TO ARMS! THE INDIANS!

Only bald-headed men were allowed outdoors today in Blanding, Utah, due to the fact that the Piute Indians are on the warpath again. Apparently these far-Western towns are still in grave danger of the redskin. Men of Custer's type must be found at once.

A messenger, splattered with mud and faint with fatigue, arrived in Moab today with the news that the Piutes had surrounded the town of Blanding. All communication with the outside world had been cut off, so this man had volunteered to ride through the lines and carry the bad news to Moab. Immediately the street began to fill with prairie-schooners, and stern-faced men whose eyes were full of the loneliness of the plains. Each man had a square gray beard, and an old musket under an arm which was wiry and tanned by years of sun and rain. Wagon-drivers practiced frantically with their twenty-foot whips to the detriment of the shop windows and passing pedestrians. The town took on a sombre aspect. No one knew what the future held for this quiet, determined band of men who left the town of Moab to fight the Indian on his own ground.

We in the East talk of music, and art, and literature in a carpet-covered room, never realizing that the West is still full of Rocky Mountains, and Piute Indians, whose music is the war-song of a Sitting Bull, whose art is the art of shooting straight, and whose literature is what they read from the bitter books of experience! For further particulars ask any Englishman.