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Twenty-four    The BRONZEMAN

mocking voice burning like a red-hot iron into his heart. I don't know how long he lay out there, but the coyotes had begun their chorus: an accompaniment to the mocking voice still ringing in his ears. 

"He finally rose and returned to the cabin. No, Stranger, he didn't vow to kill her; you see, he still loved her, even though she had laughed at him. He was like that. Instead he walked to the porch - she was sitting there - and looked at her. He told her again that he loved her, would kill for her. Oh, Stranger, he even apologized for it! He continued to talk: he sang the song of his heart, to her who had mocked him. Strange indeed are the ways of man and woman. Suddenly the doors in her eyes opened again. Stranger, there was love behind those doors. Love pure and sweet: Love that consumed her like a hot flame; that seared her soul!

"But he turned away, not knowing, nor seeming to care. Why didn't he stay - ah, Stranger, I do not know, have never known. Man does things he himself cannot explain. He never saw her again, but she lingered in his dreams. Did she ever marry - yes - but, one night she was murdered - murdered - by her husband in a drunken fury. That was ten years ago, and the boy, a man now, is still hunting her murderer. He will know the man when he sees him. How? There is a tattoo on his arm that reaches almost to his fingers. 

"Why, you ask, did she mock him, and why does the boy hunt the man after she had scorned his love? Stranger, you are curious. I forgot to tell you, the boy was crippled, yes, cripples. His left leg was withered, it dragged behind him, leaving a trail easy to follow! She mocked him because he, a cripple, dared to speak of his love for her, would kill for her, that had refused men sound in body and limb... 

"Stranger, that mark on your hand - it runs up your arm - it's, yes, its the tail of a Chinese dragon! Oh God, you - you - the search is over! 'Tis fate, how fate must laugh at the antics of its pawns. Ten years - ten long agonizing years - at last are over, yes Stranger, they are over!

A Farewell to Dad
By Caswell W. Crews
(The Rev. P.C. Crews, for fifty-three years a minister in Missouri, died in 1926. 
His last words as he stretched his arms heavenward were: "I'm reaching for my Savior's hand."
He would have been eighty-three on June 4.)

His work accomplished, what else then 
To do but sweetly take his rest
And where can mortal man find rest
Save on his blessed Master's breast?

He needs must clasp his Savior's hand
Reached down from out the azure sky, 
For how shall pilgrim leaving earth, 
Find otherwise his home on high?

So then full tired, he laid his head
Upon God's bosom - Death's alarms 
Frighted him not for safely home
He carried him in His own arms.

"We have been thrown together and fate must decide which one of use shall see the sunrise. Come, Stranger, we will end the comedy. Why do you sit there staring at me? I am but a mortal. We lost time. Ah, you start at me, it is wither, it drags! Yes, Stranger, I am that boy, and you - you- are her murderer! Why do you not wait, surely you are not afraid of a cripple!


The tale is ended and the morning sun shines down upon a solitary figure leading a lone burro. His head faces west and as he moves along his step is slow, dragging: leaving a trail easy to follow. His lips move and he is saying: 

"He is dead! He, who in drunken fury laid violent hands upon you. I loved you, you who laughed to scorn, who mocked my love. I am crippled, my leg drags, I have killed for you!"


A Message to High School Graduates
(Continued from page 17)

part of investors that the returns on investments made in collegiate training seems so discouraging today.
Many who are now inclined to discredit investments made in the college youth would have found such investments much more profitable had the same laws of economics been applied to the investments in question, as are now being applied to most other investments. At a time when it is the rule that extra care, consideration, and very often, case, are needed to tied an enterprise over until economic seas are somewhat more calm, it seems only reasonable that investments made in youths pursuing collegiate careers should require similar consideration. 

Viewing the matter from this angle, we hope to have made it clear that the pursuit of collegiate study is by no means futile. It is, on the contrary, an investment which nets returns of most far reaching nature when made with an understanding of the true nature of the enterprise invested in. 

My Case
You recall "A BROWN BIRD'S HEART" by this superb weaver of fiction. Well, in "MY CASE" she has outdone herself. 
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