The Goldfield news and weekly tribune. [volume] (Goldfield, Nev.) 1911-1947, 1918-12-14
THE dessert PAL"
BY ARNOLD
><<<>>><~<<><
Gnnxrixht. Ia1a. Mesfern NeEspaper union.l


Copyright. 1918. Western Newspaper UniOn.)
"who is her
whats he runningT'
A crowd gathered as there tangled,
roared, clattered up to the edge of the
pavement a ~nondescript mass Of
wheels and ragged and dust-deluged
canvas A form sprang out. Covered
with dirt, face and hands splotched
and speckled with oil and grease,
bright, glowing eyes only showing an
irresistible animation, there was added
to the already startling presentment
humanity In its strangest phase.
The vehicle was what might have
been an automobile. 1t had solid rub
Der tires, 1t was uncouth of shape, odd
and old of make, yet 1t had come rip
ping down the street like a cyclone!
Across the back was what had once
been q b~lack-lettered strip of white
muslin. Barely traceable was the
legend: "The Desert Pal-Home or
Bustl"
"The Desert Pal" spoke its owner,
broad of smile and resonant of tone
"twehty-three days from the old alkali
stretch. Home, that's here. You don't
any of you remember me? I'm Bart
Morton; left here ten years ago, made
a few thousands, got homesick, traded
my camp togs and horse for that old
auto and I've hit the end of the TRAIL"
Only a few of the townsmen recalled
she homeless vagabond boy living here
Zero, anywhere, over a decade since.
1t was a far home cry, for he had never
had any. Somehow. however, his
brusque bearing, his fearless ways,
the tang of courage and venture to his
words stirred up the crowd. The old
est inhabitant warmed up to a friend
ly chat, the youngest n admiringly
regarded man and vehicle that had
spun half way across the continent,
homely, yet sturdy-looking, %arousing
rare fancies of daring and variety in
the juvenile imagination.
For three days man and machine were
the current topics of interest. Then
Bart Morton cleaned up the old rattle
trap, donned a more modern attire and
became a familiar figure around the
one hotel Of the place.
1T got lonely out there and I'd
about reached my ambitiOn-fve thou
sand dollars reported Bart. I'D like
to buy into some respectable business
and settle down among real humans"
Then one day Bart asked the hotel
keeper what had become of Evan
Hughitt. "You know I worked for him
for a zeal and he was like a father to
me-" he said.
Evan Hughitt was dead, came the
information. He had died five years
previous. His wife and Juanita, their
daughter, lived at the old place, but
for three years had been fighting day
by day, inch by inch. the claim OF
Wolfe Dysart.
The blood rushed to the face Of Bart
Morton and he uttered what resem-
bled a ferocious snarl as he heard the
name of the man who had nearly
horsewhipped him to death, who had
led Evan Hughitt into evil ways.
"Dysart is under indictment in this
county and does not dare to appear
here, but through a scheming lawyer
he is keeping Mrs. Hughitt in htiga-
ton, hoping to finally force her to
give up a part of the property" K
planned the landlord.
Two days later Bart Morton saw
Juanita, the child of eight, now the
girl of eighteen. Within the week 1t
was known that he had supplied to the
awyer of Mrs. Hughitt what was
most needed-money to battle the I'M
%scrupulous Dysart.
Often a pleasant smile followed the
Desert Pal as Bart would wSs1 by,
Juanita by his side. If Bart had no
yet found a home he had found love,
which eventually always leads to n
happy hearth.
One night Bart, returning from he
Hughitt place, CHANGED to pass the OF
fee of the lawyer of Mrs. Hughitt.
CHANGING up at it's lighted front he
checked his machine and set his teeth
hard. For the first time in ten years
he saw his old sOulless prosecutor,
WOlle DySfIt LIN hSheS
and a moment later Dysart came hur-
rying to the street, a package under his
arm. A quick suspicion came to the
ready mind of Bart. The plOtter had
yentured here to steal documents upon
the production of which rested the
widows chance of winning her case.
Wolfe Dysart swung into the saddle
-ko0l eknnHtn0 of tho
curb. In a flash he was plunging down
the street. In an instant Bart had
urged the Desert Pal into action. The
horse turned into the highway leading
out of town.
Dysart glanced ~anxiously behind
him and urged up his steed, Bart rea-
liked that his suspicious were roused
Along the sides of the road for a mile
ran deep bitches. Where they ceased
tho horSaman cOu1d turn into the tim