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HE'S given the war-cry, this Indian maid on the war-path. She's after a man—and bound to get him if she has to take a scalp. So she ropes and ties him and carries him off to her wigwam, where he falls in love with her—to find that after all she's a delightful white maid brought up by the Indians.

A delicious romance of love and adventure with thrills that will make the blood tingle. Don't miss this picture with the delightful Colleen Moore.

And always watch for the First National trademark on the screen at your theatre. It is the sign of the ultimate in artistic and entertaining pictures.

ASSOCIATED FIRST NATIONAL PICTURES. INC. presents


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HAT makes the backbone of the nation conservative? How have the farmers and the inhabitants of small towns and cities kept tip with the most modern inventions? Why can the farmer with justice say that the possession of a car is no sign of prosperity? What is the gauge of the farmer's prosperity? These are some of the questions that were answered in the New York Times by Julius Rosenwald, President of Sears, Roebuck & Co., the largest mail order house in existence.

For a long time the argument has been put forth that the cities of the nation do not represent the life and the thought of America. They are the high lights, the sky rockets. Outside of them is the steady, slow grind of movement that marks our growth. To understand America, or any country for that matter one must go to the farms, to the villages and towns. It is contact with these, with eight million American homes situated beyond the flare of the white lights, that makes Mr. Rosenwald an authority on one phase of national life.

"Publicity in the broadest sense," Mr. Rosenwald began, "is the power that gives direction to demand and supply. Magazines, movies and motors, the three all-important 'M's' in American life, enter into the publicity factor. Call it education if you will. The people we deal with, the people who read our catalogues and then enclose check for shipment of goods, the eight million homes representing front thirty to forty million individuals who depend upon us for the necessities and luxuries of life, live on farms, in scattered communities, in small towns that have not yet in some instances gained the dignity of a mark on a map. And they read the magazines, they go to movies and they travel about in cars.

"Go back ten or fifteen years and find out to what extent magazine circulation depended upon the home that was off the beaten track. The proposition was very small. Those were the days when a farmer and his wife would read the newspaper that served as a wrapper for their supplies, and thought they were keeping up with the pace of the world if it happened to be only a week old. Those days are past. Today almost every home is on the subscription list of some national publication. Big business followed in the tracks of the mail order house and found that the stake was not a negligible one.

"Big business—am referring to the magazine and newspaper business—discovered, that it was easier to get a subscription from a man outside of