lawyer
P.actice in All Courts. Roc ms 15 and
16, Postoffice Building
EL DORADO, - ARKANSAS
DRS, MAGEE f, MAYFIELD
Physician* and Surgeons
At Company Hospital
Office Hours—8 lo 12 a. m., I tn (i p m
Sunday*—9 to 1 I a m , .1 Co S p p m
Hesldence Phone 12; office 18
HUTTIG - ARKANSAS]
Warning Order
State of A rkansas j
County of Union
Labile Township l
Tha Defendant, Monroe Hardy, i*. warned to an
pear in this Court within thi t> days, and answer
the complaint of the Hamtift, J Ci Hui^ess
J C 'A a. LACE.
April 30th. 1*14. Justice ot the Peace.
The Land of Broken Promises
=By DANE COOLIDGE=
Author of
“THE FIGHTING FOOL," "HIDDEN WATERS,"
“THE TEXICAN," Etc.
Illustrations by DON J. LAVIN
A Stirring Story of the
Mexican Revolution
A story of border Mexico, vivid,
Intense, such as has never before
beep written, is this one of Ameri
can adventurers into the land of
manana. Texan, mining engineer,
Spanish senor and senorita, peon, j
Indian, crowd its chapters with
clear-cut word pictures of busi
ness, adventure and love, against
a somber background of wretched
armies marching and counter
marching across a land racked by
revolution and without a savior.
CHAPTER I.
The slow-rolling winter's snn rose
coldly, far to the south, riding up
from behind the saw-toothed Sierras
of Mexico to throw a silvery halo on
Gadsden, the border city. A hundred
miles of desert lay in its path—a waste
of broken ridges, dry arroyos, and
sandy plains—and then suddenly, as
If by magic, the city rose gleaming in
the sun.
It was a big city, for the West, and
swarming with traffic and men. Its
broad main street, lined with brick
buildings and throbbing with automo
biles. ran from the railroad straight to
the south until, at a line, it stopped
short and was lost in the desert.
That line which marked the sudden
end of growth and progress was the
border of the United States; the desert
was Mexico. And the difference was
not in tlie land, but in the government.
As tlie morning air grew warm and
the hoar frost dripped down from the
root's the idlers of the town crept
forth, leaving chill lodgings and stale
saloons for the street corners and the
sun.
Against,the dead wall of a big store
the Mexicans gathered in shivering
I groups, their blankets wrapped around
j their necks and their brown ankles
i bare to the wind. On another corner
! a bunch of cowboys stood clannishly
I aloof, eying the passing crowd for oth
j ers of their kind.
In this dun stream which Bowed
under the morning sun there were min
ing men, with high-laced boots and
bulging pockets; graybeards, with the
gossip of the town in their cheeks;
hoboM. atttl wearing their eastern
caps and still rustling for a quarter to
eat on; somber-eyed refugees and sol
diers of fortune from Mexico—but
j idlers ail, and each seeking his class
: and kind.
If any women passed that way they
walked fast, looking neither to the
right nor to the left; for they, too, be
ing so few, missed their class and
kind.
Gadsden had become a city of men,
huge limbed and powerful and with a
questing look in their eyes; a city of
adventurers gathered from the ends of
the world. A common calamity had
driven them from tiiPir mines and :
ranches and glutted the town with I
men, for the war was on in Mexico
and from the farthermost corners of
Sonora they still came, hot from some
new sc^ne of murder and pillage, to
add to the general discontent.
As the day wore on the crowd on
the bank corner, where the refugees
made their stand, changed its com
plexion. grew big, and stretched far up
the street. Men stood in shifting
groups, talking, arguing, gazing mood
ily at those who passed.
Here were hawk-eyed Texan rattle
men, thinking of their scattered herds
at Mababi or El Tigre; mining men,
with idle prospects and deserted mines
as far south as the Rio Yaqui; mill
men, ranchers and men of trades; all
driven in from below the line and all
chafing at the leash. While a hundred
petty chiefs stood out against Madero
and lived by ransom and loot, they
must cool their heels in Gadsden and
wait for the end to come.
Into this seething mass of the dis
possessed. many of whom had lost a
fortune by the war. there came two
more, with their faces still drawn and
red from hard riding through the cold.
They stepp'd forth from the marble
entrance of the big hotel and swung
off down the street to see the town.
They walked slowly, gazing Into the
strange faces In the vague hope of
finding some friend; and Gadsden, not
to be outdone, looked them over curi
ously and wondered whence they had
come.
The bunch of cowboys, still loitering
on the corner, glanced scornfully at
the smaller man, who sported a pair
of puttees—and then at the big man’s
feet. Finding them encased in pros
pector’s shoes they stared dumbly at
his wind-burned face and muttered
among themselves.
He was tall, and broad across the
shoulders, with far^eeing blue eyes
and a mop of light hair; and he walked
on his toes, stiff-legged, swaying from
his hips like a man on horseback. The
rumble of continent rose up again as
he racked [tast, and then a cowboy
voice observed:
“I’ll bet ye he's a cow-punch!”
The big man looked back at them
mockingly out of the cornpr of his eye
tad went on without a word.
It Is the boast of cowboys that they
'"'oTV’neht. 1914. hv Fi
'an tell another puncher at a glance,
but they are not alone in this—there
are other crafts that leave their mark
and other nten ae shrewd. A group of
mining men took one look at the
smaller man, noting the candle-grease
on his corduroys and the intelligence
in his eyes; and to them the big man
was no more than a laborer—or a
shift-boss at most— and the little man
was one of their kind. Every line in
hip mobile fare spoke of intellect and
decision, and as they walked It was he
who did the talking while the big man
only nodded and smiled.
They took a turn or two tip the
street, now drifting Into some clamor
ous saloon, now standing at gaze on
the sidewalk; and as the drinks began
to work, the little man became more
and more animated, the big man more
and more amiable in his assent and
silence.
Then they passed the crowd of refu
gees they stopped and listened, com
menting on the various opinions by an
exchange of knowing smiles. An old
prosi>ector. white-haired and tanned to
a tropic brown, finally turned upon a
presumptuous optimist and the little
man nodded approvingly as he heard
him express his views. j
"You can say what you please," the
prospector ended, “but I'm going to
keep out of that country. I've knowed
them Mexicans for thirty years now
and I'm telling you they’re gitting
treacherous. It don't do no good to
have your gun with you -they'll shoot
you from behind a rock—and if they
can't git you that way, they'll knife
you in your sleep.
“I've noticed a h!g change in them
paisanos since this war come on. Be
fore Madero made his break they used
to he scared of Americans—thought if
they killed one of u« the rest would
cross the border and eat 'em up. What
few times thfiy did tackle a white matt
he generally give a good account of
himself, too, and I’ve traveled them
trails for years without hardly know
ing what it was to be afraid of any
body; but 1 tell you it's entirely dif
ferent over there now.”
“Sure! That’s right!” spoke up tiie
little man, with spirit. "You’re talk
ing more sense than any man on the
street. I guess I ought to know—I’ve
beetr^own there and through it all—
antf tfs gift So now that you can't trust
any of ’em. My pardner and I came
clear from the Sierra Madres. riding
nights, and we come pretty near know
ing—hey, Bud?”
“That’s right,” observed Bud, th<
big man, with a reminiscent grin. “I
begin to think them fellers would get
us, for a while!”
“Mining men?” inquired the oh
prospector politely.
“Working on a lease.” said the littb
man briefly. “Owner got scared ou:
and let us in on shares. But. no mnri
for muh—this will hold me for quit'
a while, I can tell you!”
"Here, too,” agreed the big man
turning to go. "Arizona is good enougl
for me—come on, Phil!”
"Where to?” The lilHp man drev
back half resentfully, and then hr
changed his mind. "All right,” he said
falling into -**-)>, “a gin tizz for mine!'
"Not on an empty stomach.” ad
monished his pardner; "you might ge
lit up and tell somebody all you know
How about something to eat?”
“(rood! But where 're you going?"
The big man was leading off down j
side street, and nnre more they cane
to a halt.
‘ J1111 s place—it's a lunch counter,'
he explained laconically. "The hotel's
all right, and maybe lhat was a hrpak
fast we got, but I get hungry waiting
that way. Gimme a lunch counter,
where I can wrop my legs around a
stool and watch the cook turn 'em
over. Come on—I been there before."
An expression of pitying tolerance*!
came over the little man's face as he
listened to this rhapsody on the quick
lunch, but he drew away reluctantly.
“Aw, eonie on. Hud." he pleaded.
“Have a little class! What's the use
of winning a stake if you've got to eat
at a dog-joint? And besides sav, that
was a peach of a girl that walled on
us this morning! Did you notice her
hair? She was a pippin!"
The big man waggled his hand re
signedly and started on his way.
“All right, pardner.” he observed:
“if that’s the deal she’s probably look
ing for you. I’ll meet you in the room."
"Aw, come, on!" urged the other, but
his heart was not in it, and he turned
gaily away up the main street.
Left to himself, the big man went on
to his lunch-counter, where he ordered
oysters, “A dozen in the milk.” Then
he ordered a beefsteak, to make up
for several he had missed, and asked
the cook to fry it rare. He v»is just
negotiating for a can of pears that had
caught his eye when an old man came
in and took the stool beside him, pick
ing up the menu with trembling hand.
"Give me a cup of coffee,” lie said to
the waiter, ‘and”—he gazed at the hill
af fare carefully—"and a roast-beef
sandwich. No, jhst the coffee!" he
jorrecied, and at that Hud gave him a
ook. lie was a small man, shabbily
Iressed and with scraggy whiskers,
md his nose was very red.
ank A. Munsev >
“Here," called Bud. coming to an in
stent conclusion, "give 'im his sand
wic h; I'll pay for it! ’’
“All right,’' anwered the waiter, who
was no other than Sunny Jim, the pro
prietor. and, whisking up a sandwich
from Uie sideboard, he set it before
Ihc old man. who glanced al him in
silence. For a fraction of a second he
regarded the sandwich apathelically;
then, with the aid of his coffee, tie
made away with it and slipped down
ofi his stool.
“Say," observed the proprietor, as
Bud was paying his bill, "do you know
who that old timer was?”
"What old-timer?” inquired Bud.
who had forgotten his brusk benefac- |
tion.
"Why, that old feller that you treat
ed to the sandwich."
"Oh—-him! Some «dd drunk around
town?" hatardcd Bud.
“Well, he's that., tpo,” conceded
Sutjny Jim. with a smile. “But lemma
tell you. pardner, if you had h.-.lf the
rocks that old boy's got you wouldn't
need to punch any more cows. That's
Henry Kruger, the man that just sold
the Cross-Cut mine for fifty thousand
cash, ar.d he's got more besides.”
“Huh!” grunted Bud. "he sure don't
look it! Say, why didn't you put me
wise? Now I've got to hunt him up
and apologize.”
"Oh, that's a!l right,” assured the
proprietor; “he won't take any offense.
That's just like old Henry—he's kiudei
queer that way."
“Well, I'll go and see him, anyway,”
said Bud. "He might think I was
butting in."
And then, going about his duty with
philosophical calm, he ambled off, stiJ
legged, down the street.
CHAPTER II.
It was not difficult to find Henry
Kruger in Gadsden. The barkeepers,
those efficient purveyors of informa
tion and drinks, knew him as they
knew their thumbs, and a casual round
of the saloons soon located him in the
back room of the Waldorf.
'‘Say,” began Bud, walking bluffly
up to him, “the proprietor of that res
taurant back there tells me I made a
‘We All of~Us Make Our Mistakes.”
mistake when l insisted on paying for
your meal. I jest wanted to let you
know—” !
‘Oh, that's all right, young man.’’
returned Old Henry, looking up with
a humorous smile; “we all of us make
our mistakes. J knowed you didn't
mean no offense and so I never took
none. Fact is, I liked you all the bet
ter for it. This country is getting set
tled up with a class of people that
uever give a nickel to nobody. You
paid for that in -al like it was nothing,
anf’ never so much as looked at me.
Sit down, sit down—1 want to talk to
you! ”
They sat dowm by the stove and fell
into a friendly (’.•%: versation in which
nothing more was said of the late in
advertence, but when Bud rose to go
the old man beckoned him back.
“Hold on," lie protested; “don’t go
off mad. I want to have a talk with
you on business. You seem to be a
pretty g aid young fellow »<naybe we
can make some dicker. What are you
looking for in these parts?”
“Well," responded Bud. “some kind
of a leasing proposition, I reckon. Me
and my pardner jest come In from
Mexico, over near the Chihuahua line,
and we don’t hardly know what wa
do want yet."
"Yes, I’ve noticed that pardner of
yours,” remarked Henry Kruger dryly
“He’s a great talker. I was listening
to you boys out on the street there,
having nothing else to do much, and
being kinder on the lookout for a man,
anyway, and it struck me I liked your
line of talk best.”
“You’re easy < satisfied, then,"- ob
served Bud, with a grin. “I never said
a word hardly.”
‘‘That’s it," returned Kruger signifi
cantly; ''this job I've got calls for a
man like that."
‘‘Well, Phil's all right,” spoke up
Hud, with sudden warmth. "We been
pardners for two years now and he
never give nothing away yet! He
talks, but he don't forget himself. And
the way he can palaver them Mexicans
is a wonder.”
“Very likely, very likely,” agreed
Kruger, and then he sat a while In
silence.
“We got a few thousand dollars with
us, too,” volunteered Bud at last. “I’m
a good worker, if that's what you want
—and Phil, he’s a mining engineer.”
“ITm-m," grunted Kruger, tugging at
his beard, but he did not come out
with his proposal.
“I tell you,” he said at last. “I’m
not doing much talking about this
proposition of mine. It's a big thing,
and somebody might beat me to it
You know what I am, I guess. I've
pulled off some of the biggest deals in
this country for a poor mail, and I
don’t make many mistakes—not about
mineral, anyway. And when I tell you
that this iu rich—you're talking with a
man that knows.”
He fixed his shrewd, blue eyes on
the young mans open countenance
and waited for him to speak.
“That's right,” he continued as Bud
finally nodded non-committally; "she a
sure rich. I’ve had an eye on thin
proposition for years—Just waiting for
the right time to come. And now it's
come! All I need is the man. It
ain't a dangerous undertaking least
wise I don t think it is—but 1 got to
have somebody I can trust. I'm willing
to pay you good wages, or I'll let you
in on the deal—but you U have to go
down into Mexico.”
Nothin doing! responded Bud
with instant decision, ‘‘if it's in Ari
zona I'll talk to you, but no more Mex
ico for me. I've got something pretty
good down there myself, as far as that
goes.”
“What’s the matter?” inquired Kru
ger, set back by the abrupt refusal;
“scared?”
“Yes, I’m scared,” admitted Bud,
and he challenged the old man with
his eyes.
"Must have had a little trouble,
tbeu?”
“Well, you might call h that." agreed
Bud. “We been on the dodge for a
month. A bunch of revoltosos tried to
get our treasure, and when we skipped
out on ’em they tried to get us.”
“Well,” continued Kruger, “thia
proposition of mine Is different. You
was over in the Sierra Madres, where
the natives ere brd. These Sonora
Mexicans ain't like them Chihuahua
fellers—they're Americanized. I’ll tell
you, if It wasn’t that the people would
know me I'd go down after this mine
myself. The country's perfectly quiet.
There’s lots of Americana down there
yet. and they don’t even know there is
a revolution. It ain’t far from the rail
road. you see, and that makes a lot of
difference.”
He lowered his voice to a confi
dential whisper as he revealed the ap
proximate locality of his bonanza, but
Bud remained unimpressed.
“Yes," he said, “we was near a rail
road—the Northwestern—and seemed
like them red-flaggers did nothing else
but burn bridges and ditch supply
trains. When they finally whipped 'em
off the whole bunch took to the hills.
That’s where we got it again.”
“Well,” argued Kruger, "this rail
road of ours Is all right, and they run
a train over it every day. 'the con
centrator at Fortuna”—he lowered hia
voice again—“hasn’t been shut down &
day, and you’ll be within fifteen miles
of that town. No,” he whispered; “t
could get a hundred Americans to go
in on this tomorrow, as far's the revo
lution’s concerned. It ain’t dangerous,
but 1 want somebody 1 can trust.”
“Nope,” pronounced Bud, rising pon
derously to his feet; “if it was this
side the line I'd stay with you till the
hair slipped, on anything, but—”
“Well, let’s talk it over again some
time," urged Kruger, following him
along out. “It ain’t often 1 get took
with a young feller the way I was with
you, and I believe we can make it yet.
Where are you staying in town?”
“Up at the Cochise,” said Bud.
“Come on with me—I told my pardner
I’d meet him there.”
They turned up the broad main
street and passed in through the pol
ished stone portals of the Cochise, a
hotel so spacious In Its interior and so
richly appointed in its furnishings that
a New Yorker, waking up there, might
easily imagine himself on Fifth ave
nue.
CONTINJc.1. IN NhXl ISbUE.
Honesty Always Best.
Honesty In dealing with ourselves
and one another has been one of the
axioilni since time began. We cannot
afford to be otherwise. It is the best
and only way. Being honest saves
worry and fretting. It helps make char
acter and it gives us joy In life to
know that we have been honest when
we might have beon otherwise to our
temporary gain.