The Aransas Pass Progress (Aransas Pass, Tex.), Vol. 25, No. 8, Ed. 1 Thursday, July 19, 1934 Page: 3 of 8
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ARANSAS PASS PROGRESS
Flame of the Border BusuNe^Jerseu
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Photographic Darkroom
That Fits Vest: Pocket
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SYNOPSIS
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Seeking death by throwing herself
from Lone Mesa, to escape dishonor
at the hands of a drunken desperado,
Sonya Savarin allows herself to be res-
cued by her suddenly repentant at-
tacker. The girl is a self-appointed
physician to the Navajo Indians, living
on an Arizona sheep ranch with her
brother Serge, his wife, Lila, and their
small daughter, Babs. She is engaged
to Rodney Blake, wealthy New Yorker,
but her heart is with the friendless
Navajos and she evades a wedding.
Sonya pulls Little Moon, wife of Two
Fingers, a Navajo, through the crisis
of an illness. Two Fingers is deeply
grateful. Sonya again meets the man
whose advances she had repulsed on
Lone Mesa. He tells her he bitterly
regrets his action. Sonya is affected,
but unforgiving. She hears rumors of
a Border bandit ‘‘El Capitan Diablo,”
and vaguely connects him with her
attacker. On Lone Mesa Bhe again
comes upon the strange young man,
but she no longer fears him. When he
reiterates his sorrow over his miscon-
duct, she indicates forgiveness and
urges him to abandon his life of law-
lessness. From concealment, Sonya wit-
nesses the transference of objects from
an airship to her attacker. At a dance
ehe demands that he tell her his name.
He tells her he is Starr Stone, that
his mother believes him dead, and that
he goes by a different name in this
region.
By V3NGIE 1. ROE
CHAPTER V—Continued
—9—
He was a Mexican, and a bad one,
If ever one of that brand lived.
He spoke, and the man before him
stood rooted to the spot, his arm still
around the girl.
“Hombre,” he said, in Spanish, “you
disobey! Let’s go.”
And, turning, he walked swiftly to
the door. The arm slid from Sonya’s
shoulders, and without a backward
look the Man of Lone Mesa followed.
Alone, her feet like lead, her head
whirling with a strange dizziness, her
throat aching, Sonya crossed the al-
most empty floor and picked up her
coat from where Lila was waking
Babs.
Serge joined them, and they went
out into the night among the roaring
cars of the departing crowd.
Just as they passed out of the circle
of light from the open doors a fantas-
tic figure loomed for a moment be-
side them, its shabby garments and
long white hair dim in the blending
shadows.
“Beelzebub,” said the soft voice of
the Servant, “leaves hell to work evil
hereabouts. Beware, innocent one.”
“What in thunder—■” said Serge.
“Who was that?”
“Only a strange old man I met at
Myra’s. You know—the old mad
preacher who rides the Reservation on
his donkeys. You’ve heard of bilm.”
“Oh, the Servant of the Lord? Yes,
I have. Never saw him before, though.
Well, let’s get going, girls. Babs, lazy-
bones, sit up while daddy fixes the
robe for you. That’s the girl.”
CHAPTER VI
Shadows of Death.
If Sonya Savarin had been troubled
before, had searched her soul with
fearful and bewildered eyes, that sum-
mer night plunged her into chaos.
Shame was in her, and a breathless
flame of ecstasy, and a fear that
mounted hourly.
And knowledge.
Knowledge, terrible, complete, dev-
astating.
Destiny had reached and taken her,
body and soul.
All that her life had meant was
gone—her plans, her future, every-
thing. Rod Blake, New York, safety
and assurance, the sane and ordered
things of everyday, they were all
swept into the discard like so much
trash.
And in their place stood Starr Stone
—her blood leaped at her first con-
scious use of his name—renegade,
mystery, what she did not know—and
with him danger, wrong, disaster. A
man with blue eyes had passed, and
trouble followed In his wake, as the
Servant had whispered. It was true,
all of it. He had touched her with
his mysterious power, and she had
turned and followed him. In her soul
she had turned and followed. Like a
bird charmed to its death, she had
bent her eyes on his, and she was lost.
There was nothing in this world but
Starr Stone’s face, the blue light of his
eyes, the curve of his lips, the grace of
his lean body.
She had seen no man, ever in her
life before, with conscious eyes. She
had not seen life. She had been asleep,
a walker in dreams. _
Rod Blake was a dream, a fantasy.
His face was a stranger’s face, his
voice a far-off echo. There was noth-
ing real about him, had never been to
her, she knew now. There was
nothing real but this man, this rene-
gade, this outlaw who followed where
a master led, and left behind him a
great flare of light that glowed with
ehadows in her heart.
Fire and flame and darkness, joy and
ecstasy and sorrow, fear and a vast
strength: these were her portion, new
given to her.
Presently she pushed her hair back
from her forehead, went to the pool in
the dark corner and, kneeling, washed
her face with her hands. It was a
strange baptism of abnegation, of ac-
ceptance. Whatever was to happen In
the new future she was committed to
It, body and soul. -Whatever happened
to Starr Stone would happen to her:
that she knew beyond all questioning.
And so she slept, still In her pretty
dress, and did not awake until the
day was far gone toward evening and
Lila came knocking at her door.
She went out and met Lila with a
Copyright, Doubleday. Doran & Co., Ino.
WNU Service
grave face, and the smart little woman
looked at her and set down the cup
she held.
“You may as well come clean, Sonya
darling,” she said gently. “Not to, will
only prolong the agony.”
“I know,” Sonya said soberly.
“Come out in the patio. There’s still
time before we have to begin supper."
And there, with the sun going down
the western sky and the shadows
lengthening about them Sonya told the
story of the Man of Lone Mesa, and
Lila listened with inheld breath.
At its close they looked silently at
each other.
“You will understand, but Serge
never will,” said Sonya, “so we’ll not
tell him until we have to.”
Lila laid her hand on Sonya’s arm.
“Rod!” she said. “We have forgot-
ten him!”
“No,” said the other, “not I. Rod
will be one of the things I’ll have to
face—one of the dangers. I shall
write to him tonight and tell him.”
“What?” The word was In Italics.
“Oh, not about Starr Stone or any
of the tragic things I’ve told you. Only
that I cannot marry him.”
“And you’ll have him here as quick
as the air lines can bring him,” said
Lila quietly.
“You’re right,” said Sonya after a
moment’s thought. “I’ll not tell him
—yet.”
So these two women, grave of face,
caught in the maelstrom of life’s
Sonya Told the Story of the Man
of Lost Mesa, and Lila Listened
With Inheld Breath.
romance, its stern portents and shad-
ows, re-entered the low adobe house
and went about their evening’s work
In silence.
Serge came home from his day’s rid-
ing dusty and tired, weary for sleep.
As he was washing at the bench be-
yond the door he called in to them.
“Sis,” he said, “I think there’s going
to be work for you ahead. I saw
old Hosteen T’so today from up Long
Ruins way, and he told me there are
two sick Indians over there.”
“Did he say just where they were?”
“Yes. In a hogan by Blue Water
hole. Said there was a rug for you
if you’d come. The medicine man’s
been making sings for them, but they’re
no better.”
“H’m. Darn these medicine men!”
said the girl, her brows drawing to-
gether. “They kill more patients than
I can ever save. I’ll start early in the
morning.”
“If you take my advice you’d better
keep a sharp eye out for that very
thing—the medicine man.”
“Don’t worry. I know that old chap.
Saw him at Two Fingers’ hogan once.
He’d take my head off, if he could.”
“Well, don’t eat anything around
where he is, and watch your trails for
traps.”
“I will,” said Sonya.
True to her plan, the girl was out on
the desert next day before the sun was
up. The thoughts which had moiled
in her mind for hours now beset her
again. Where was this man who was
her man? Where did he follow that
monstrous master and why? What
was the power which had turned him
from her without a backward look?
Was it fear, or some strange loyalty
beyond the comprehension of a nor-
mal mind? What did it portend? And
who was the master? Who but that
one from across the Border whom the
mad Servant called Beelzebub? The
terrible prince of bandits who cruci-
fied those who double-crossed him.
Sonya shivered in the coming day.
What had he said to Starr Stone?
“Hombre, you disobey! Let’s go.”
Where had they gone? What would
he do to him? And why had he dis-
obeyed, in what? With deep Intuition
she knew the disobedience had to do
with her, with his arm about her in
the public place.
It was a small thing. Not a double-
cross. Yet the very thought of the
sinister words chilled her to the bone.
“Come,” she told herself, “snap out
of it. There is something dark and
terrible here, but Starr Stone”—again
she thrilled at the mental sound of his
name—“will take care of himself.
He’ll come back to talk again.”
At Blue Water she found what she
had expected, and a grave deal more.
Two Navajos, an old man and a young
one, lay in the hogan hot with fever.
Three women stood silently around
watching her magic with the thermom-
eter and medicines. From the shelter
of a skeleton brush canopy over an
outdoor cooking fire Yellow * Buck,
the medicine man whom she had-seen
at Two Fingers’ watched her 'with
flaming eyes in his wrinkled face."
Critically the girl studied the two
sick men. With stethoscope on ,the
hot brown breasts she knew her course.
The old man was beyond help, his
lungs already stiff with congestion,
sunk in coma. The young one not so
bad.
“Bad business,” she told herself.
“Spanish flu—summer flu—or-I’m very
much mistaken. This one,” she said to
the women, pointing to the‘thin old
sire, “is about to go on the Long Jour-
ney. I come too late. This one we’ll
try to hold. Get me hob water in the
cooking baskets and cold water from
the hole. Also a warm stone wrapped
in cloth.”
And once more she rolled back the
sleeves of her .riding shirt and pre-
pared to met Death on the common
field of poor humanity.
In two hours the ancient one was
gone on that long journey and she
helped the women carry him out and
lay him decently under some blankets
in the canopy’s shade. Back in the
hogan again she heard Yellow Bxick’s
“Hi-yah ! Hi-yah !” the slow stamp of
moccasined feet as he danced grotesque-
ly in the sun beyond. What he was
doing, what sinister incantations he
was making against her, she did not
know or care. She had a man to save,
if possible, and had no time to spare
for the silly old dancer.
All day she worked in almost utter
silence. The sick man could still
speak, and once he asked after Two
Fingers’ wife, and again directed the
women to cook and feed the Blue
South Woman.
Here it was again, her sweet and
mysterious name among them.
And presently they brought her mut-
ton ribs baked In the ashes wrapped
In corn husks, and corn meal mush
in a pottery bowl.
The day wore on, and night came
cool and sweet, and still she stayed
by the bed on the sand floor, making
her mustard compresses for the labor-
ing chest, using hot water and cold
alternately, giving her drops to re-
duce the ghastly fever, and at two
of the night by the watch on her wrist
the sick man sighed and went to sleep,
his temperature down to a hundred.
“Glory!” said Sonya to herself. “It’s
a great life if you don’t weaken.”
She slept a bit herself, and dawn
found things better in the hogan.
Noon found them better still, and
late in the afternoon she went away,
leaving strict instructions to her pa-
tient to stay in bed until she came
again. If he got up he would die, she
told them all flatly, and that was that.
At home she told Lila and Serge of
what she’d found and disinfected her-
self from head to heel before stretch-
ing her tired body for sleep.
“I told you there’d be work for you,”
Serge told her soberly. “I heard of an-
other case today.”
“My heaven!” said the girl, sitting
up suddenly on her bed in the room
beyond. “Where? Is it going to be
epidemic?”
“Up in Bad canyon.”
“That’s a long ride. I’ll need the
car for it. Well, heaven help them,
I’ve got to sleep now, or I’ll be no good
later.”
With the visit to Bad canyon next
morning Sonya Savarin knew she faced
the coming of ordeal. Not one but
three cases met her there, and she
heard of five more in a nameless wash
beyond.
The days that followed began to
take on the semblance of a nightmare
The sickness which had descended on
the Reservation grew and spread like
some noxious growth. The girl traVel-
eled night and day, bumping on long
drives in the ancient car, threading the
inaccessible canyons on Darkness,
stooping in the dark hogans to al-
leviate suffering, covering dead faces,
trying to reason the living out of their
superstitious custom of abandoning
their dwellings where death had en-
tered.
Sonya sighed, and her heart ached
more than usual.
It ached all the time, these days,
anyway. She tried to think it was for
all the fear and suffering she encoun-
tered among her lowly people, but she
knew better. The deepest ache of all,
the deepest fear, lying far down un-
der all the rest, had to do with the
memory of a man’s haggard face
above her head, the clasp of an arm
that shook, and a harsh voice saying,
“Hombre, you disobey! Let’s go.”
Weeks had passed since the dance
at the Neidlingers’ ranch, and she had
had no breath of news about Starr
Stone and the sinister figure which he
had followed from the floor. The
Servant of the Lord, whom she had
come to draw toward as one who
could tell her things, seemed to have
vanished from the country.
She had forgotten Rod entirely. She
had even forgotten the menace of his
threat to let no people—no land—no
man take her from him, ever In
this world. Had she stopped to re-
member, she would have written him
dutifully, as a shield between herself
and his presence. But she did not
remember, and in New York Rodney
Blake was sending her a wire that
very day. Serge, going into the little
town for supplies, brought It out the
next afternoon.
TO BE CONTINUED.
A safe and efficient' photographic
darkroom may be carried in one’s
vest pocket. The cumbersome dark-
room so familiar to every amateur
-has been reduced tq about the slza
of a pack of cigarettes. One can de-
velop and fix any number of films
in bright sunlight, .The extremely
compact darkroom is an ingenious
little tank with a mechanical device
for rolling the filip through the de-
veloping and fixing solution, all, of
course, in perfect -darkness. The
film is kept in motion by means of
a crank device. An additional’, con-
venience is a thermometer-like in-
strument wjiich tells the exact time
required for developing and f|xing
at different temperatures winter, and
summer. The vest pocket darkroom,
which has been exhibited at the
m
Leipzig fair, does away with th
drudgery of developing and makejp
possible for a photographer to car
t
tl
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K
HI
a finished film home with him. The
tank is water tight and fool proof.
Picking Up
“Smoking, again?”
“Yes, the wolf is no longer at the
humidor.”
A
Making Shaving Cream Tubes in a Bloomfield Factory.
Prepared by National Geographic Society,
Washington, D. C.—WNU Service.
-w r ANY cities of northern New
J\ Jersey owe their growth
| V | largely to the fact that they
block the southern and west-
ern gates of New York City and re-
ceive its overflow.
Newark is the most important air
door to the metropolis. Opened to air
traffic in September, 1931, the Newark
airport has grown rapidly. When air-
plane traffic was at a peak in 1932
several transport companies and local
airlines scheduled 89 planes daily In
and out of Newark, and in addition a
constant stream of unscheduled pri-
vate planes used this municipal field.
Newark today is in a state of flux,
but the changes that are taking place
point to a vast metropolitan center.
Newark, since the World war, has
changed amazingly. New high build-
ings have cut through Its skyline; in
them one finds the clerical forces of
many firms whose office address is
New York.
And again Newark has become a
seaport. Whalers once sailed up to the
city docks on Passaic river, but when
ships of deeper draft began to carry
world trade Newark had to be con-
tent with lighters and small coastwise
vessels. Now Port Newark, a munici-
pal development on the upper part of
Newark bay, has again brought ocean-
going vessels to the gates of the city.
Only Newark itself can list all the
thousands of different products which
pour out of its factories. The most im-
portant In order of production value
are: electrical machinery and supplies,
paints and varnishes, leather, meats,
foundry and machine-shop products,
chemicals, and jewelry.
Here are some odd trades," as well
as highly specialized industries. Elec-
trical instruments are made with
counterbalancing pointers that are
miracles of craftsmanship. One of
these has an arm of aluminum tubing
with walls one ten-thousandth of an
inch thick, and balance threads (for
tiny brass nuts) are cut 500 to the
inch. This work must be done under a
magnifying glass. In Newark, too,
many of tlie world’s largest air-condi-
tioning plants are designed and con-
structed.
Newark’s Library and Trolley.
Newark library today is the largest
In the state, and one of the nation’s
finest. Libraries throughout the United
States and in many foreign countries
have adopted methods originating in
this Newark institution.
Only London has a larger co-ordi-
nated bus and trolley system than one
Newark company, which serves 421
New Jersey municipalities, reaching
all but one county in the state. In
1931 it transported a total of nearly
400,000,00 passengers, the equivalent
of more than three times the popula-
tion of the United States.
Strangers are confused by the inter-
locking huddle of municipalities
around Newark. Essex county is
really one city with nearly a million
people. Once isolated villages have
expanded so rapidly that* outsiders
cannot .tell where one ends and an-
other begins.
Bloomfield offers an example of an
Intensely diversified community in a
state noted for variety. With a popula-
tion of only 38,000, many of them com-
muters, it embraces some forty Indus-
tries, large and small, which run the
gamut from safety pins and horse
radish to books, electric lights, and
woolens.
In a Bloomfield lamp works were
made the bulbs that shine from the
Statue of Liberty, and those that illu-
minate the Washington monument,
Holland tunnels, Natural Bridge, Vir-
ginia, and the Bermuda caves. Here
is made every type of lamp, from the
“grain of wheat” used by dentists and
physicians, to the giant bulb for movie
and outdoor Illumination.
Although we may not realize it when
we pay a small coin for an electric-
light bulb, we are purchasing a com-
modity that requires more delicate
craftsmanship than anything else sold
in bulk. The tungsten filament is one
of the finest-drawn commercial wires,
pulled through a diamond die to a
thickness of 0.0004 of an inch. Com-
pared to a lamp filament? a human
hair resembles a piece of heavy rope.
It is all part of the day’s work in
this Bloomfield factory to deal with
argon, helium, and neon, an atmos-
pheric pressure of O.OOOOT per cent,
and pressures up to 25 tons per square
inch! With pardonable pride this plant
adopts the slogan used by the United
States Engineers in France. “It can’t
be done—but here it is!”
In an unpretentious red-brick build-
ing that faces on one of the principal
streets of W est Orange, an empty
chair sits before an old-fashioned roll-
top desk. Here Thomas A. Edison
spent the last years of his life. His
library and study have been main-
tained just as he left them.
Traffic of Jersey City.
Jersey City, largest of the Hudson
river cities opposite New York, has
Industries ranging from soap to print-
ing and type-making. Oddly enough,
it is one of Jersey’s “least-known”
cities to outsiders. Railroads skirt its
business district or pass through it
underground, while the main motor
highway to the Holland tunnels runs
in a subsurface roadway through the
residential districts.
Many doughboys recall Jersey City’s
water front, a major embarking and
disembarking point during the World
war. “Where do we go from here,
boys, where do we go from here? Any-
where from Harlem to a Jersey City
pier,” ran the words of a popular war
song.
Today Jersey City handles most of
the freight-car traffic that comes into
the port of New York from the south
and west. One of its printing plants
turns out tons of telephone directories
annually for New York, Philadelphia,
Baltimore, Washington, and other
large eastern cities. In the same plant
lithographing for several widely cir-
culated magazines is also prepared.
A museum attached to a Jersey City
type-manufacturing concern contains
a copy of the rare Canon Missal, dat-
ing from 1458, one of the first books
printed entirely on a press, and many
tiny “thumb-nail” books, exquisite ex-
amples of craftsmanship. Modern type
faces are measured for accuracy to
one-ten-thousandth of an Inch, the
thickness of a cigarette paper.
From Jersey City northward along
the Hudson to Weehawken is one of
the highest concentrations of railroad
traffic in the world. New Jersey leads
the nation in railroad trackage per
square mile, and the focus of its busi-
est lines is this short bit of territory
along the Hudson opposite Manhattan
island.
Freight-car contents are transferred
here into the holds of liners, and re-
cently a terminal was established
which places loaded cars themselves
within huge vessels called “seatrains.”
More Interesting than the manner
in which commodities are transshiped
from rails to boats, however, are the
split-second schedules devised for the
waves of commuters that sweep twice
daily through the half-dozen terminals
in the New Jersey side of the Hud-
son. It Is estimated that 2,000,000 peo-
ple pour into and out of Manhattan on
a typical business day, and that more
than 15 per cent of them arrive from
New Jersey.
MereolizedWax.
Timing the Commuters.
Stand in the Hoboken terminal tow-
er of the Lackawanna and watch the
“big push” of commuters homeward
bound. No major offensive of the
World war was timed to a greater
nicety than this daily event which has
become as much a part of the com-
muter’s life as his meals and sleep.
Crowded ferry boats and tube trains
from Manhattan have brought armies
of men and women to the train shed,
where long expresses are waiting to
hurry them to scores of suburban sta-
tions.
“Zero Hour” comes from 5:25 to
5:35 p. m., when every commuter
wants an express that will get him
home about sLx o’clock. Commuting
railroads perform the seemingly im-
possible by sending several trains to
the same destination at almost the
same time, one making stops that an-
other skips. Newark, a metropolis of
442,000, may not be even a flag-stop
on an express hurrying through-pas-
sengers on to Millburn or Morristown.
Wivff.
g(eeps Skan Young
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particles of aged skin are freed and all
defects such as blackheads, tan, freckles and
large pores disappear. Skin is then beauti-
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years younger. Mercolized Wax brings out
your hidden beauty. At all leading druggists, j
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DR. W.E.FITCH TALKS
ON MINERAL WATER
Tells Why It Is Often Helpful
for “Rheumatic” Aches
* and Pains
EUROPEAN SCIENTISTS
CONFIRM OPINION
■•c
Recently William Edward Fitch,
M. D., member of the International
Society of Medical Hydrology and
author of that comprehensive book
“Mineral Waters of the United States
and American Spas” spoke as follows
on a program over the National
Broadcasting System:
“Drinking a mineral water is not
like drinking an ordinary water, for
in addition to the virtues and thera-
peutic value of the water itself, the
combined minerals, some of which are
in such infinitesimal proportions as
almost to defy man’s limited power of
analysis, produce systemic changes
which affect disease profoundly. . . .
In Europe, of course, mineral water
treatment has been known for thou-
sands of years, and is universally ac-
cepted. ... I am happy to have con-
tributed in a small way to the spread
of knowledge of this form of treat-
ment in our own great country, for
here we have the same needs as Eu-
rope’s population—the same diseases,
the same suffering, the same problems
—and bountiful Nature has provided
the same form of treatment—natural
American mineral waters sparkling
and bubbling from the earth, ready
and able to end serious and painful
disease.”
When we think of what Dr. Fitch
has said of the real value of mineral
waters—and then think how very few
people can afford to travel to Ameri-
ca’s mineral water resorts—it is very
important to know about Crazy Water
Crystals, and the happiness they have
brought to millions suffering from
“rheumatic” aches and pains and
other chronic ailments. Crazy Water
Crystals are just precious minerals
crystallized from a great natural min-
eral water—a type of mineral water
that has built one of America’s great-
est health resorts, to which_ 150,000
people flock every year. You just mix
Crazy Water Crystals with plain
water, and make a great mineral
water at home.
And Crazy Water Crystals are very
economical. A standard sized package
costs only $1.50 and is sufficient for
several weeks treatment in your own
home. Crazy Water Co., Mineral
Wells, Texas.
are for sale by dealers displaying
the red and green Crazy Water
Crystals sign. Get a box today.
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Kendall, C. P. The Aransas Pass Progress (Aransas Pass, Tex.), Vol. 25, No. 8, Ed. 1 Thursday, July 19, 1934, newspaper, July 19, 1934; Aransas Pass, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth990802/m1/3/: accessed July 12, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Ed & Hazel Richmond Public Library.