The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1935-06-21

SAAASo6o 4I4Uulc-NcW III NEWS oyuolCaIcp
Incorporated
Copyright, 1885: By William F.. Sturm)
TWO PARTS-PART ONE
THE STORY OF A THRILLING
AUTO RACE, OF A SPEED
KING WHO THOUGHT
ROMANCE AND RACING
DIDN'T MIX, AND OF A
GIRL WHO CHANGED HIS
MIND.
Get this, Red: We're here to try to
win the 5OO-mile race. We want to
be the only outfit to win it three times.
Your chore is to help get the Brandt
Special ready, and mine is to drive it.
We're not here for any kind of fool
ishneSS that slows us up. Everything
is out except business. That means
heavy booze and women. A lot of
booze never did any one any good. And
they thin out on you like poor en-
CINE oil, Just when you need them
most. Besides"
Jaw, listen, Bill. But I know all the
answers, and to save you time, here
they are: This is our hardest race.
Glass of the driving brains-and feet
OF the country. A slug can't be a
hundred percent racing mechanic if he
is always thinking about what a good
time he is going to have. He can't be
a good ditto if he goes to bed at night
rrimed with a lot of blended whiskey
and full of beer. AS for women-nuts,
ball.. multiplied by ten. Racing is a
mans game, and skirts don't mix. The
prize money is about forty grand-and
that's what we're after"
During this TRADE the target of Reds
conversational darts, a well set up, dark
haired young man of Is, had walked
NNYn~ RI tho hNfn1 r,ir,INr, ND will, 1T,
back receiving the volley, looked down
ON the crowded street below. When the
orator had finished, Bill turned and
started toward the recumbent figure on
the bed. Red was about Bills height,
but of considerably greater breadth,
more adipose tissue than the whip
cord that was Bill.
Red grew serious: 1T don't know
what Anne Peterson did to you last
year, old-timer, but it must have been
a-plenty. She made you a cynic, what
ever that means. I don't know what it
was all about, but I'll bet all my prize
money that she's got plenty of Wis
costly. She was choice, if you ask me-.
And don't I know that she went for
you? There you were, going great
guns, when all of a sudden-wham
Meeting rods. I know women-they're
my speciality, and I'll bet somebody
made a big mistake-and it wasn't
Anne. She couldn't have thinned out
on you. Something you imagined; I
used to be that way"
Lets leave Anne out of it, Red"
Bill Brandt and Red Frenzel had
been together for years-five to be ex-
act-and in that time Bill had won the
Indianapolis race twice.
There was none of the master and
man between the two. Far apart in
their social habits, they were n in
their knowledge and love of racing.
Red knew his driver like a book. He
even presumed to give him advice
where angels would have feared to
tread, but Red got by unscratched-
and equally unnoticed.
What we had better do this year Is
to find a place to live near the speed
way, and I think both of us better
bunk in the same house, Red" Bill
rubbed his cigaret into the ash tray
as he spoke. "A nice, respectable
house, where your nights rest won't be
disturbed by a gang of palookas that
call themselves racing mechanics"
They were soon on their way. Red
Brandt Special, while Bill led the way
in his coupe. They had no trouble in
finding a house that suited the driver,
and within another half hour they
were at the speedway, a quarter Of a
mile away.
Arriving at the garages in the in
field, it was the work of only a few
minutes to take the tarpaulin off the
Special, drop two board runways which
had been slowed alongside the car, and
with a rope snubbed around a post on
the truck, ease the car down to the
ground.
With the car pushed into one of the
IS garages, and the door locked, Bill
and Red walked down the row. They