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diff --git a/old/68408-h/68408-h.htm b/old/68408-h/68408-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 2f6d576..0000000 --- a/old/68408-h/68408-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7551 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8" /> - <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Argonaut Stories, by Jerome Hart</title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> - body { - margin-left: 8%; - margin-right: 8%; - } - - p { - text-indent: 1.15em; - margin-top: 0.1em; - margin-bottom: 0.1em; - text-align: justify; - } - - p.ni { - text-indent: 0; - } - - p.bq { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%; - } - - .tar { - text-align: right; - } - - .tac { - text-align: center; - } - - .ce { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; - margin-top: 0; - margin-bottom: 0; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - } - - .poetry { - display: block; - text-align: left; - } - - .poetry .stanza { - margin-top: 0.7em; - margin-bottom: 0.7em; - margin-left: 4em; - } - - .poetry .verse { - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; - } - - .poetry-container { - text-align: center; - } - - h1 { - text-align: center; - font-weight: normal; - font-size: 1.4em; - } - - h2 { - text-align: center; - font-weight: normal; - page-break-before: always; - font-size: 1.0em; - line-height: 1.6em; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - } - - h2.nobreak { - page-break-before: avoid; - } - - .tac { - text-align: center; - } - - .mb05 { - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - } - - .mb07 { - margin-bottom: 0.7em; - } - - .mt07 { - margin-top: 0.7em; - } - - table { - page-break-inside: avoid; - width: 100%; - } - - table.toc {} - - table.tcenter { - border-collapse: collapse; - padding: 3px; - margin-top: 0.5em; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - } - - td { - vertical-align: top; - } - - td.c1 { - text-align: right; - padding-right: 0.7em; - font-size: 0.9em; - } - - td.c2 { - font-variant: small-caps; - } - - th { - font-weight: normal; - padding-bottom: 0.5em; - } - - .sc { - font-variant: small-caps; - } - - .fss { - font-size: smaller; - } - - div.section { - page-break-before: always; - margin-top: 4em; - margin-bottom: 4em; - } - - hr.tb { - border: none; - border-bottom: 1px solid black; - width: 40%; - margin: 1em auto 1em 30%; - } - - .chapter {} - </style> -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Argonaut stories, by Jerome Hart</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Argonaut stories</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Jerome Hart</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 25, 2022 [eBook #68408]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARGONAUT STORIES ***</div> - <div class='section'> - <h1>ARGONAUT STORIES</h1> - </div> - <div class='section'> - <div class='ce'> - <div class='sc' style='margin-bottom:1em; font-size:1.2em'>Argonaut Stories </div> - <div style='font-size:0.9em'> - J. LONDON, F. NORRIS, S. E. WHITE, J. F. - WILSON,<br />W. C. MORROW, G. OVERTON, W. O. McGEEHAN,<br />W. H. - IRWIN, K. THOMPSON, M. ROBERTS,<br />B. O’NEILL, E. MUNSON, C. F. - EMBREE,<br />C. ALFRED, G. C. TERRY, N. KOUNS,<br />NEIL GILLESPIE, B. - W. SINCLAIR,<br />C. W. DOYLE, C. D. WILLARD,<br />R. D. MILNE, G. BONNER. - </div> - <div style='margin-top:1em;'>Selected from the</div> - <div class='sc'>Argonaut</div> - <div><span class='sc'>Jerome Hart</span>, Editor</div> - <div style='margin-top:1em;'> - <span class='fss'>SAN FRANCISCO:</span><br />PAYOT, UPHAM & COMPANY<br /> - <span class='fss sc'>Agents for Pacific Coast</span><br />1906 - </div> - </div> - </div> - <div class='section'> - <div class='ce'> - <div style='margin-top:1em;'>Copyright, 1906<br/> - By the Argonaut Publishing Company </div> - <div style='margin-top:0.5em;'>THE ARGONAUT PRESS<br />SAN FRANCISCO</div> - </div> - </div> - <div class='section'> - <div - style="text-align:center; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto"> - <div style="display:inline-block; text-align:left;"> - <table class='toc tcenter' style='margin-bottom:3em'> - <tbody> - <tr> - <th colspan='2' style='font-size:1.2em; text-align:center'> - CONTENTS</th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>JACK LONDON</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s01'>Moon-Face</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>FRANK NORRIS</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s02'>A Caged Lion</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>GWENDOLEN OVERTON</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s03'>The Race Bond</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>WILLIAM C. MORROW</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s04'>The Rajah’s Nemesis</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>BUCKEY O’NEILL</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s05'>The Man-Hunters’ Reward</a> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>GERALDINE BONNER</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s06'>Conscience Money</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>CHARLES DWIGHT WILLARD</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s07'>The Jack-Pot</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>C. W. DOYLE</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s08'>The Seats of Judgment</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>STEWART EDWARD WHITE</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s09'>A Double Shot</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>ROBERT DUNCAN MILNE</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s10'>Ten Thousand Years in Ice</a> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>W. O. McGEEHAN</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s11'>Leaves on the River Pasig</a> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>CHARLES F. EMBREE</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s12'>The Great Euchre Boom</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>MARIA ROBERTS</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s13'>The Sorcery of Asenath</a> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>E. MUNSON</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s14'>Old “Hard Luck”</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>WILL H. IRWIN</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s15'>The Dotted Trail</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>C. ALFRED</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s16'>The White Grave</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>GIBERT CUNYNGHAM TERRY</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s17'>The Jewels of Bendita</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>NATHAN C. KOUNS</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s18'>The Man-Dog</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>JOHN F. WILSON</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s19'>The Amateur Revolutionist</a> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>NEIL GILLESPIE</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s20'>The Blood of a Comrade</a> - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>BERTRAND W. SINCLAIR</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s21'>Under Flying Hoofs</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c1'>KATHLEEN THOMPSON</td> - <td class='c2'><a href='#s22'>The Colonel and “The Lady”</a> - </td> - </tr> - </tbody> - </table> - </div> - </div> - </div> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s01' title='Moon Face'> - MOON FACE</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Jack London</div> - <p>John Claverhouse was a moon-faced man. You know the - kind—cheek-bones wide apart, chin and forehead melting into the - cheeks to complete the perfect round, and the nose, broad and pudgy, - equidistant from the circumference, flattened against the very centre of - the face like a dough-ball upon the ceiling. Perhaps that is why I hated - him, for truly he had become an offense to my eyes, and I believed the - earth to be cumbered with his presence. Perhaps my mother may have been - superstitious of the moon and looked upon it over the wrong shoulder at - the wrong time.</p> - <p>But be that as it may, I hated John Claverhouse. Not that he had done - me what society would consider a wrong or an ill turn. Far from it, in - any such sense. The evil was of a deeper, subtler sort; so elusive, so - intangible, as to defy clear, definite analysis in words. We all - experience such things at some period in our lives. For the first time - we see a certain individual, one whom the very instant before we did not - dream existed; and yet, at the first moment of meeting, we say: “I do - not like that man.” Why do we not like him? And we do not know why; we - only know that we do not. We have taken a dislike, that is all. And so I - with John Claverhouse. </p> - <p>What right had such a man to be happy? Yet he was an optimist. He was - always gleeful and laughing. All things were always all right, curse - him! Ah! how it grated on my soul that he should be so happy! Other men - could laugh, and it did not bother me. I even used to laugh - myself—before I met John Claverhouse.</p> - <p>But his laugh! It irritated me, maddened me, as nothing else under the - sun could irritate or madden me. It haunted me, gripped hold of me, and - would not let me go. It was a huge, Gargantuan laugh. Waking or sleeping - it was always with me, whirring and jarring across my heart-strings and - the very fibres of my being like an enormous rasp. At break of day it - came whooping across the fields to spoil my pleasant morning reverie. - Under the aching noon-day glare, when the green things drooped and the - birds withdrew to the depths of the forest, and all nature drowsed, his - great “Ha! ha!” and “Ho! ho!” rose up to the sky and challenged the sun. - And at black midnight, from the lonely cross-roads where he turned from - town into his own place, came his plaguy cachinnations to rouse me from - my sleep and make me toss about and clench my nails into my palms.</p> - <p>I went forth privily in the night-time and turned his cattle into his - fields, and in the morning heard his whooping laugh as he drove them out - again. “It is nothing,” he said; “the poor, dumb beasties are not to be - blamed for straying into fatter pastures.”</p> - <p>He had a dog he called “Mars,” a big, splendid brute, part deerhound - and part bloodhound, and resembling both. Mars was a great delight to - him, and they were always together. But I bided my time, and one day, - when opportunity was ripe, lured the animal away and settled for him - with arsenic and beefsteak. It made positively no impression on John - Claverhouse. His laugh was as hearty and frequent as ever, and his face - as much like the full moon as it always had been.</p> - <p>Then I set fire to his hay-stacks and his barn. But the next morning, - being Sunday, he went forth blithe and cheerful.</p> - <p>“Where are you going?” I asked him, as he went by the cross-roads. </p> - <p>“Trout,” he said, and his face beamed like a full moon. “I just dote on - trout, you know.”</p> - <p>Was there ever such an impossible man! His whole harvest had gone up in - his hay-stacks and barn. It was uninsured, I knew. And yet, in the face - of famine and the rigorous winter, he went out gayly in quest of a mess - of trout, forsooth, because he “doted” on them! Had gloom but rested, no - matter how lightly, on his brow, or had his bovine countenance grown - long and serious and less like the moon, or had he removed that smile - but once from off his face, I am sure I could have forgiven him for - existing. But, no, he grew only more cheerful under misfortune.</p> - <p>I insulted him. He looked at me in slow and smiling surprise.</p> - <p>“I fight you? Why?” he asked, slowly. And then he laughed. “You are so - funny! Ho! ho! You’ll be the death of me! He! he! he! Oh! Ho! ho! ho!” - </p> - <p>What would you? It was past endurance. By the blood of Judas, how I - hated him! Then there was that name—Claverhouse! What a name! - Wasn’t it absurd? Claverhouse! Merciful heaven, <i>why</i> Claverhouse? - Again and again I asked myself that question. I should not have minded - Smith, or Brown, or Jones—but <i>Claverhouse</i>! I leave it to - you. Repeat it to yourself—Claverhouse. Just listen to the - ridiculous sound of it—Claverhouse! Should a man live with such a - name? I ask of you. “No,” you say. And “No” said I. </p> - <p>But I bethought me of his mortgage. What of his crops and barn - destroyed, I knew he would be unable to meet it. So I got a shrewd, - close-mouthed, tight-fisted money-lender to get the mortgage transferred - to him. I did not appear, but through this agent I forced the - foreclosure, and but few days (no more, believe me, than the law - allowed) were given John Claverhouse to remove his goods and chattels - from the premises. Then I strolled down to see how he took it, for he - had lived there upward of twenty years. But he met me with his - saucer-eyes twinkling, and the light glowing and spreading in his face - till it was as a full-risen moon.</p> - <p>“Ha! ha! ha!” he laughed. “The funniest tike, that youngster of mine! - Did you ever hear the like? Let me tell you. He was down playing by the - edge of the river when a piece of the bank caved in and splashed him. - ‘Oh, papa!’ he cried; ‘a great big puddle flewed up and hit me.’”</p> - <p>He stopped and waited for me to join him in his infernal glee.</p> - <p>“I don’t see any laugh in it,” I said, shortly, and I know my face went - sour.</p> - <p>He regarded me with wonderment, and then came the damnable light, - glowing and spreading, as I have described it, till his face shone soft - and warm, like the summer moon, and then the laugh—“Ha! ha! That’s - funny! You don’t see it, eh? He! he! Ho! ho! ho! He doesn’t see it! Why, - look here. You know, a puddle——” </p> - <p>But I turned on my heel and left him. That was the last. I could stand - it no longer. The thing must end right there, I thought, curse him! The - earth should be quit of him. And as I went over the hill, I could hear - his monstrous laugh reverberating against the sky.</p> - <p>Now, I pride myself on doing things neatly, and when I resolved to kill - John Claverhouse I had it in mind to do so in such a fashion that I - should not look back upon it and feel ashamed. I hate bungling, and I - hate brutality. To me there is something repugnant in merely striking a - man with one’s naked fist—faugh! it is sickening! So, to shoot, or - stab, or club John Claverhouse (O that name!) did not appeal to me. And - not only was I impelled to do it neatly and artistically, but also in - such manner that not the slightest possible suspicion could be directed - against me.</p> - <p>To this end I bent my intellect, and, after a week of profound and - strenuous incubation, I hatched the scheme. Then I set to work. I bought - a water-spaniel bitch, five months old, and devoted my whole attention - to her training. Had any one spied upon me, they would have remarked - that this training consisted entirely of one - thing—<i>retrieving</i>. I taught the dog, which I called - “Bellona,” to fetch sticks I threw into the water, and not only to - fetch, but to fetch at once, without mouthing or playing with them. The - point was that she was to stop for nothing, but to deliver the stick in - all haste. I made a practice of running away and leaving her to chase - me, with the stick in her mouth, till she caught me. She was a bright - animal, and took to the game with such eagerness that I was soon - content.</p> - <p>After that, at the first casual opportunity, I presented Bellona to - John Claverhouse. I knew what I was about, for I was aware of a little - weakness of his, and of a little private and civic sinning of which he - was regularly and inveterately guilty.</p> - <p>“No,” he said, when I placed the end of the rope to which she was tied - in his hand. “No, you don’t mean it.” And his mouth opened wide, and he - grinned all over his damnable moon-face.</p> - <p>“I—I kind of thought, somehow, you didn’t like me,” he explained. - “Wasn’t it funny for me to make such a mistake?” And at the thought he - held his sides with laughter.</p> - <p>“What is her name?” he managed to ask between paroxysms.</p> - <p>“Bellona,” I said.</p> - <p>“He! he!” he tittered. “What a funny name!”</p> - <p>I gritted my teeth, for his mirth put them on edge, and snapped out - between them: “She was the wife of Mars, you know.”</p> - <p>Then the light of the full moon began to suffuse his face, until he - exploded with: “Well, I guess she’s a widow now! Oh! Ho! ho! E! he! he! - Ho!” he whooped after me, and I turned and fled swiftly away over the - hill.</p> - <p>The week passed by, and on Saturday evening I said to him: “You go away - Monday, don’t you?”</p> - <p>He nodded his head and grinned.</p> - <p>“Then you won’t have another chance to get a mess of those trout you - just ‘dote’ on.”</p> - <p>But he did not notice the sneer. “Oh, I don’t know,” he chuckled. “I’m - going up to-morrow to try pretty hard.”</p> - <p>Thus was assurance made doubly sure, and I went back to my house - literally hugging myself with rapture.</p> - <p>Early next morning I saw him go by with a dip-net and gunnysack, and - Bellona trotting at his heels. I knew where he was bound, and cut out by - the back pasture and climbed through the underbrush to the top of the - mountain. Keeping carefully out of sight, I followed the crest along for - a couple of miles to a natural amphitheatre in the hills, where the - little river ramped down out of a gorge, and stopped for breath in a - large and placid rock-bound pool. That was the spot! I sat down on the - croup of the mountain, where I could see all that occurred, and lighted - my pipe.</p> - <p>Ere many minutes had passed, John Claverhouse came plodding up the bed - of the stream. Bellona was ambling about him, and they were in high - feather, her short, snappy barks mingling with his deeper chest-notes. - Arrived at the pool, he threw down the dip-net and sack, and drew from - his hip-pocket what looked like a large, fat candle. But I knew it to be - a stick of “giant”; for such was his method of catching trout. He - dynamited them. He attached the fuse by wrapping the “giant” tightly in - a piece of cotton. Then he ignited the fuse and tossed the explosive - into the pool.</p> - <p>Like a flash, Bellona was into the pool after it. I could have shrieked - aloud for very joy. Claverhouse yelled at her, but without avail. He - pelted her with clods and rocks, but she swam steadily on till she got - the stick of “giant” in her mouth, when she whirled about and headed for - shore. Then, for the first time, he realized his danger, and started to - run. As foreseen and planned by me, she made the bank and took out after - him. Oh, I tell you, it was great! As I have said, the pool lay in a - sort of amphitheatre. Above and below, the stream could be crossed on - stepping-stones. And around and around, up and down and across the - stones, raced Claverhouse and Bellona. I could never have believed that - such an ungainly man could run so fast. But run he did, Bellona - hot-footed after him, and gaining. And then, just as she caught up, he - in full stride, and she leaping with nose at his knee, there was a - sudden flash, a burst of smoke, and terrific detonation, and where man - and dog had been the instant before there was naught to be seen but a - big hole in the ground.</p> - <p>“Death from accident while engaged in illegal fishing.” That was the - verdict of the coroner’s jury; and that is why I pride myself on the - neat and artistic way in which I finished off John Claverhouse. There - was no bungling, no brutality; nothing to be ashamed of in the whole - transaction, as I am sure you will agree. No more does his infernal - laugh go echoing among the hills, and no more does his fat moon-face - rise up to vex me. My days are peaceful now, and my night’s sleep deep. - </p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s02' title='A Caged Lion'> - A CAGED LION</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Frank Norris</div> - <p>In front of the entrance a “spieler” stood on a starch-box and beat - upon a piece of tin with a stick, and we weakly succumbed to his - frenzied appeals and went inside. We did this, I am sure, partly to - please the “spieler,” who would have been dreadfully disappointed if we - had not done so, but partly, too, to please Toppan, who was always - interested in the great beasts and liked to watch them.</p> - <p>It is possible that you may remember Toppan as the man who married - Victoria Boyden, and, in so doing, thrust his greatness from him and - became a bank-clerk instead of an explorer. After he married, he came to - be quite ashamed of what he had done in Thibet and Africa and other - unknown corners of the earth, and, after a while, very seldom spoke of - that part of his life at all; or, when he did, it was only to allude to - it as a passing boyish fancy, altogether foolish and silly, like - calf-love and early attempts at poetry.</p> - <p>“I used to think I was going to set the world on fire at one time,” he - said once; “I suppose every young fellow has some such ideas. I only - made an ass of myself, and I’m glad I’m well out of it. Victoria saved - me from that.” </p> - <p>But this was long afterward. He died hard, and sometimes he would have - moments of strength in his weakness, just as before he had given up his - career during a moment of weakness in his strength. During the first - years after he had given up his career, he thought he was content with - the way things had come to be; but it was not so, and now and then the - old feeling, the love of the old life, the old ambition, would be - stirred into activity again by some sight, or sound, or episode in the - conventional life around him. A chance paragraph in a newspaper, a sight - of the Arizona deserts of sage and cactus, a momentary panic on a - ferry-boat, sometimes even fine music or a great poem would wake the - better part of him to the desire of doing great things. At such times - the longing grew big and troublous within him to cut loose from it all, - and get back to those places of the earth where there were neither - months nor years, and where the days of the week had no names; where he - could feel unknown winds blowing against his face and unnamed mountains - rising beneath his feet; where he could see great sandy, stony stretches - of desert with hot, blue shadows, and plains of salt, and thickets of - jungle-grass, broken only by the lairs of beasts and the paths the - steinbok make when they go down to water.</p> - <p>The most trifling thing would recall all this to him just as a couple - of notes have recalled to you whole arias and overtures. But with Toppan - it was as though one had recalled the arias and the overtures, and then - was not allowed to sing them.</p> - <p>We went into the arena and sat down. The ring in the middle was fenced - in by a great, circular iron cage. The tiers of seats rose around this, - a band was playing in a box over the entrance, and the whole interior - was lighted by an electric globe slung over the middle of the cage. - Inside a brown bear—to me less suggestive of a wild animal than of - lap-robes and furriers’ signs—was dancing sleepily and allowing - himself to be prodded by a person whose celluloid standing-collar showed - white at the neck above the green of his Tyrolese costume. The bear was - mangy, and his steel muzzle had chafed him, and Toppan said he was - corrupted of moth and rust alike, and the audience applauded but feebly - when he and his keeper withdrew.</p> - <p>After this we had a clown-elephant, dressed in a bib and tucker and - vast baggy breeches—like those of a particularly big French - <i>Turco</i>—who had lunch with his keeper, and rang the bell and - drank his wine and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief like a bed-quilt, - and pulled the chair from underneath his companion, seeming to be amused - at it all with a strange sort of suppressed elephantine mirth.</p> - <p>And then, after they had both made their bow and gone out, in bounded - and tumbled the dogs, barking and grinning all over, jumping up on their - stools and benches, wriggling and pushing one another about, giggling - and excited like so many kindergarten children on a show day. I am sure - they enjoyed their performance as much as the audience did, for they - never had to be told what to do, and seemed only too eager for their - turn to come. The best of it all was that they were quite unconscious of - the audience, and appeared to do their tricks for the sake of the tricks - themselves, and not for the applause which followed them. And, then, - after the usual programme of wicker cylinders, hoops, and balls was - over, they all rushed off amid a furious scrattling of paws and - filliping of tails and heels. </p> - <p>While this was going on, we had been hearing from time to time a great - sound, half-whine, half-rumbling guttural cough, that came from - somewhere behind the exit from the cage. It was repeated at rapidly - decreasing intervals, and grew lower in pitch until it ended in a short - bass grunt. It sounded cruel and menacing, and when at its full volume - the wood of the benches under us thrilled and vibrated.</p> - <p>There was a little pause in the programme while the arena was cleared - and new and much larger and heavier paraphernalia were set about, and a - gentleman with well-groomed hair and a very shiny hat entered and - announced “the world’s greatest lion-tamer.” Then he went away and the - tamer came in and stood expectantly by the side of the entrance. There - was another short wait and the band struck a long minor chord.</p> - <p>And then they came in, one after the other, with long, crouching, - lurching strides, not all good-humoredly, like the dogs or the elephant, - or even the bear, but with low-hanging heads, surly, watchful, their - eyes gleaming with the rage and hate that burned in their hearts, and - that they dared not vent. Their loose, yellow hides rolled and rippled - over the great muscles as they moved, and the breath coming from their - hot, half-open mouths turned to steam as it struck the air. </p> - <p>A huge, blue-painted see-saw was dragged out to the centre, and the - tamer made a sharp sound of command. Slowly, and with twitching tails, - two of them obeyed, and, clambering upon the balancing-board, swung up - and down, while the music played a see-saw waltz. And all the while - their great eyes flamed with the detestation of the thing, and their - black upper lips curled away from their long fangs in protest of this - hourly renewed humiliation and degradation.</p> - <p>And one of the others, while waiting his turn to be whipped and - bullied, sat up on his haunches and faced us and looked far away beyond - us over the heads of the audience—over the continent and ocean, as - it were—as though he saw something in that quarter that made him - forget his present surroundings.</p> - <p>“You grand old brute,” muttered Toppan; and then he said: “Do you know - what you would see if you were to look into his eyes now? You would see - Africa, and unnamed mountains, and great stony stretches of desert, with - hot blue shadows, and plains of salt, and lairs in the jungle-grass, and - lurking places near the paths the steinbok make when they go down to - water. But now he’s hampered and caged—<i>is</i> there anything - worse than a caged lion?—and kept from the life he loves and was - made for”—just here the tamer spoke sharply to him, and his eyes - and crest drooped—“and ruled over,” concluded Toppan, “by some one - who is not so great as he, who has spoiled what was best in him, and has - turned his powers to trivial, resultless uses—some one weaker than - he, yet stronger. Ah, well, old brute, it was yours once, we will - remember that.”</p> - <p>They wheeled out a clumsy velocipede built expressly for him, and, - while the lash whistled and snapped about him, the conquered king heaved - himself upon it and went around and around the ring, while the band - played a quickstep. The audience broke into applause, and the tamer - smirked and bobbed his well-oiled head. I thought of Samson performing - for the Philistines and Thusnelda at the triumph of Germanicus. The - great beasts, grand though conquered, seemed to be the only dignified - ones in the whole business. I hated the audience who saw their shame - from behind iron bars; I hated myself for being one of them; and I hated - the smug, sniggering tamer. </p> - <p>This latter had been drawing out various stools and ladders, and now - arranged the lions upon them so they should form a pyramid, with himself - on top.</p> - <p>Then he swung himself up among them, with his heels upon their necks, - and, taking hold of the jaws of one, wrenched them apart with a great - show of strength, turning his head to the audience so that all should - see.</p> - <p>And just then the electric light above him cackled harshly, guttered, - dropped down to a pencil of dull red, then went out, and the place was - absolutely dark.</p> - <p>The band stopped abruptly, with a discord, and there was an instant of - silence. Then we heard the stools and ladders clattering as the lions - leaped down; and straightway four pair of lambent green spots burned out - of the darkness and traveled swiftly about here and there, crossing and - recrossing one another like the lights of steamers in a storm. - Heretofore, the lions had been sluggish and inert; now they were aroused - and alert in an instant, and we could hear the swift <i>pad-pad</i> of - their heavy feet as they swung around the arena, and the sound of their - great bodies rubbing against the bars of the cage as one and the other - passed nearer to us. </p> - <p>I don’t think the audience at all appreciated the situation at first, - for no one moved or seemed excited, and one shrill voice suggested that - the band should play “When the Electric Lights Go Out.”</p> - <p>“Keep perfectly quiet, please!” called the tamer out of the darkness, - and a certain peculiar ring in his voice was the first intimation of a - possible danger.</p> - <p>But Toppan knew; and as we heard the tamer fumbling for the catch of - the gate, which he somehow could not loose in the darkness, he said, - with a rising voice: “He wants to get that gate open pretty quick.”</p> - <p>But for their restless movements the lions were quiet; they uttered no - sound, which was a bad sign. Blinking and dazed by the garish - blue-whiteness of a few moments before, they could see perfectly now - where the tamer was blind.</p> - <p>“Listen,” said Toppan. Near to us, and on the inside of the cage, we - could hear a sound as of some slender body being whisked back and forth - over the surface of the floor. In an instant I guessed what it was; one - of the lions was crouched there, whipping his sides with his tail.</p> - <p>“When he stops that, he’ll spring,” said Toppan, excitedly.</p> - <p>“Bring a light, Jerry—quick!” came the tamer’s voice.</p> - <p>People were clambering to their feet by this time, talking loud, and we - heard a woman cry out.</p> - <p>“Please keep as quiet as possible, ladies and gentlemen!” cried the - tamer; “it won’t do to excite——”</p> - <p>From the direction of the voice came the sound of a heavy fall and a - crash that shook the iron gratings in their sockets.</p> - <p>“He’s got him!” shouted Toppan.</p> - <p>And then what a scene! In that thick darkness every one sprang up, - stumbling over the seats and over each other, all shouting and crying - out, suddenly stricken with a panic fear of something they could not - see. Inside the barred death-trap every lion suddenly gave tongue at - once, until the air shook and sang in our ears. We could hear the great - cats hurling themselves against the bars, and could see their eyes - leaving brassy streaks against the darkness as they leaped. Two more - sprang, as the first had done, toward that quarter of the cage from - which came sounds of stamping and struggling, and then the tamer began - to scream.</p> - <p>I think that so long as I shall live I shall not forget the sound of - the tamer’s screams. He did not scream as a woman would have done, from - the head, but from the chest, which sounded so much worse that I was - sick from it in a second with that sickness that weakens one at the pit - of the stomach and along the muscles at the back of the legs. He did not - pause for a second. Every breath was a scream, and every scream was - alike, and one heard through it all the long snarls of satisfied hate - and revenge, muffled by the man’s clothes and the <i>rip</i>, <i>rip</i> - of the cruel, blunt claws.</p> - <p>Hearing it all in the dark, as we did, made it all the more dreadful. I - think for a time I must have taken leave of my senses. I was ready to - vomit for the sickness that was upon me, and I beat my hands raw upon - the iron bars or clasped them over my ears against the sounds of the - dreadful thing that was doing behind them. I remember praying aloud that - it might soon be over with, so only those screams might be stopped.</p> - <p>It seemed as though it had gone on for hours, when some men rushed in - with a lantern and long, sharp irons. A hundred voices cried: “Here he - is, over here!” and they ran around outside the cage and threw the light - of the lantern on a place where a heap of gray, gold-laced clothes - writhed and twisted beneath three great bulks of fulvous hide and - bristling black mane. </p> - <p>The irons were useless. The three furies dragged their prey out of - their reach and crouched over it again and recommenced. No one dared to - go into the cage, and still the man lived and struggled and screamed. - </p> - <p>I saw Toppan’s fingers go to his mouth, and through that medley of - dreadful noises there issued a sound that, sick as I was, made me shrink - anew and close my eyes and teeth and shudder as though some cold slime - had been poured through the hollow of my bones where the marrow should - be. It was as the noise of the whistling of a fine whip-lash, mingled - with the whirr of a locust magnified a hundred times, and ended in an - abrupt clacking noise thrice repeated.</p> - <p>At once I remembered where I had heard it before, because, having once - heard the hiss of an aroused and angry serpent, no child of Eve can ever - forget it.</p> - <p>The sound that now came from between Toppan’s teeth and that filled the - arena from wall to wall, was the sound that I had heard once before in - the Paris Jardin des Plantes at feeding-time—the sound made by the - great constrictors, when their huge bodies are looped and coiled like a - <i>reata</i> for the throw that never misses, that never relaxes, and - that no beast of the field is built strong enough to withstand. All the - filthy wickedness and abominable malice of the centuries since the Enemy - first entered into that shape that crawls was concentrated in that - hoarse, whistling hiss—a hiss that was cold and piercing, like an - icicle-made sound. It was not loud, but had in it some sort of - penetrating quality that cut through the waves of horrid sounds about - us, as the snake-carved prow of a Viking galley might have cut its way - through the tumbling eddies of a tide-rip.</p> - <p>At the second repetition the lions paused. None better than they knew - what was the meaning of that hiss. They had heard it before in their - native hunting-grounds in the earlier days of summer, when the first - heat lay close over all the jungle like the hollow of the palm of an - angry god. Or if they themselves had not heard it, their sires before - them had, and the fear of the thing bred into their bones suddenly - leaped to life at the sound and gripped them and held them close.</p> - <p>When for a third time the sound sung and shrilled in their ears, their - heads drew between their shoulders, their great eyes grew small and - glittering, the hackles rose and stiffened on their backs, their tails - drooped, and they backed slowly to the further side of the cage and - cowered there, whining and beaten.</p> - <p>Toppan wiped the sweat from the inside of his hands and went into the - cage with the keepers and gathered up the panting, broken body, with its - twitching fingers and dead, white face and ears, and carried it out. As - they lifted it, the handful of pitiful medals dropped from the shredded, - gray coat and rattled down upon the floor. In the silence that had now - succeeded, it was about the only sound one heard.</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>As we sat that evening on the porch of Toppan’s house, in a fashionable - suburb of the city, he said, for the third time: “I had that trick from - a Mpongwee headman,” and added: “It was while I was at Victoria Falls, - waiting to cross the Kalahari Desert.”</p> - <p>Then he continued, his eyes growing keener and his manner changing: - “There is some interesting work to be done in that quarter by some one. - You see, the Kalahari runs like this”—he drew the lines on the - ground with his cane—“coming down in something like this shape - from the Orange River to about the twentieth parallel south. The aneroid - gives its average elevation about six hundred feet. I didn’t cross it at - the time, because we had sickness and the porters cut. But I made a lot - of geological observations, and from these I have built up a theory that - the Kalahari is no desert at all, but a big, well-watered plateau, with - higher ground to the east and west. The tribes, too, thereabout call the - place ‘Linoka-Noka’ and that’s the Bantu for rivers upon rivers. They’re - nasty, though, these Bantu, and gave us a lot of trouble. They have a - way of spitting little poisoned thorns into you unawares, and your - tongue swells up and turns blue and your teeth fall out - and——” </p> - <p>His wife Victoria came out on the porch in evening-dress.</p> - <p>“Ah, Vic,” said Toppan, jumping up, with a very sweet smile, “we were - just talking about your paper-german next Tuesday, and <i>I</i> think we - might have some very pretty favors made out of white - tissue-paper—roses and butterflies, you know.”</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s03' - title='The Race Bond'>THE RACE BOND</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Gwendolen Overton</div> - <p>The whistle of the steamer saluted three times—twice short and - once long—the sun which rose over the deep green mountains of - Costa Rica. The signal was answered in due time. A small tug put off - from the long iron pier. There was a launch at the end of its tow line, - a big, flat scow of a lighter. It came out across the smooth - mother-of-pearl stretch of water, jerking and bobbing over the great - Pacific swells. The tug shot by the steamer, the launch threw loose the - tow line, and as it came alongside the forward cargo hatchway, a - <i>lanchero</i> pitched another rope up to the boatswain.</p> - <p>There followed delay. There must of necessity follow delay when the - crews and captains of launches are West Coast natives—Mexican - stevedores at the very best—and most of the sailors on the - steamers the same. The first-officer, down on the main deck, gave - orders, there was a creaking of hawsers on the strain, the rattle and - squeal of blocks and tackle, and the rumble of moving freight in one of - the forward cargo-spaces. The captain, immaculate in ducks, came out - from his cabin. He went to the rail and looked over at La Libertad, - where the white and red of its long, low houses showed clear in the - daybreak among the glistening palms. Then he looked down. There were - eight or ten <i>lancheros</i> in the lighter helping to confuse the very - simple process of making her fast, or perched upon the gunwale observing - with the vague placidity of their kind.</p> - <p>The captain had no opinion of Central American natives of any sort, - much less of <i>lancheros</i>. He considered these ones with rather more - than usual disgust.</p> - <p>“What’s the matter with them fellows in that launch, Marsden,” he - inquired of the first-officer.</p> - <p>Marsden was peering down into the black hole of the hold. He drew away - and looked up to the rail of the hurricane deck. “Played out, sir,” he - told him; “they were loading the <i>San Benito</i> until she put out - last night at eleven.”</p> - <p>The captain had no sympathy for them on that, or any other score. His - eye was without mercy, as he took stock of them again. “Hullo—one - of them is white,” he said. It was meant, as before, for the - first-officer, but it was entirely audible to the <i>lancheros</i>.</p> - <p>The first-officer looked over into the launch, and the man who was - white looked up at him. Then the first-officer turned away. “Yes, sir,” - he said. </p> - <p>He walked to the hatchway edge. “Quartermaster,” he called. A voice - from the hold answered him. “Send up those boxes of nails first,” he - ordered.</p> - <p>There followed a banging in the cargo-space, the boatswain’s whistle - began its shrill little calls, which would keep up all day, a donkey - engine puffed, and a windlass rattled in the bowels of the ship; the big - hook on the end of its rope swung down the hatchway, and presently a - net-sling full of boxes was hoisted and deposited on the main deck.</p> - <p>“T. S. & Co., over X, one—Garcia, three times—Y in a - diamond, two times—J. S. & Co., over X, four.” The first-officer - marked the boxes with his chalk as he called their address and number, - the checky for the port authorities and the freight-clerk for the ship - kept tally and record in their own books; the net drew taut again at the - boatswain’s whistle, and the first load of cargo swung overside and was - lowered into the launch.</p> - <p>The first-officer went to the side and watched it. It was the white man - who unhooked the sling, who spilled out the boxes, and sent the sling - back empty, all with a promptness that no native <i>lancheros</i> could - have hoped, or would have dreamed of, attempting to attain. These looked - rather more than usually dead and alive. Nominally, he was not the - <i>capitan</i> of the launch, but it was clear that he was the - self-constituted boss of it. The captain of the steamer said as - much—“Must make their heads swim, that fellow.”</p> - <p>The mate answered “Yes, sir,” again; but another net full of boxes was - coming up. He went back to them. “J. S. & Co. over X, two times—Y - in a diamond, one,” he called. The checky and the freight-clerk - registered; and the work of the day was well under way.</p> - <p>But in spite of the one white man in the launch below it did not go - with the speed the mate would have desired. The crew of the alternating - launch was demoralized and worthless to the last degree. “Half - dead—and it’s a <i>fiesta</i> besides, so they’re half drunk, - too,” he remarked upon it to the captain. He pushed his cap back with - the visor on his crown, and ran across his wet forehead the sleeve of a - coat which had begun the day white. It was two o’clock of an October - afternoon, and the heat was one of these things the fullness whereof can - only be realized from having been experienced, which mere imagination is - powerless to present.</p> - <p>The <i>lancheros</i> were fumbling aimlessly at a load of steel rails. - There was no white man in this lighter, and the management of it showed - as much. Three rails were swung clashing together down on some crates - that smashed like match-boxes under them. The mate raised his shoulders. - It was not his business—so long as the breakage was not done on - the ship, he was not accountable for it. Checky and the <i>capitan</i> - of the “lanch” could settle that on shore.</p> - <p>“What’s in those crates?” the captain inquired.</p> - <p>“Merchandise—breakable,” answered the first-officer, cheerfully. - </p> - <p>“Brutes,” commented the captain. He gave expression to his views on - black-and-tan <i>lancheros</i> in general.</p> - <p>The mate nodded. He bent over the hatchway. “Quartermaster,” he called, - “send up somebody with a marlinspike to mend this sling.” Then he went - over and looked down into the launch. “<i>Despacio abajo</i>, hurry - up—eh?” he shouted by way of suggestion to four <i>lancheros</i> - who were pulling two ways on every rail, and had managed to drop into - the water a rope sling, which it was affording them much concern and - confusion, and the others much chattering and amusement, to fish out - again.</p> - <p>Marsden did not appear to be in a communicative mood, but the captain - was oblivious to moods after the manner of the insistently good-humored - and talkative.</p> - <p>“It must be infernally unpleasant for that white fellow to work with - the dogs,” he opined.</p> - <p>“I expect so,” said Marsden. It was not a tone encouraging a pursuance - of the subject. But the captain did not know it.</p> - <p>“The <i>capitan</i> won’t stand his bossing some time,” he kept it up; - “there’ll be a row, and the whole crew’ll take only too much pleasure in - sticking their knives into him. He looks steady. Must be in a pretty bad - way to come to that. Don’t know that I ever saw a white man in the fix - along here before. He’d better get out of it while his skin’s whole.” - </p> - <p>“Wonder who he is?” he asked, presently. It was in the nature of an - inquiry addressed to no one in general, and the mate in particular. The - mate did not answer. He was concerning himself about a delay in the - hold, and called down some orders which were superfluous, in view of the - fact that the boatswain had just gone scuttling down the ladder to - attend to things himself.</p> - <p>The captain, however, was not put off. He had nothing to do. “Do you - know?” he asked, when the mate came below him again.</p> - <p>“Know what, sir?” Marsden was thinking his own thoughts. He had not - paid much attention.</p> - <p>“Who that fellow is?”</p> - <p>“Man named Stanwood,” said the first-officer, and he tried to head the - captain off by another order to the hold. It was accompanied by - profanity. The delay was nobody’s fault, but, as is frequently the case, - the oaths expended in one direction were inspired from another.</p> - <p>It was a pity the captain couldn’t go aft and work a reckoning, or talk - to the passengers. Not that he objected to the captain. The captain was - a very good sort. It was the topic Marsden disliked.</p> - <p>“Stanwood—rather imposing for a <i>lanchero</i> in there with all - them black brutes, aint it? Not that he’s any cleaner, though. Who told - you it was that?”</p> - <p>“Nobody,” said Marsden; “I know it.”</p> - <p>It broke in upon the captain then that he was being discouraged. “Oh!” - he said. There followed a pause. “You’d better have a new rope through - that block there when you’re ready to hoist those iron chimney stacks.” - </p> - <p>“Yes, sir,” answered the mate. The captain strolled off to the - quarter-deck to watch the second-steward fishing for sharks.</p> - <p>But time was not hanging heavy on Marsden’s hands. There was a look of - bad weather, and if they were to get off that night, as might prove - highly desirable, there had got to be a lot more hustling than the - <i>lancheros</i> seemed capable of. </p> - <p>The launch alongside had about all it could carry, and its - <i>capitan</i> was calling for the tug, the soft, mournful note of his - conch shell floating over the water to the shore. Marsden, by way of - losing no time himself, ran up to the hurricane-deck and on to the - bridge, and the whistle screeched across the blue-green of the sea, - glinting in the sun, across the little port among its palms, and beyond - through the lush jungle of the piling mountains, where the trees and - vines and undergrowth matted in the moist, breathless temperature of a - green-house. There were black clouds piling up behind the mountains, and - rolling low into the great cañons and clefts of palm and fern trees. - Marsden eyed them as he went below again.</p> - <p>The launch alongside was loaded and sent adrift, to be picked up by the - tug and towed back to the wharf. The tug was bringing out the other - one—the one in which Stanwood was of the crew. Marsden wished that - he were not. A man may have been your enemy. He may have brought about - your finish. You may have thought for years that nothing could be too - bad for him. But all the same—if he is a white man, one of your - own kind, be he never so much of a scoundrel, it is not good to see him - working among Central American <i>lancheros</i>, under a <i>capitan</i> - of the same breed. It is a trifle too low. He is one of your own race, - after all, and it hits you through the race.</p> - <p>Marsden stood considering, keeping his balance as the ship rolled, at - an angle of forty-five degrees to the line of the deck, backward or - forward, according as she went to weather or to lee. It would have taken - quite all the attention of a landsman to manage the feat at any effort, - and with that he would probably have gone upon his skull or his nose. - But Marsden was not even thinking about it. He was thinking of the time - that Stanwood had bribed a Guatemala high official—with money - already a long way from clean—and had thereby established in that - misgoverned little country his altogether baseless claim to Marsden’s - own sugar <i>finca</i> and refinery. It was the kind of thing that can - be, and is constantly being, done south of twenty-three. And all your - American citizenship can not avail to save you; rather, in fact, the - other way—one of the mishaps of which you take your chance when - you go to those countries to make a fortune, away from the hustle of - colder climes. But it had been a blackguardly trick, nevertheless. And - it had done for Marsden financially for good and all. He had thought - himself in luck afterward to get the opportunity to ship to San - Francisco on a P. M. steamer as a hand. He had been down to his last - <i>real</i> then.</p> - <p>It had done for him in other ways, too. Even now that he had got his - master’s license, and worked up by quick stages to - first-mate—well—his people on the other side of the - continent lived a different sort of life, went in for another and more - conventional style of thing. So did the people of the girl he had meant - to make mistress of his beautiful sugar plantation. He had been in love - with her since his school-days at home—pretty much ever since he - could remember, so far as that went. But it had obviously been out of - the question to expect her to marry a deck-hand. He had stopped writing - to her before long. It had been better for her. As for himself—it - didn’t matter much. His own life was very thoroughly spoiled, anyway. - And the girl had married—a man of her own sort, which he himself - had ceased to be.</p> - <p>He owed all that to Stanwood. He owed a good deal to Stanwood. He had - always intended to pay it some day, too—at the first chance that - should present itself. Was this the chance? Perhaps.</p> - <p>Evidently wrong-doing had not prospered Stanwood. He had probably come - out with that degraded, dirty gang, in that “lanch” which stunk of bilge - water and other filth beyond a white man’s stomach almost, for no other - reason than to get an opportunity to stow, or to ask a passage - up—as Marsden himself had been obliged to ask five years before. - He would not try it now, of course. He had nerve enough for about - anything, but hardly enough for that. He would have to wait at least a - week for another ship and another first-officer. </p> - <p>It happened, nevertheless, that Marsden wanted another sailor. At the - last port, Corinto, one of his men had gone ashore to see one of the - sick mothers he kept along the coast, and that had been the last seen of - <i>him</i>. Marsden was anxious to fill the vacancy, but Stanwood should - not have it. He could work with the launch gang a while longer. It was - small enough punishment for his misdeeds.</p> - <p>The launch swung alongside. Stanwood was in her. He was having an - altercation with the <i>capitan</i>, too, and the <i>capitan</i> had - been taking more <i>tequila</i>, apparently. It would be the course of - wisdom for the Gringo <i>lanchero</i> to hold his peace and his tongue, - if he were not looking for a speedy exit from a bad sort of life. The - <i>capitan</i> and his gang would like nothing better than severally and - collectively to stick knives into him. </p> - <p>Once again the launch went off, discharged her cargo, and came back for - another load. This time it was before the other launch was quite ready - to be towed away, so she made fast, bow and stern, to her, and the idle - <i>lancheros</i> fell to eating some food they had brought with them as - they waited. They crouched together in a group, getting a good deal of - fun out of it. There were the inevitable <i>frijoles</i> and bread and - bottled coffee, and there was besides a most unwonted treat, a leg of - mutton. They passed it from one to the other, and each gnawed at it with - his gleaming teeth, grinning over the game.</p> - <p>Stanwood crouched among them. But he was not having fun out of it. He - was not grinning. He scooped up the common mess of black beans with - scraps of crust. He was ragged and dirty as they were. But he did not - take his degradation with their good humor. He looked sullen and lean - and hungry.</p> - <p>Marsden watched him. It was not a pleasant sight, and he felt a kind of - sick disgust and pity. But he wanted to see if the bone of meat would go - to the white man in the end, and if the white man would take it. It came - to the last of the natives. He picked it all but clean with a show of - keen enjoyment. There were a few shreds left. He examined them. Then, - with the insolence of a base breed having the upper hand, he tossed it - over at Stanwood. It struck him on the chest. Marsden could see the - killing hate in his eyes, and the shutting of his teeth under the ragged - black beard. Then—and he was conscious of a deep relief—he - saw him pick up the bone, stand in the scow, and drop it over into the - water. </p> - <p>Marsden turned away. It was not only of relief that he was conscious, - but of a killing hate of the half-breed <i>lancheros</i> equal to - Stanwood’s own, as well. </p> - <p>The clouds which, at noon, had been rising behind the mountains and - dropping dark into the valleys and cañons, had spread half over the sky. - There was a low, whining wind, growing steadily stronger. And the seven - thousand miles of sea stretching unbroken to the west was sending in - heavier ground swells to the open harbor. The steamer went heaving from - side to side. Even the sailors were finding it not always easy to keep - their footing. And it was now that the great iron chimney stacks had to - be brought up. It would not have been a small matter at the best. At - present it was extremely dangerous. The loaded lighter had gone off. The - tackle had been changed on the block of the foremost derrick to new - hemp, yellow and strong. </p> - <p>There was the huge clangor and rumble of hollow iron striking against - iron down in the cargo-space. The mate had taken out his own whistle. - The responsibility was too great to be intrusted to subordinates here. - He shrilled one order after another, or shouted them in nautical English - and strange Spanish, and they were answered from the depths of the hold. - The monster tube rolled into the opening guided by a man naked to the - waist, on whose brown torso, swelling with muscles, the sweat rolled and - glistened. The stack rose slowly upward—roaring its vast basso - protests as it struck—fifty feet long, a yard in diameter, heavy, - unwieldy, plunging as the ship rolled to starboard, down and down, and - back to port, down and down again.</p> - <p>It was a formidable thing, all but unmanageable even there. But once - clear of the hatchway it flung itself, charging and swinging and - threshing, with the great iron bellow of warning. The sailors jumped - from its way. There was only the mate to handle it. The ship gave a - heavy lurch to starboard. The chimney whirled and lunged toward him with - a vibrating song of onslaught, and the voice of the white man in the - launch below called an involuntary “Look out!” An instant of the - hesitation of fear and the mate would have been struck overboard by all - the force of the great cylinder of iron. But he put out his hand and - pushed it, and it swung off harmlessly enough, as docile as it was - formidable.</p> - <p>The little whistle shrilled, the derrick moved its long arm around and - out, and the stack hung overside, directly above the launch. The - <i>lancheros</i> had retreated to the sides, ready to scramble out of - the way, or to jump overboard, if need should be. They stood looking up - at it uneasily. If the rope were to break or slip, if the mate were to - give a wrong order——</p> - <p>Suddenly the steamer came over to starboard with a deep roll, and the - great stack dropped with her. The mate saw the chance of mishap. His - whistle piped a sharp, quick order to hoist. The <i>lancheros</i> - cowered, their arms over their heads—all but Stanwood. He stood - watching a chance. The stack swung and whirled, gigantic and awful, not - a foot above his reach. But the rope had been just too short. The ship - heaved back, and with a reverberation of metal thunder as it struck - against the hull, the cylinder swung up again. </p> - <p>Courage came back to the <i>capitan</i> of the lighter then, and with - it all his powers of mean impertinence. He shouted up curses at the - first-officer. They were vile, as curses can only be vile in that - “language of prayer.” And the first-officer understood them perfectly. - But he had no time to take notice of them. The ship had got to get off - that night. And the stacks had got to be unloaded. But it was far from - simple to get even this first one lowered into the launch. Several times - they dropped it almost to its place, then, because the empty scow bobbed - one way in a swell, and the ship another, it had to be hoisted once - more. And once the windlass refused to work at a signal. There was a - delay until it could be repaired. The <i>capitan</i> of the - <i>lancheros</i> waxed more impertinent and abusive; the <i>tequila</i> - with which he had been refreshing himself on shore was beginning to take - its violent effect. In the absorption of his abuse of the ship and all - its crew, he forgot to order his own men. The stack was coming down once - again, with a fair chance of landing squarely in the bottom at - last—if the <i>lancheros</i> should be quick enough at guiding it. - But they were doing nothing, frightened half out of their little - available senses. And their <i>capitan</i> was yelling foul words aloft. - It was a critical instant. The white <i>lanchero</i> knew it. He gave an - order. It was all the men needed—a head. They made to obey. But - the boss, in the madness of <i>tequila</i>, turned on his white hand. - Was <i>he</i> the <i>capitan</i>? Was <i>he</i> in command? He had the - signal conch shell in his hand. He brought it down with a cracking blow - on Stanwood’s head. </p> - <p>The first-officer, watching the critical descent of the iron monster - with all his attention, saw Stanwood spring at the boss’s throat, saw - the knives of the other <i>lancheros</i> drawn, saw them swarming astern - to the rescue of their fellow, ten of them against one. And the iron - stack was swaying just above them. Another starboard roll—they - would be crushed under it. And another moment lost and the Gringo would - have ten knives in his neck and back. The little whistle shrilled - sharply twice, and even as its order was obeyed and the windlass - reversed, the first-officer was sliding overside down the manrope, had - kicked himself off from the hull, and landed in the launch. </p> - <p>It was a short fight. The first-officer had his six-shooter, the white - <i>lanchero</i> his knife, like another. The natives were fierce with - blood lust, and the drunkenness of knife gleam and <i>tequila</i>. But - it was a matter of coolness and of the dominant race. Before the captain - on the hurricane-deck could run to his cabin for his carbine, it was - over with. Two <i>lancheros</i> had disabling bullet wounds, and the - rest had retreated to the bow, all the flush of fight gone out of them, - whipped and cringing and scared.</p> - <p>The first-officer and the white <i>lanchero</i> stood astern. They had - been cut, and the ducks of the first-officer were red. Blood oozed - through the <i>lanchero’s</i> rags. He got breath for a moment clutching - at the gunwale. Then he turned to the first-officer. “Thank you,” he - said.</p> - <p>Marsden looked at him, slowly, from his shaggy black hair to his bare - feet. “Don’t mention it,” he answered. Then he looked up at the ship. - “Unhook that stack for the present, and send down the chair for us,” he - ordered, coolly. </p> - <p>He considered his left arm. The blood was bubbling out just above the - elbow. He knew what it meant. He had seen the thing before. It would be - all right once a tourniquet should be put above it. But before that, - before the doctor could get down in the chair, he would very likely - faint. He was feeling light-headed already—and his eyes were - glazing over. He shut his right hand hard above the wound. </p> - <p>“You can’t stay with this, Stanwood,” he told the <i>lanchero</i>. His - voice sounded to himself far away and dead. He was not altogether sure - what he was saying. He glanced up. Away and away overhead in a vague - distance of hot blue, the chair was beginning to lower. He must make - haste. He spoke carefully, with precision, swaying unsteadily as the - launch rolled. </p> - <p>“We lost a man at Corinto,” he went on; “we—need an—other. - You can ship to Frisco with us if——” he staggered, then - caught himself, “if you—like.”</p> - <p>The chair with the doctor touched the bottom of the scow. The - first-officer had fallen, and was lying quite still. The white - <i>lanchero</i> was bending over him, clenching his two hands tight - about the wounded arm.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s04' - title='The Rajah’s Nemesis'>THE RAJAH’S NEMESIS</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By W. C. Morrow</div> - <p>In my travels abroad I once encountered an extraordinary illustration - of the shifts to which Nature will resort in her efforts to overcome the - inconvenience arising from a deprivation of the tools with which she is - accustomed to work; and the facts of the case are sufficiently peculiar - and tragic to warrant their relation. </p> - <p>I was summoned from Calcutta to proceed to the heart of India, being - wanted by a certain rich and powerful rajah to perform a dangerous - surgical operation upon one of the women of his household. I found the - rajah to be a man of lofty character, noble and generous; but, as - circumstances afterward developed, he was possessed of a sense of - cruelty purely Oriental and in sharp contrast to the extreme indolence - of his disposition. He was so grateful for the success which attended my - mission that he urged me to remain his guest at the palace as long as it - should please me to stay; and, as may be surmised, I thankfully accepted - the invitation. </p> - <p>One of his servants early attracted my notice, for he was a man of - marvelous capacity of malice and vindictiveness. His name was Neranya, - and I am certain that there must have been a large proportion of Malay - blood in his veins; for, unlike the Indians (from whom he differed also - in complexion), he was extremely active, alert, nervous, and sensitive. - He had one redeeming trait, and that was love for his master.</p> - <p>Once his violent temper led him to the commission of an atrocious - crime—the fatal stabbing of a dwarf. In punishment for this the - rajah ordered that Neranya’s right arm (the offending one) be severed - from his body. The sentence was executed in rather a bungling fashion by - a stupid fellow armed with an axe; and I, being a surgeon, was - compelled, in order to save Neranya’s life, to perform a second - amputation upon the stump of the arm, which left not a vestige of the - limb remaining.</p> - <p>Just here, as a possible partial explanation of the terrible and - extraordinary things which followed, I must call intelligent attention - to a matter which has long engaged my notice.</p> - <p>We see that when one arm has been lost, the other acquires an unwonted - dexterity, thus measurably compensating for the loss. Further, if both - arms have been removed, an extraordinary nimbleness is exhibited in the - feet, for they come to discharge to a considerable extent the functions - of hands—to so great an extent that the toes display a power of - prehension which one might suppose had not existed in them since our - abandonment, in the evolutionary process, of the tree-climbing habit. - Thus, with the toes an armless man may learn to hold a pen and to write, - to load and fire a pistol, to cut food with a knife, and convey it to - his mouth with a fork, to sew, and to do a hundred other useful things, - and some which are purely ornamental, as painting, playing a harp, and - the like. I once saw an armless man give his wife a sound thrashing with - a rawhide whip.</p> - <p>If, now, one of the legs be removed, the remaining foot will develop an - almost redoubled capacity, its agility being marvelous. But suppose that - this member, too, should be parted with—has Nature reached the end - of her resources? Remember, the dexterity that she developed in those - members which remained after the amputation of others was primarily of a - character to take the place of that which enabled the others to minister - to the needs of life. Granted that both arms and both legs are gone, has - Nature, I have asked, reached the limit of her resources, in the - accomplishment of an earnest and controlling purpose, praiseworthy or - perverted?</p> - <p>Let us inquire into the philosophy of the process by which this - compensating dexterity is developed. It is easy for the scientists to - tell us that this is done by the concentration of the will and the - persistent exercise of the muscles in obedience thereto; but to my - understanding this explanation is not sufficient. The principle of life, - the amazing persistence of this principle, and the ways in which this - persistence is maintained, are all inscrutable mysteries, necessarily - and forever beyond our comprehension. It is the fashion of - transcendentalism (not followed, however, by the greater scientists) to - maintain that we have a spiritual, as well as a material, nature; and by - evolution there has grown out of that belief another, that this - spiritual nature is imperishable, indestructible—the fashionable, - though inaccurate, term is “immortal.” The spirit is assumed to be the - <i>ego</i>, the consciousness—that which fixes individuality and - determines identity.</p> - <p>Now, we know that mind is consciousness, and that the mind has its seat - within the brain. But the brain is identical in its chemical, - structural, molecular, and functional characteristics with the nerves - which lead from it and ramify throughout the body; therefore the mind, - and consequently the spirit, ramifies throughout the body; and hence it - follows that if the spirit is indestructible and should be separated - from the body (by death or otherwise) it must have the essential form - and appearance of the body. The fact of our being unable to see it - presents no obstacle to the argument; for we are unable to see countless - things which we are certain exist. The argument thus put in logical - shape may account, by unconscious synthetical reasoning, for the - prevalent belief, seemingly inherent, that the spirit retains the form - of the body after death; for there is no other conception of the human - spirit’s form—we never imagine it as having the shape of a ball, - or a comet, or a balloon, or a cloud, or as being formless.</p> - <p>Then it must follow that, assuming the spirit to be indestructible and - as having the form of the body, the amputation of a limb does not - exterminate that part of the spirit which occupied that limb; but as the - indivisibility of the spirit must be admitted as an essential factor of - identity and individuality, that part of the spirit which had occupied - the amputated limb must always be present in the place where the limb - had been, and must there, in that place, possess all the consciousness - and intelligence which belonged to it before the limb was amputated.</p> - <p>This argument may be pursued to some astonishing conclusions which do - not vitally concern the purposes of this relation. I might be asked, for - instance, if the potentiality of a spirit is dependent upon its - possession and control of a body, of what avail is it to speculate upon - the unseparated existence of the spirit of an amputated limb? But there - are some who declare that this dependence need not and does not always - exist.</p> - <p>This, it must be understood, is not the line of argument pursued by - scientists, for they have a purely materialistic explanation for all the - singular phenomena resulting from amputation; but are they not - inconsistent? They admit the inscrutable mystery of the principle of - life and all its countless corollaries, and yet they glibly explain the - evidently marvelous results of a serious interference with the normal - operation of that principle, as in the case of amputation. Is it not - possible that there is danger of too much explanation of these wonderful - mysteries?</p> - <p>Let us proceed with the strange story of Neranya. After the loss of his - arm, he developed an increased fiendishness, an augmented - vindictiveness. His love for his master was changed to hate, and in his - mad anger, he flung discretion to the winds. He was so unruly and - violent in disposition that he could not conceal his feelings. The - rajah, a proud, scornful man, increased Neranya’s hate by treating him - with contempt and scorn, which had the effect of driving the wretch to - frenzy. In a mad moment he sprang upon the rajah with a knife, but he - was seized and disarmed. To his unspeakable dismay the rajah sentenced - him for this offense to suffer amputation of the remaining arm. It was - done as in the former instance.</p> - <p>This had a temporary effect in curbing the man’s spirit, or rather in - changing the outward manifestation of his diabolic nature. Being - armless, he was at first largely at the mercy of those who ministered to - his wants—a duty which I undertook to see was properly discharged, - for I felt an interest in this horribly perverted and distorted nature. - This sense of helplessness, combined with a damnable scheme for revenge - which he had secretly formed, caused Neranya to change his fierce, - impetuous, and unruly conduct into a smooth, quiet, insinuating manner, - which he carried so artfully as not only to secure a peace and comfort - which he had never known before, but also to deceive those with whom he - was brought in contact, including the rajah himself.</p> - <p>Neranya, being exceedingly quick, nimble, and intelligent, and having a - tremendous will, turned his attention to the cultivation of dexterity in - his legs, feet, and toes; and in due time he was able to perform - wonderful feats with those members, such as I have noticed already. His - capacity especially for destructive mischief was restored.</p> - <p>One morning, the rajah’s only son, a young man of an exceedingly - lovable and noble character, was found dead in bed. His murder was a - singularly atrocious one, the body being mutilated in a sickening - manner; but, in my eyes, the most significant of all the mutilations was - <i>the entire removal and disappearance of the young man’s arms</i>. In - the wild distraction which ensued in the palace upon the discovery of - the mutilated body, the importance of that one fact was overlooked. It - was the basis, however, of a minute investigation, which I made, and - which, in time, led me to the discovery of the murderer.</p> - <p>The murder of the young man nearly proved the death of the rajah, who - was thrown into a serious illness, which required all my skill and - attention to combat. It was not, therefore, until his recovery that - there began a systematic and intelligent inquiry into the murder. I said - nothing of my own discoveries and conclusions, and in no way interfered - with the work of the rajah and his officers; but, after their efforts - had failed and I had completed my own work, I submitted to the rajah a - written report, making a close analysis of all the circumstances, and - closing by charging Neranya with the murder. (I still have a copy of - that singular report, and I regret that its length prevents its - insertion here. It deals with unusual facts and is an illustration of - the value of special knowledge and pure reason in the detection of - crime.) My facts, arguments, and deductions were so convincing that the - rajah at once ordered Neranya to be put to death, this to be - accomplished by slow and frightful torture. The sentence was so cruel, - so revolting, that it filled me with horror, and I implored that the - wretch might be shot. Finally, purely through a sense of noble - gratitude, the rajah yielded. When Neranya was charged with the crime, - he denied it, of course; but, seeing that the rajah was convinced, and - upon being shown my report (which embodied a knowledge of anatomy and - surgery that he had never dreamed of), he threw aside all restraint, - and, dancing, laughing, and shrieking in the most horrible manner, - confessed his guilt and gloated over it—all this, believing that - he would be shot on the morrow.</p> - <p>During the night, however, the rajah changed his mind, and sending for - me in the morning, informed me of his new decision. It was that - Neranya’s life should be spared, but that both his legs should be - crushed with heavy hammers and then that I should amputate both limbs as - close to the trunk as possible! I was too much astounded to utter a - protest; and, besides there was grounded within me that unyielding, and - often inhuman, medical principle, which counts the saving of life at any - cost the highest duty. I may add that, appended to this horrible - sentence, was a provision for keeping the maimed wretch a prisoner and - torturing him at regular intervals by such means as afterward might be - devised.</p> - <p>Sickened to the heart by the awful duty which confronted me, I - nevertheless performed it with success, and I must pass over in silence - the hideous details of the whole affair. Let it suffice to say that - Neranya escaped death very narrowly, and that he was a long time in - recovering his wonted vitality. During all these weeks the rajah neither - saw him nor made inquiries concerning him, but when, as in duty bound, I - made an official report that the man had recovered his strength, the - rajah’s eyes brightened, and he emerged with deadly activity from the - stupor of grief in which he so long had been plunged. He ordered certain - preparations made for the future care of his now helpless victim.</p> - <p>The rajah’s palace was a noble structure, but it is necessary here to - describe only the grand hall. It was an immense room, with a floor of - polished stone and a lofty arched ceiling. A subdued light stole into it - through stained glass set in the roof and in windows on the sides. In - the middle of the room was a fountain which threw up a tall, slender - column of water in the centre, with smaller jets grouped around it. - Across one end of the hall, half-way to the ceiling, was a balcony, - which communicated with the upper story of a wing, and from which a - flight of stairs descended to the stone floor of the hall. This room was - kept at a uniform temperature, and during the hot summers it was - delightfully cool. This was the rajah’s favorite lounging-place, and - when the nights were hot, he had his cot brought hither and here he - slept.</p> - <p>This hall was chosen for Neranya’s permanent abiding-place; here was he - to stay as long as he might live, without ever a glimpse of the face of - nature or the glorious heavens. To one of his restless, nervous, - energetic, discontented nature, the cruelty of such confinement was - worse than death; but there was more yet of suffering in store for him, - for at the rajah’s order there was constructed a small iron pen, in - which Neranya was to be kept. This pen was circular and about four feet - in diameter. It was elevated on four slender iron posts, ten feet from - the floor, and was placed half-way between the fountain and the balcony. - Around the edge of the pen was erected an iron railing, four feet high, - but the top was left open for the convenience of the servants whose duty - it should be to care for him. These precautions for his safe confinement - were taken at my suggestion, for, although the man was deprived of all - four of his limbs, I still feared that he might develop some - extraordinary, unheard-of power for mischief. It was provided that the - attendants should reach his cage by means of a movable ladder. All these - arrangements having been made and Neranya hoisted into his prison, the - rajah emerged upon the balcony to see him, and the two deadly enemies - faced each other. The rajah’s stern face paled at the hideous sight - which met his gaze, but he soon recovered, and the old, hard, cruel, - sinister look returned. Neranya, by an extraordinary motion, had - wriggled himself into an upright position, his back propped against the - railing. His black hair and beard had grown long, and they added to the - natural ferocity of his aspect. Upon seeing the rajah his eyes blazed - with a terrible light, his lips parted, and he gasped for breath. His - face was white with rage and despair, and his thin, distended nostrils - quivered.</p> - <p>The rajah folded his arms and gazed down upon the frightful wreck which - he had made. Neranya returned the gaze with blazing eyes. Oh, the pathos - of that picture, the inhumanity of it, the deep and dismal tragedy of - it! Who might look into that wild, desperate heart and see and - understand the frightful turmoil there, the surging, choking passions, - unbridled but impotent ferocity, frantic thirst for a vengeance that - should be deeper than hell! Neranya gazed, his shapeless body heaving, - his eyes ablaze, and then, in a strong, clear voice which rang - throughout the great hall, with rapid speech he hurled at the rajah the - most insulting defiance, the most awful curses. He cursed the womb that - conceived him, the food that nourished him, the wealth that brought him - power; cursed him in the name of Buddha and all the prophets, in the - name of heaven and of hell; cursed him by the sun, the moon, and the - stars, by all continents, oceans, mountains, and rivers, by all things - living; cursed his head, his heart, his entrails; cursed him in a - furious outpouring of unmentionable words; heaped insults and contumely - upon him; called him a knave, a beast, a fool, a liar, an infamous and - damnable coward. Never had I heard such eloquence of defiance, curses, - and vituperation; never had heard so terrible a denunciation, so - frightful and impetuous an outflow of insults.</p> - <p>The rajah heard it all calmly, without the movement of a muscle or the - slightest change of countenance, and when the poor wretch had exhausted - his strength and fallen helpless and silent to the floor, the rajah, - with a grim, cold smile, turned and strode away.</p> - <p>The days passed. The rajah, not deterred by Neranya’s curses often - heaped upon him, spent even more time than formerly in the great hall, - and slept there oftener at night, and finally Neranya, wearied of - cursing and defying him, maintained a sullen silence. The man was a - study for me, and I noticed every change in his fleeting moods. - Generally his condition was one of miserable despair, which he attempted - bravely to conceal. Even the boon of suicide had been denied him, for - when he was erect the top of the rail was a foot above his head, and he - could not throw himself over it and crush his skull on the stone floor - below; and when he had tried to starve himself the attendants forced - food down his throat, so that he abandoned such attempts. At times his - eyes would blaze and his breath would come in gasps, for imaginary - vengeance was working within him; but steadily he became quieter and - more tractable, and was pleasant and responsive when I conversed with - him. Whatever the tortures the rajah had decided upon, none had as yet - been ordered, and although Neranya knew that they were in contemplation, - he never referred to them or complained of his lot.</p> - <p>The awful climax of this terrible situation was reached one night, and - even after this lapse of years I can not approach a description of it - without a shudder.</p> - <p>It was a hot night, and the rajah had gone to sleep in the great hall - of the palace, lying on a high cot. I had been unable to sleep in my - apartment, and so I stole softly into the hall through the heavily - curtained entrance at the end furthest from the balcony. As I did so, I - heard a peculiar soft sound above the gentle patter of the fountain. - Neranya’s cage was partly concealed from my view by the spraying water, - but I suspected that the unusual sound came from him. Stealing a little - to one side and crouching against the dark hangings of the wall, I could - faintly see him in the dim light which illumined the hall, and then I - discovered that my surmise was correct—Neranya was at work. - Curious to learn more, I sank into a thick robe on the floor and watched - him. My sight was keen and my eyes soon became accustomed to the faint, - soft light.</p> - <p>To my great astonishment Neranya was tearing off with his teeth the bag - which served as his outer garment. He did it cautiously, casting sharp - glances frequently at the rajah, who, sleeping soundly on his cot, - breathed heavily. After starting a strip with his teeth, Neranya would - by the same means attach it to the railing of his cage and then wriggle - away, much after the manner of a caterpillar’s crawling, and this would - cause the strip to be torn out the full length of his garment. He - repeated this operation with incredible patience and skill until his - entire garment had been torn into strips. Two or three of these he tied - together with his tongue, lips, and teeth, and secured the ends in a - similar way to the railing, thus making a short swing on one side. This - done, he tied the other strips together, doubling some which were weak, - and in this way he made a rope several feet in length, one end of which - he made fast to the rail. It then began to dawn upon me that he was - going to make an insane attempt—impossible of achievement without - hands or feet, arms or legs—to escape from his cage! For what - purpose? The rajah was asleep in the hall——! I caught my - breath. Oh, the desperate, insane thirst for revenge which consumed the - impotent, miserable Neranya! Even though he should accomplish the - impossible feat of climbing over the railing of his cage and falling to - the stone floor below (for how could he slide down the rope?), he would - in all probability be killed or stunned; and even if he should escape - these dangers it would be impossible for him to climb upon the cot - without rousing the rajah, and impossible even though the rajah were - dead! A man without arms or legs might descend by falling, he never - could ascend by climbing. Amazed at his daring, and fully convinced that - his sufferings had destroyed his reason, I watched him with breathless, - absorbing interest.</p> - <p>He caught the longer rope in his teeth at a point not far from the - rail. Then, wriggling with great effort to an upright position, his back - braced against the rail, he put his chin over the swing and worked - toward one end. He tightened the grasp of his chin upon the swing, and, - with tremendous exertion, working the lower end of his spine against the - railing, he began gradually to ascend. The labor was so great that he - was compelled to pause at intervals, and his breathing was hard and - painful, and even while thus resting he was in a position of terrible - strain, and his pushing against the swing caused it to press hard - against his windpipe and nearly suffocate him. </p> - <p>After amazing effort he elevated the lower end of his body until it - protruded above the railing, the top of which was now across the lower - end of his abdomen. Gradually he worked his body over, going backward, - until there was sufficient excess of weight on the outer side, and then - with a quick lurch he raised his head and shoulders and swung into a - horizontal position. Of course, he would have fallen to the floor below - had it not been for the rope which he held in his teeth. With such - nicety had he calculated the distance between his mouth and the point of - fastening, that the rope tightened and checked him just as he reached - the horizontal position on the rail. If one had told me beforehand that - such a feat as this man had accomplished was possible, I would have - thought him a fool. I continued to watch with intense interest.</p> - <p>Neranya was now balanced on his stomach across the top of the railing, - and he eased his position somewhat by bending his spine and hanging down - as much as possible. Having rested in this position for some minutes, he - began cautiously to slide off, slowly paying out the rope through his - teeth. Now, it is quite evident that the rope would have escaped from - his teeth laterally when he slightly relaxed his hold to let it slip, - had it not been for a very ingenious device to which he had resorted. - This consisted in his having made a turn of the rope around his neck - before he attached the swing, thus securing a three-fold control of the - rope—one by his teeth, another by friction against his neck, and a - third by his ability to compress it between his cheek and shoulder.</p> - <p>A stupendous and seemingly impossible part of his task was - accomplished. Could he reach the floor in safety? Gradually he worked - himself backward over the rail, in momentary imminent danger of falling; - but his nerve never quivered, and I could see a wonderful glitter in his - eyes. With something of a lurch, his body fell against the outer side of - the railing, and he was hanging by his chin. Slowly he worked his chin - away and then hung suspended by the rope, his neck bearing the weight of - his trunk. By almost imperceptible degrees, with infinite caution, he - descended the rope, and finally his unwieldy body rolled upon the floor, - safe and unhurt!</p> - <p>What next? Was this some superhuman monster who had accomplished this - impossible miracle? Would he immediately spring to invisible feet, run - to the rajah’s bedside, and stab him with an invisible dagger held in an - invisible hand? No; I was too philosophic for such mad thoughts; there - was plenty of time for interference. I was quick and strong. I would - wait awhile and see what other impossible things this monster could do. - </p> - <p>Imagine my astonishment when, instead of approaching the sleeping - rajah, Neranya took another direction. Then it was only escape after all - that the miserable wretch contemplated and not the murder of the rajah! - But how could he escape? The only possible way to reach the outer air - was by ascending the stairs to the balcony and leaving by the corridor, - which opened upon it, and surely it was impossible for Neranya to ascend - that long flight of stairs! Nevertheless, he made for the stairs. He - progressed by lying on his back, with his face toward the point of - destination, bowing his spine upward, and thus causing his head and - shoulders to slip nearly an inch forward, straightening his spine and - pushing forward the lower end of his back a distance equal to that which - his head had advanced, each time pressing his head to the floor to keep - it from slipping. His progress was slow, painful, and laborious, as the - floor was slippery, rendering difficult the task of taking a firm hold - with his head. Finally, he arrived at the foot of the stairs.</p> - <p>It was at once manifest that his purpose was to ascend them. The desire - for freedom must have been strong within him. Wriggling to an upright - position against the newel-post, he looked up at the great height which - he had to climb and sighed; but there was no dimming of the bright light - in his eyes. How could he accomplish the impossible task before him?</p> - <p>His solution of the problem was very simple. While leaning against the - newel-post, he fell in a diagonal position and lay safe upon the bottom - step on his side. Turning upon his back, he wriggled forward along the - step the necessary few inches to reach the rail, scrambled to an - upright, but inverted, position against the rail, and then fell and - landed safely on the second step. This explains the manner in which, - with inconceivable labor, he accomplished the ascent of the entire - flight of stairs.</p> - <p>It being evident that the rajah was not the object of Neranya’s - movements, the anxiety which I had felt on that account was entirely - dispelled, and I watched Neranya now only with a sense of absorbing - interest and curiosity. The things which he had accomplished were - entirely beyond the wildest imagination, and, in a sense, I was in a - condition of helpless wonder. The sympathy which I had always felt for - the unhappy man was now greatly quickened; and as small as I knew the - chances of his ultimate escape to be, I nevertheless hoped that he would - succeed. There was a bare chance that he would fall into the hands of - the British soldiery not far away, and I inwardly prayed for his - success. Any assistance from me, however, was out of the question; nor - should it ever be known that I had witnessed the escape. </p> - <p>Neranya was now upon the balcony, and I could dimly see him wriggling - along as he slowly approached the door. The rail was low, and I could - barely see him beyond it. Finally he stopped and wriggled to an upright - position. His back was toward the hall, but he slowly turned around and - faced me. At that great distance I could not distinguish his features, - but the slowness with which he had worked, even before he had fully - accomplished the ascent of the stairs, was evidence all too eloquent of - his extreme exhaustion. Nothing but a most desperate resolution could - have sustained him thus far, but he had about drawn upon the last - remnant of his strength.</p> - <p>He looked around the hall with a sweeping glance, and then upon the - rajah, who was soundly sleeping immediately beneath him, over twenty - feet down. He looked long and earnestly, sinking lower, and lower, and - lower upon the rail. Suddenly, to my inconceivable astonishment and - dismay, he toppled over and shot downward from his lofty height. I held - my breath, expecting to see him crushed into a bloody mass on the stones - beneath, but instead of that he fell full upon the rajah’s breast, - crashing through the cot, and hurling him to the floor. I sprang forward - with a loud cry for help, and was instantly at the scene of the - disaster. Imagine my indescribable horror when I found that Neranya’s - teeth were buried in the rajah’s throat! With a fierce clutch I tore the - wretch away, but the blood was pouring out in torrents from the - frightfully lacerated throat, the chest was crushed in, and the rajah - was gasping in the death agony. People came running in, terrified. I - turned to Neranya. He lay upon his back, his face hideously smeared with - blood. Murder, and not escape, was his intention from the beginning; he - had adopted the only plan by which there was a possibility of - accomplishing it. I knelt beside him, and saw that he was - dying—his back had been broken by the fall. He smiled sweetly into - my face; and the triumphant look of accomplished revenge sat upon his - face even in death.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s05' - title='The Man-Hunters’ Reward'>THE MAN-HUNTERS’ REWARD</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Buckey O’Neill</div> - <p>“That isn’t a bad reward!”</p> - <p>“No; if a fellow could catch him, he would make pretty good wages. - Let’s see,” and the second speaker began to read the postal-card that - the postmaster at Hard Scrabble had just tacked to the door of the store - that constituted the “office,” so that every one might read:</p> - <div class='tac mt07'>TAKE HIM IN!</div> - <p class='bq mb07'>$500 Reward will be paid for the arrest and delivery of - Rube White to the sheriff of Yavapai County. He is about twenty-five - years old, six feet tall, and slim, with light complexion, and has a big - scar on the right side of his face. He is wanted for robbery and other - crimes. If killed in resisting arrest the reward will be paid on - satisfactory proof of his identity. When last heard from was making for - the Tonto Basin country. </p> - <p>By the time the reader had finished, a crowd of half a dozen or more - men surrounded him.</p> - <p>“Now, if that feller is headed for the Tonto Basin country, it wouldn’t - be much of a trick to take him,” said the first speaker, reflectively, - as if debating with himself the advisability of making the attempt.</p> - <p>“If you hear me, he ain’t going to be taken in, and the feller that - tries it is going to have his hands full. They have been after him for - two or three years and aint got him yet. They say he’s right on the - shoot,” remarked another of the crowd.</p> - <p>“Well, a feller ought to know him as soon as he sees him, from that - description,” hazarded the first speaker, “if he got up close enough to - see the scar; and then all he’d have to do would be to turn loose at him - if he didn’t throw up his hands when you told him. Besides, nobody but - him would try to cross over the mountains into the basin with this snow - on the ground. Blamed if I don’t think I’ll go after him.”</p> - <p>“Well, somebody ought to round him up,” asserted some one in the crowd; - “he’s been foolin’ roun’ hyah long enough, jes havin’ his own way, - sorter as if the country belonged to him. Durned if I wouldn’t go with - you, Hi, if I didn’t have to take this grub over to the boys in camp.” - </p> - <p>“Well, if any of you want to go, all right. I’m going,” replied the man - addressed as Hi.</p> - <p>It was not the first time that Hi Lansing had been on such expeditions. - He was one of those men for whom danger seems to have a fascination. At - his remark, Frank Crandall, a young fellow who had been standing quietly - by, volunteered to accompany him. The crowd turned toward him with more - interest than they had thus far evinced during the entire proceedings. - It was but a few months since he had come among them, fresh from the - East, to take charge of one of the mines which had been closed down by - the winter’s storms. For weeks he had been cooped up in the isolated - settlement, and he longed for something to break its monotony.</p> - <p>“Well, get your horse and gun, and come,” replied Hi, and, in an - instant, the two men had left the room to arm and equip themselves for - the chase, while the loungers gathered around the stove to discuss the - probabilities of their success. In a few minutes, the two men rode past - the door, each armed with a rifle and six-shooter, and the crowd, - stepping out, bade them good-by, with the oft-repeated warning: “Be - keerful and don’t let him get the drop on ye.”</p> - <p>The crust of the unbroken snow cracked crisply under foot as the two - rode on fast, leaving the little settlement in their rear. For some time - neither spoke; but, at last, the silence was broken by Lansing, asking - his young companion: “Did you ever try this kind of thing before?”</p> - <p>“No,” replied the young man; “I never have.”</p> - <p>“Well, then, you want to be keerful. If you don’t lose yer head, you’re - all right. The only danger is that we may run on him before we know it.” - </p> - <p>“And if we do, what then?” asked the young man.</p> - <p>“Well, he will probably commence shooting, and if he does, and you - arn’t hit the first rattle out of the box, why you want to git off’n - your horse and git behind something and shoot back. If ther aint - anything to git behind, keep your horse between you and him, and keep - a-shooting. Whatever you do, don’t let go of your gun. But what we want - to do is to see him first, and then we’ve got the play on him, and all - you have to do is to tell him to throw up.”</p> - <p>“And if he don’t throw up?” asked Crandall.</p> - <p>“Why, then you let him have it. The reward will be paid just the same.” - </p> - <p>The apparent indifference with which Lansing spoke of the entire - matter, much as if he were discussing the best method of hunting a wild - animal, shocked the young man; but he had committed himself too far to - withdraw. Besides he had that feeling that all men have when they are - young—the curiosity to know whether or not he could rely on - himself when danger threatened.</p> - <p>“We should strike his trail on the hills here, if he is really headed - for the basin country,” said Lansing. They had been riding for several - hours in silence through the snow, unbroken by aught save the scattered - pines that here and there dotted the mesa. Before them towered the - mountains through whose passes the man whom they were after would have - to pass in his search for safety in the half-settled wilds beyond.</p> - <p>As the two men rode along, scanning in each direction the snow-covered - mesa, Lansing suddenly wheeled his horse to the right, and when Crandall - joined him he pointed to a narrow trail where two horses had passed - through the snow.</p> - <p>“That’s him. He’s driving one horse and leading another, and he hasn’t - passed by very long, either. See, the snow hasn’t had time to drift in - it,” said he.</p> - <p>With the discovery his whole demeanor had changed. A new look came into - his eyes, and his voice sounded strange. He even grasped his weapons in - a manner different to that he had heretofore displayed. “He’s right - ahead, and we want to look out,” the older man continued, as they began - to follow the trail. As they approached the summit of each hill they - would stop their horses, and Lansing would dismount and crawl to the top - so that he might look, without being discovered, into the valley beyond, - in order that they might not come on the fugitive too suddenly.</p> - <p>They had traveled this way for several miles, when, reining in his - horse, Lansing pointed to what seemed an old road leading off to the - right of the one they were following, and said: “That’s the ‘cut-off’ - into the basin. I thought he would take it, but he probably doesn’t know - the country. You had better take it and ride on ahead until you strike - the road we’re on again. Then if you can’t find his tracks, you had - better ride back to meet me until you do. I will follow the trail up.” - </p> - <p>The young man tried to expostulate with Lansing for the great risk he - was assuming, in thus following the trail alone, but his companion was - obdurate, and, cutting the argument short by again warning the young man - to be on his guard, he rode on, following the trail in the snow, while - the younger man, finding objection useless, took the “cut-off” road. He - had no difficulty in following it, and he wondered why the man they were - in pursuit of had not taken advantage of it. The whole pursuit seemed - almost like a dream to him. The snow, unbroken save by his horse’s - footfall, stretched away mile after mile in every direction, with here - and there a pine through whose branches the wind seemed to sob and sigh, - making the only noise that broke the stillness of the wintry afternoon. - It added to this feeling. Not a thing in sight. He began to depict in - his own mind the manner of man they were pursuing. He had almost - forgotten his name. After all, what had the man done that he, Frank - Crandall, should be seeking his blood? Perhaps, like himself, the man - had a mother and sisters to grieve over any misfortune that would - overtake him. These and a hundred kindred thoughts passed through his - mind. The sun was fast declining as he passed from the “cutoff” into the - main road again. The air was getting chilly with the coming of evening, - and the snow in the distance took on colors of pink and purple where the - rays of the setting sun touched the mountain peaks. He scanned the main - road eagerly to see if the man they were in pursuit of had passed, but - the snow that covered it was unbroken. Then he rode back on the main - road, in the direction from which he had come, to meet his comrade and - the fugitive. He had just ascended one of the many rolling hills, when, - in the distance, he discovered a man riding one horse and driving - another. At the sight his heart almost stood still. He dismounted, and - leading his horse to one side, concealed him in a clump of young pines. - Then he returned to the road-side and waited. The man was urging his - horses forward, but they seemed to be wearied, and made but slow - progress. Crandall felt his heart beat faster and faster at the length - of time it took the man to reach him. He examined his revolver and - rifle, cocking each, to see that they were in order. It seemed to - relieve the tension of his nerves. After he had done this, he knelt down - so that he could fire with surer aim, and waited. He did not care much - now whether the man resisted or not. If the fugitive resisted, he would - have to stand the consequence of resistance. It was nothing to him. He - could hear the footfall of the approaching horses in the snow, and he - cocked his rifle so as to be ready. The setting sun shone full in the - man’s face, but Crandall forgot to look for the scar that the notice had - said was on the right cheek, although he had resolved to do so - particularly. When he first discovered the fugitive, he scanned the road - behind him to discover Lansing, but the nearer the man approached, the - less Crandall cared whether Lansing came or not. He let the man approach - nearer and nearer, so that his aim would be the more accurate. He could - not afford to throw away the first shot. The face of the man grew more - and more distinct. He seemed to be oblivious to his surroundings. - Crandall felt almost disposed to let him pass, but the thought that - every one would think him a coward if he did so, spurred him on, and, - rising erect, he ordered the man to surrender. The horse that the man - was driving in front of him, frightened at Crandall’s appearance, - swerved from the road, leaving the two men facing each other. For an - instant, Crandall looked straight into the other’s eyes. Then the man - raised his rifle from the pommel of the saddle, and Crandall fired. The - horse which the man was riding sprang from the road, and, at the same - moment, its rider’s gun was discharged. The smoke from Crandall’s own - gun blew back into his eyes, and he turned from it to follow the - movements of the man at whom he had fired. As he saw the man still erect - in his saddle, he felt the feverish haste to fire again come over him - that men feel when they have shot and missed, and know that their life - may be the forfeit of their failure. He threw another cartridge into the - chamber of his rifle, and raised it to his shoulder, but before he could - fire, the man reeled from his saddle and fell, while his frightened - horse galloped off through the pines.</p> - <p>Crandall stepped toward him, holding his rifle prepared to fire again, - if necessary. As he did so, the man raised his hand and said, simply: - “Don’t fire—you’ve got me.”</p> - <p>The snow was already red with blood where he lay. For the first time, - Crandall looked for the scar that the description said was on the right - cheek. For an instant he did not see it, and his heart seemed to stop - beating with the fear of having made a mistake, and when, on drawing - nearer, he saw that it was there, that only the pallor which had spread - over the man’s face had made it indistinct, he could have cried out with - joy at the feeling of relief that passed over him. </p> - <p>“Are you badly wounded?” he asked.</p> - <p>“I don’t know how bad it is. It is here somewhere,” the man said, - placing his hand on his breast, as if not certain of the exact spot. “It - feels numb-like,” he added. Stooping down, Crandall unbuckled and took - off the man’s pistol-belt and threw it into the snow, where lay his - rifle, and then he tore open the man’s shirt. As he did so his fingers - came in contact with the warm blood, and he involuntarily drew back, - with a feeling of disgust. </p> - <p>“Did you find it?” asked the man, who was watching him closely, and who - had observed the movement.</p> - <p>Recalled to himself by the question, Crandall again tore at the shirt, - exposing the breast. Where the blood did not cover it, it looked like - marble, despite the dark hair on it. He could not see the wound, on - account of the blood, until he had wiped the latter from the breast, and - then he found it.</p> - <p>“What do you think of it?” the man asked.</p> - <p>“There it is,” replied Crandall. He could not say more. The appealing - tone in the man’s voice for some hope—some - encouragement—made him feel faint and sick.</p> - <p>“What do you think of it?” the man repeated, in a querulous voice, and, - as he did so, he coughed until his mouth filled with blood, and he spat - it out on the white snow.</p> - <p>Crandall shook his head and walked toward where his horse was tied. He - felt that if he watched the wounded man any longer he would faint. - Noticing his walking away, the wounded man said: “For God’s sake, don’t - leave me. Now that you have killed me, stay with me, and don’t let me - die like a dog.”</p> - <p>The voice was one of entreaty, and Crandall returned and seated himself - in the snow by the man’s side. The sun had gone down, and the twilight - had come on, bringing with it the chill of night. Crandall covered the - wounded man’s body with his overcoat, and raised his head from the snow. - Almost unconsciously he noted that as the patch of red made by the blood - grew larger and larger, the face of the wounded man grew whiter and - whiter. He never took his eyes from Crandall’s face, while his breath - came quicker and shorter, as if he breathed with labor. With each breath - the blood seemed to bubble from the wound in the breast. One of the - man’s hands fell from under the coat that covered him. As Crandall - raised it from the snow, its coldness sent a chill through him. Once he - had asked the wounded man if he could do anything for him; but the man - had only shaken his head in reply. Crandall felt like reviling himself - for what he had done, and wondered why the wounded man did not reproach - him. Even when he expressed his sorrow at having shot him, the dying man - had said, gently: “Don’t mind it. It’s too late now.”</p> - <p>The twilight gave way to darkness, and still he sat there. He could not - hear the dying man breathe without leaning over his face. He did not do - this but once, though, and then the dying man had opened his eyes and - looked up into his face, inquiringly. Crandall would rather have stayed - there until morning than to have caught that look again. </p> - <p>Suddenly he heard a voice call to him. He started as if he had been - fired at, but it was only Lansing. As he answered the call, Lansing rode - forward and, seeing the outstretched form on the snow, said: “By God, - you got him!” </p> - <p>“Hush!” replied Crandall, fearful lest the wounded man would hear the - exulting tone which grated on his own ears as nothing had ever before - done. But not minding the admonition, Lansing dismounted, and striking a - match held it close to the man’s face. It was pale and cold, and the - half-opened eyes were glazed. They did not even reflect the light made - from the match, but from the partly opened mouth a tiny stream of - half-congealed blood seemed to be still flowing down over the beard.</p> - <p>“That’s him, and it’s a pretty good day’s work we have done by earning - that reward,” said Lansing, coolly, as the match went out. </p> - <p>Somehow, though, as Crandall lay awake through the night, within a few - yards of the body, to keep the wolves from it so that it would be - unmarred in the morning when they would lash it to a horse and take it - into the settlements for identification, he wondered why Lansing could - sleep so soundly. As for himself, the rigid form, covered with only a - saddle-blanket, lying where the snow was red instead of white, was - always before his eyes, even when he closed them.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s06' - title='Conscience Money'> CONSCIENCE MONEY</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Geraldine Bonner</div> - <p>In January the darkness settles early in Paris. It was not yet five, - and it was closing in, soft and sudden. This particular night it was - rendered denser by the light rain that was falling—one of those - needle-pointed, noiseless rains that come in the midst of a Paris winter - and persist for days.</p> - <p>Celia Reardon came home through it, letting her skirts flap against her - heels. The package of sketches she had not sold to the dealer on the Rue - Bonaparte was under her arm. From beneath the dark tent of her umbrella - she looked straight before her down the vista of the street, glistening - and winking from its lamps and windows. The light, striking clearly on - her face, revealed it as small, pale, and plain, with a tight line of - lip, and eyes sombrely staring at nothing. She made no attempt to lift - her sodden skirt or avoid puddles.</p> - <p>Walking heavily forward through the early dusk, she was advancing to - meet the giant Despair.</p> - <p>This was on her mind, and, to the observant eye, in her face. Celia - knew of only one way to evade the approaching giant. It was by the turn - that led to the river. Many people, in their terror at his approach, - took this turn. She had seen them in the morgue in the days when she was - new to Paris, and went about seeing the sights like a tourist.</p> - <p>After the dealer on the Rue Bonaparte had given her back the sketches, - telling her it was impossible to sell them, she had turned downward - toward the <i>quais</i>, and came out there, under the skeleton trees, - where the book-stalls line the wall. The dark, slumberous current of the - river swept by under the gemmed arches of its bridges. It was carrying - away all the foul and useless things of the day’s tumultuous life, all - going helter-skelter, pell-mell, to the oblivion of the sea.</p> - <p>She thought of herself going with them, whirling about in the currents, - serenely indifferent to everything that tortured her now. The thought - had a creeping fascination. She drew nearer, staring down at the water, - stabbed with hundreds of quivering lights, and saw herself—a face, - a trail of hair, a few folds of eddying drapery—go floating by. A - sudden gust of wind snatched at her umbrella, and shook a deluge from - the tree boughs, fretting the surface of the pools. It roused her, and - she turned away shuddering. She would wait and meet the Giant face to - face.</p> - <p>As she turned into the <i>impasse</i> where her studio was, she felt - that he was getting very near. The long walk had tired her. Since - yesterday her only food had been the free tea at the Girls’ Club. Her - door was the last on the left-hand side, and broke the face of what - looked a blank wall. Near it a bell-handle hung on the end of a wire. On - the fourth floor she opened a door that had her card nailed to it.</p> - <p>The studio was dark, only the large window showed a dim, gray square. - She lit the lamp, and then, suddenly, in the recklessness of her - desperation, the fire. There were eight pieces of wood and six - briquettes in the box. She would burn them all. She would burn the bed - and the chairs, but she would be warm to-night. To-morrow was twelve - hours off.</p> - <p>The light showed the emptiness of the chill, barn-like room. The walls - alone were furnished, decorated with a series of life-class studies, - some made twenty years before, when she had been the star of one of the - Julians. Now these spirited delineations of nakedness, unlovely and - unabashed, offered silent testimony to the brilliant promise of Celia - Reardon’s youth. To-night she only thought of the fire and cowered over - it—a little, pale shadow of a woman, near upon middle age. </p> - <p>For hours she sat watching the flames dart up through the holes in the - briquettes. The warmth consoled her. She grew dreamy and retrospective. - Her thoughts went slipping back from point to point, in the glamourous - past, when she had been hung in the Salon, and sold her pictures, and - was an artist people spoke of who would some day “arrive.” From those - radiant days of youth and hope, things had been gradually declining to - this—one by one stand-bys failing and her old patrons leaving, - rich Americans who ordered copies growing scarcer and scarcer. Finally - no money to hire models, bad food, and, in consequence, declining - health, poor work that failed to find a market; pride coming to her aid - and withdrawing her from the help of friends; furtive visits to the Mont - de Piete, and more dreaded ones to the dealers on the Rue Bonaparte; and - to-night the end of all things.</p> - <p>It was late when she slept. Waking in the gray dawn she found herself - lying cramped and cold in front of the white ashes of the fire, and - crept shivering to bed. There she slept on till after midday. She felt - weak and stupid when she rose, and her dressing took a long time. She - began to realize that her state was nearly as bad physically as it was - financially. </p> - <p>It was better to walk about the streets till the hour for tea than to - freeze in the studio. She put on her hat and jacket, relics of better - days to which she desperately clung, and went forth. In the night the - thermometer had fallen and the rain had turned to snow. She buried her - chin in her collar and tried to walk briskly. She thought she would go - to the Louvre, which was warm, and sit there till four, when she could - come back to the Girls’ Club. Both walks were long, but the hour’s rest - at the Louvre would strengthen her, and there was still the faint - possibility of meeting some one she knew who would order a copy.</p> - <p>She felt singularly tired when the long flank of Catharine de’ Medici’s - part of the old palace came into view with the river sucking at the - wall. All the surroundings were gray and motionless like a picture, and - in the midst of this dead immobility the swift, turbulent tide rolled - on, a thing of sinister life, calling to her as it sped. Midway across - the bridge she stopped to look down on it, and then stood gazing, - fascinated, unable to tear herself away.</p> - <p>Close to her, on the coping of the wall, an image-seller had set out - his wares. They were a dream of fair women, classic and modern. The - solemn majesty of the great Venus was contrasted with Phryne hiding her - eyes in a spasm of modesty. Clytie, with the perfect fall of her - shoulders, rising from the lily leaves that fold back as if unwilling to - hide so much beauty, stood droopingly beside the proud nakedness of - Falguière’s Diane. The boy who presided over this gallery of - loveliness—a meagre Italian, his face nipped with - frost—stood a hunched-up, wretched figure, his eyes questioning - the passers-by.</p> - <p>Presently one of these halted in the hurrying march with an eye on - Clytie. The boy drew his hands from his pockets, and with piteous - eagerness held out the bust. The tones of his voice penetrated Celia’s - dark musings, and she looked that way.</p> - <p>The buyer was a lady, young, and of a curiously soft and silly - prettiness. She displayed all of a Parisienne’s flawless finish. Her - cheek, by art or nature, was like a magnolia petal; her hair showed - burnished on its loose ripples. Beneath the edge of her veil her - uncovered mouth appeared, fresh as a child’s, serious, and charmingly - foolish. Her chin rested on a fluff of white tulle and was a white of a - warmer tint. There was dubious debate in her glance as it paused on the - figures. She looked the incarnation of sweet indecision. Presently she - decided on Clytie, and said she would take it with her. Celia knew she - had bought the head from a sudden, careless pity for the boy’s red nose - and chilblains. If <i>she</i> had peddled sketches on the bridge, with - her nose red and her toes coming through her boots, she, too, would have - made money, she thought, as she hungrily wondered how much the boy had - made by his sale.</p> - <p>The lady unclasped the little bag that hung by a chain to her wrist, - and searched for money. She was evidently careless, and carried many - things therein. Suddenly she jerked out a whisp of pocket-handkerchief, - and under it found the <i>cache</i> where the money had been secreted. - She bent her face to search for the desired coin, and so did not see - that with the handkerchief a five-franc piece had been twitched out.</p> - <p>Celia did see. She saw it spring out, and then drop into a bank of - snow, noiselessly, as if purposely to avoid detection. She made a step - forward to pick it up and return it. And then she stopped—a - thought went through her like a zigzag of lightning. Cupidity, born of - hunger, burst into life in her, and nailed her to the spot, her mouth - dry, her eyes vacant of expression. For the first time in her life - Temptation gripped her.</p> - <p>The traditions of generations of seemly New England forbears cried out - upon her and struggled within her. But she stood her ground. The coin - lying in the snow seemed of more importance to her than everything else - in the world. </p> - <p>As the lady passed away, Celia drew near the images. The boy was - rearranging them. When his back was turned she bent down and groped in - the snow. Then rose with her face red.</p> - <p>She crushed down the shame that surged in her, and turned to leave the - bridge. There is a Duval on the Boulevard St. Germain, and she almost - ran to it, thinking as she went of what she would order. She would spend - two francs and a half, allowing a twenty-five centime <i>pourboire</i> - for the girl. </p> - <p>It was not the crowded hour, and she had no need to hurry. She ate - sumptuously and slowly, and began to feel the revivifying tide of life - flowing back into her starved body. The Giant began to look dim and - distant. The river called no more. In the leisurely French fashion she - sat a long time over her meal. The day was darkening to its early - twilight as she emerged and fared down the boulevard.</p> - <p>She was walking slowly down the great street, her body warmed, the - cries of her hunger stilled, when the enormity of her act began to force - itself upon her. She refused to acknowledge it at first. Hunger was - sufficient excuse. But not so much her conscience as her sense of dainty - self-respect insisted on her shame. She was a thief. Her whiteness was - stained forever. She had never before done anything for which to blush - or to lie. Her poverty, her discouragement, her pitiful, proud - struggles, had always been honest. She would as soon have thought of - murdering some one as of stealing from them. </p> - <p>Now she had done it. One moment’s temptation had marked her forever. As - the money had fallen into the snow something in her had fallen, never to - rise. </p> - <p>Pursued by harassing thoughts, she half-unconsciously wended her way - toward the river. Here, unencumbered by houses, daylight still lingered. - The gray afternoon was dying with a frosty brilliance. In its death - throes it exhaled a sudden, angry red which broke through the clouds in - smoldering radiance. Its flush tinted the sky and touched the tops of - the wavelets, and Celia felt it on her face like the color of shame.</p> - <p>As she stood staring at it, her pallor glazed with an unnatural blush, - an inspiration came to her which sent a tide of real color into her - face. A manner of redeeming herself suddenly was revealed to her. She - would give the rest of the money to the most needy person she met that - evening. She would walk the city till she found some one more deserving - of it than she. Then she would give all she had—share her theft - with some other pauper to whom two francs would mean salvation.</p> - <p>She felt instantly stimulated and revived by a return of self-respect. - Either side of the river would be rich in case of heartbreak and hunger. - Standing in the middle of the bridge, she looked from the straight line - of gray houses on the Quai Voltaire to the vast façade of the Louvre. - Then some whim impelled her to choose the side of the city where wealth - dwells, and she walked forward toward the <i>guichets</i> of the old - palace.</p> - <p>The city had on the first phase of its evening aspect of brilliantly - illumined gayety. People were dining; she caught glimpses of them over - the half-curtains of restaurant windows. Women in voluminous wraps were - making mincing exits from the hotel doorways to waiting fiacres. There - was the <i>frou-frou</i> of skirts, whiffs of perfumery, the shifting of - many feet under the arcades of the Rue de Rivoli.</p> - <p>Passing the entrance of one of the largest hotels, she was arrested by - a familiar voice, and a richly clad and rustling lady deflected her - course from the carriage that awaited her at the curb toward the - astonished artist. Celia felt a curious sensation of fatefulness when - she saw in the face before her that of an old patron, long absent from - Paris. The lady gave her a warm greeting; she wanted to see her - to-morrow, apropos of some copies to be made. Had Celia time to make the - copies? Well, then, would she come to lunch to-morrow and talk it over? - </p> - <p>The little artist blinked in the glare of the doorway and the lady’s - diamonds. She would.</p> - <p>And now would she go to the theatre with the lady? Only her niece was - with her, and they had a box.</p> - <p>No—Celia could not do that. She - had—er—business—business that might keep her up very - late. </p> - <p>The carriage rolled away with the lady and the niece, and Celia turned - up one of the side streets that lead to the great boulevard. So Fortune - was going to smile on her once more. All the more reason to square - things with her conscience. She grasped her purse tightly and looked - about her as she passed up the narrow thoroughfare. Misery often lurked - ashamed in corners. She knew just how and why. </p> - <p>A few moments more walking, with an occasional turn into cross-cuts, - brought her into the spacious widening of the ways before the Gare St. - Lazare. It was particularly lively inside the depot inclosure, as the - boat train for Calais was soon to leave. There was an incessant rattling - of carriages piled high with trunks, and a great disgorging of - travelers, who ran staggering up the steps weighted with the amazing - amount of hand luggage indispensable to the Continental tourist.</p> - <p>Certainly it did not look a promising place in which to seek distressed - humanity. Celia turned away and began to walk upward toward the street - which flanks the building on the left, and winds an ascending course - toward Montmartre. It was badly lit, sheltered by the vast blank wall of - the depot, and showed only an occasional passer-by, and the lamps of a - long line of waiting fiacres.</p> - <p>As she advanced into the semi-obscurity of this dark byway, a carriage - rattled up and stopped precipitately near the side entrance into the - yard. A man sprang out and then turned with a sort of elaboration of - gallantry and helped out a woman. Celia idly noted her trim foot as it - felt for the step, her darkly clad, elegant figure, then her face. It - came with a shock of familiarity on its smooth, rounded prettiness; now, - however, no longer placid, but deeply disturbed. Under it unwonted - currents of feeling were corrugating the brow and making the lips droop. - Only an eye used to note faces would have recognized it as that of the - woman who had bought the head of Clytie a few hours before.</p> - <p>Celia loitered, and then drew back into the shadow of the wall. The - woman was evidently in the grip of mental distress. Apprehension, - indecision, terror almost, were stamped on her mobile and childish - countenance. The man stretched his hand inside the carriage and pulled - out two valises. He spoke to her, shortly but with slightly veiled - tenderness, and with a start like a frightened animal she drew back into - the shadow. He paid the driver, and then, standing between the bags, he - drew out his pocket-book and gave her some murmured instructions.</p> - <p>She suddenly interrupted him in a louder key.</p> - <p>“I have my ticket,” she said, “I bought it this afternoon. I passed - Cook’s, and went in and bought it.”</p> - <p>“You bought it yourself?” giving her a fatuously loving look from under - his hat-brim, “you were afraid we would perhaps be late? Dear one, how - thoughtful!”</p> - <p>“I don’t know what I thought. Oh, yes, I do. I thought if I went in to - buy it here with you I might see some one I knew. That would be so - dreadful.” </p> - <p>“Of course, you must not go in with me. You must wait here. Keep back - in the shadow there while I’m gone.”</p> - <p>“Here—take it—Oh, I’m so nervous! Take it, and get yours, - and then come back.”</p> - <p>She feverishly clawed off the little bag she wore on her wrist, and - thrust it into his hand. Though less obviously so, the man was also - nervous. He clutched up his valises, and put them down; then glanced - uneasily up and down the street’s dim length.</p> - <p>“I’ll go alone and buy mine,” he said, “and put the bags in the - compartment. I’ll be gone a few moments. You wait here, and don’t move - till I come for you.”</p> - <p>“Oh, of course, not. I shouldn’t dare. And please hurry. I don’t see - how I will ever be able to get in. At any moment I might meet some one I - know. Think of what that would be! I had no idea this was going to be so - terrible. It’s not easy to do wrong.”</p> - <p>“Do wrong?” echoed the man, in a tone of tender, though somewhat - hurried, reproof. “Don’t say such foolish things. We have a right to - happiness. Oh—er—haven’t you got a veil you could put on - when you enter the Gare? It would be better.” </p> - <p>A bell rang within the building, and the woman gave a suppressed - shriek. </p> - <p>“Oh, go—go!” she cried wildly. “Don’t stop to talk now. That may - be the train. What would happen if we missed it?”</p> - <p>The bell struck him into action, too, and he hurried off, swaying - between the two heavy valises.</p> - <p>Celia, from her station near the wall, was too smitten by the sudden - revelation before her to have will to move. So she was eloping, this - baby-cheeked creature, whose kindly impulse had prompted her to buy the - Clytie from the frost-nipped boy on the bridge. Without any natural - predisposition in that direction, she was going the way of the Devil, - and even at this stage stood aghast, bemused, and terrified at what she - had done.</p> - <p>The Frenchwoman moved forward into the light, and stood for a moment - watching her departing lover. Then she began to send fearful glances up - and down the street. Celia thought she could hear her breathing, and the - thumping of her heart. It was not hard to see how she had been cajoled - and overruled.</p> - <p>Suddenly, from the fullness of her heart her mouth spoke: “Oh, I want - to go home.” She spoke aloud, making at the same moment a gesture of - clasping her hands. Her face took on an expression as near to resolution - as possible. Its flower-soft curves stiffened. Her lover was gone, and - her hypnotized will was struggling to life. </p> - <p>She turned desperately toward the line of carriages and beckoned to the - <i>cocher</i> of the nearest one, then dropped the raised hand to her - wrist, where the bag had hung. It encountered nothing, and in a moment - she remembered that her purse was with the man.</p> - <p>“Good God!” she said, and this time the violent Gallic ejaculation - sounded appropriate.</p> - <p>As the carriage rattled up, Celia came out of the shadow. She spoke - excellent French, and the Parisienne might have thought her a - fellow-countrywoman. “What is the matter?” she said, quietly. “Do you - feel sick?”</p> - <p>“No—no—but my money is gone. I gave my purse to my friend, - and now I want to go back.”</p> - <p>“But he’ll be here again in a minute.”</p> - <p>“That’s just it—in a minute. And I must go before he comes back, - and I have no money.”</p> - <p>“You can always pay the <i>cocher</i> at the house.”</p> - <p>“Not now—not to-night.”</p> - <p>She was far past a regard for the ordinary reticences of every-day - life, but the humiliation of her admission was in her face. “My - husband—he’s there, with only one old servant. He thinks I’m in - the country with my mother. So I was till this afternoon. If I come home - unexpectedly with no money to pay the <i>cocher</i>, he will be - surprised. He will be angry. He will want to know all about it—I - can’t explain it or tell more lies. I was mad when I said I’d go. I - didn’t realize—Oh, good heavens!” with a sudden burst of agonized - incoherence, “here he is! He’s coming and that will be the end of me.” - </p> - <p>Celia turned. Against the bright background of the depot entrance she - saw the Frenchman’s thick-set figure coming rapidly down the steps. He - had got rid of the valises, and was almost running.</p> - <p>“Quick,” she said, and turning to the waiting carriage wrenched open - the door.</p> - <p>“Get in,” she commanded. The terrified creature did so. She was ready - to be dominated by any imperious will. Celia stretched her arm through - the window, and into the little gloved hand pressed the two-franc piece, - then cried:</p> - <p>“You can tell the <i>cocher</i> the address when you get started. Don’t - stop him till you get some way off. Go,” she cried to the man, “down by - the Rue Auber—don’t waste a minute. Fly!”</p> - <p>The <i>cocher</i> flicked his horse with the whip, and it started. At - the window a pale face appeared, and Celia heard the cry: “But your - name, your address? I must send the money back.”</p> - <p>“Never mind that,” cried Celia, “it isn’t mine. It’s conscience money.” - </p> - <p>The fiacre rolled down the street, and, plunging into the mêlée of - vehicles, wound its way through the press to the Rue Auber. A man - standing on the sidewalk drew the stares of the passers-by as he gazed - blankly this way and that. A woman quietly picked her way across the - <i>carrefour</i>, toward the station where one takes the Vaugirard - omnibus.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s07' title='The Jack-Pot'> - THE JACK-POT</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Charles Dwight Willard</div> - <p>There were five of us in the party—six, counting Long Tom, the - guide. After two days’ hard climbing, which the <i>burros</i> endured - with exemplary fortitude, we arrived at the little valley high up in the - mountains, through which threaded the trout-stream. </p> - <p>“Jest you all go over into the cabin there and make yourself comf’ble, - while I ’tend to gettin’ this stuff unpacked,” said Long Tom; “there - ain’t no one there. My pardner, he’s down below.”</p> - <p>“The cabin appears to be two cabins,” said the colonel, as we - approached it.</p> - <p>“That is for economy in ridge-poles,” said the doctor; “sleeping - apartments on one side and kitchen on the other. In the space between, - you keep your fishing-tackle and worms.”</p> - <p>We entered the right-hand section of the twin cabin, which proved to be - the kitchen side. There was not much furniture—a table of hewn - logs, a chair of bent saplings, and a rough bench.</p> - <p>However, we did not notice such furniture as there was, for each member - of the party, as he stepped over the high threshold, had his attention - instantly attracted by the stove, and a brief roundelay of ejaculations - went along the group.</p> - <p>“Well, that staggers me,” said the stock-broker.</p> - <p>“H’m,” said the professor, in a mysterious tone, and rubbed his chin. - </p> - <p>The stove was a plain, small cooking-range, rather old and rusty. The - strange thing about it was its position. Its abbreviated legs stood upon - large cedar posts, which were planted in the floor and were over four - feet in height. This brought the stove away up in mid-air, so that the - top was about on a level with the face of the colonel, and he was a - six-footer.</p> - <p>We formed in a circle about the stove and stared at it as solemnly as a - group of priests around a sacrificial tripod. We felt of the - posts—they were firm and solid, showing that the mysterious - arrangement was a permanent, not a temporary, one. Then we all bent our - necks and opened our mouths to look up at the hole in the roof, through - which the stove-pipe vanished.</p> - <p>Suddenly the stock-broker burst out into a laugh.</p> - <p>“Oh, I understand it now,” said he.</p> - <p>“Understand what?” asked the colonel, sharply.</p> - <p>“Why Long Tom has his stove hoisted up so high from the floor.”</p> - <p>“So do I,” said the doctor; “but I suspect that my explanation is not - the same that any one else would offer.”</p> - <p>“Well, I will bet that I am right,” said the stock-broker, “and put up - the money.”</p> - <p>“I am in this,” said the judge; “I have a clear idea about that stove - and will back it.”</p> - <p>“Make it a jack-pot,” said the colonel; “I want to take a hand.” </p> - <p>The stock-broker drew a small yellow coin out of his pocket and dropped - it on the table.</p> - <p>“He has the stove up there,” he said, “to get a better draught. In this - rarefied mountain air there is only a small amount of oxygen to the - cubic inch, and combustion is more difficult to secure than in the lower - latitudes. I have heard that if you get high enough up, you can’t cook - an egg—that is, I mean, water won’t boil—or something like - that,” he continued, thrown into sudden confusion by the discovery that - the professor’s eye was fixed upon him with a sarcastic gaze.</p> - <p>“Is that supposed to be science?” demanded the professor.</p> - <p>“Well,” said the stock-broker, doggedly, “never mind the reasons. - Experience is probably good enough for Long Tom. He finds that he gets a - better draught for his stove by having it up in mid-air, so he has it - there.”</p> - <p>“The right explanation,” began the professor, “is the simplest. My idea - is that——”</p> - <p>“Excuse me,” interrupted the stock-broker, tapping the table; “are you - in this pot?”</p> - <p>The professor made a deposit, and proceeded:</p> - <p>“Have you noticed that our host is a very tall man? Like most men of - his height, he hates to bend over. If the stove were near the floor, he - would have to stoop down low when he whirled a flap-jack or speared a - rasher of bacon. Now he can stand up and do it with ease. Your draught - theory is no good; the longer the pipe, if it is straight, the better - the fire will burn.”</p> - <p>“Professor,” remarked the colonel, “I regret to have to tell you that - your money is gone. Long Tom told me, on the way up, that his partner - did all the cooking, and he is a man of rather short stature.” The - colonel then paid his compliments to the jack-pot, and continued: “Now, - my idea is that the stove heats the room better there than on the floor. - It is only a cooking-stove, to be sure, but when the winter is cold it - makes this room comfortable. Being up in the middle of the space, it - heats it all equally well, which it could not do if it were down below.” - </p> - <p>The doctor greeted this theory with a loud laugh. “Colonel,” he said, - “you are wild—way off the mark. Hot air rises, of course, and the - only way to disseminate it is to have your stove as low as possible. - According to your idea, it would be a good plan to put the furnace in - the attic of a house instead of in the basement.” </p> - <p>“I think,” said the colonel, “that I could appreciate your argument - better if you would ante.”</p> - <p>“The pot is mine,” said the doctor, as he deposited his coin; “you will - all adopt my idea the moment you hear it, and Long Tom, who will be here - in a minute, will bear me out. This room is very small; it has but - little floor-space, and none of it goes to waste. Now, if he had put the - stove down where we expected to find it, Long Tom could not have made - use of the area underneath, as you see he has done. On all sides of the - supporting posts, you will notice there are hooks, on which he hangs his - pans and skillets. Underneath, there is a kitchen-closet for pots and - cooking-utensils of various sorts. What could be more convenient? Under - your ordinary stove there is room only for a poker and a few - cockroaches.”</p> - <p>The judge, who had been listening to the opinions offered by the others - with the same grim smile that occasionally ornamented his face when he - announced that an objection was overruled, now stepped forward and - dropped a coin on the table. He then rendered his decision as follows: - </p> - <p>“It appears that none of you have noticed the forest of hooks in the - roof just over the stove. They are not in use at present, but they are - there for some purpose. I imagine that during the winter huge pieces of - venison and bear’s-meat dangle over the stove, and are dried for use - later. Now, if the stove were on the floor, it would be too far from the - roof to be of service in this way.”</p> - <p>“Here comes old Tom,” shouted the colonel, who had stepped to the open - door while the judge was speaking.</p> - <p>The old trapper put down the various articles of baggage with which his - arms were loaded and came into the kitchen-cabin where we all stood. He - glanced at the group and then at the stilted stove in our midst.</p> - <p>“I see you air all admirin’ my stove,” said he, “and I’ll bet you’ve - been a-wonderin’ why it is up so high.”</p> - <p>“Yes, we have,” said the professor; “how did you know it?”</p> - <p>“People most allus generally jest as soon as they come into the place - begin to ask me about it—that’s how I knowed.”</p> - <p>“Well, why is it up so high?” demanded the stock-broker impatiently, - with a side glance at the well-developed jack-pot on the table.</p> - <p>“The reason’s simple enough,” said Long Tom, with a grin that showed - his bicuspids; “you see we had to pack all this stuff up here from down - below on <i>burros</i>. Originally there was four j’ints of that - stove-pipe, but the cinch wasn’t drawed tight enough on the <i>burro</i> - that was carryin’’em, and two of’em slipped out and rolled down the - mountain. When we got here and found that there wasn’t but two pieces - left, I reckoned that I would have to kinder h’ist the stove to make it - fit the pipe—so I jest in an’ h’isted her. And thar she is yet. - Say, what’s all this here money on the table for?”</p> - <p>There was a deep silence which lasted so long that Tom ventured to - repeat his question about the money.</p> - <p>“It is a jack-pot,” said the doctor, sadly, “and as near as I can make - out, it belongs to you.”</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s08' - title='The Seats of Judgment'>THE SEATS OF JUDGMENT</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By C. W. Doyle</div> - <div class='tac mt07'>I.</div> - <p class='sc tac mb05'>That Two Eyes are Better than One in the Dark. </p> - <p>“Thou hast the writings of Le Toy, Wau Shun?” asked Sam Lee of his - brother-highbinder, as the latter issued from the receiving hospital of - San Francisco.</p> - <p>“Verily, or thou hadst heard my dogs bark within,” replied Wau Shun. - </p> - <p>“And Lee Toy?”</p> - <p>“Lee Toy died babbling of wings, and of the white babe whose life he - saved from fire this day at the price of his own, and whose father stood - beside him weeping like a woman.”</p> - <p>“Was ever the like seen before!” exclaimed Sam Lee. “That Lee Toy, the - bravest of the brave, the keenest hatchet of our ‘tong,’ should fail his - brethren, and break his oaths, and worship the white babe whose - abduction he had undertaken—and that the babe’s father should weep - for one of our people!”</p> - <p>“Ay, and, what is of more importance, that Lee Toy should have given me - the writings that would have hanged us, who compassed his passing! Eh, - Sam Lee?” </p> - <p>“Yea, Wau Shun; and compassed also the hanging of Quong Lung—nay, - turn not so suddenly in a narrow lane, my brother, for I have but one - eye, as thou knowest, and that can not abide swift movement in the dark - on the part of a man whose life is forfeit”; and Sam Lee drew a darkling - revolver from his blouse.</p> - <p>With a deft movement, Wau Shun, who had the advantage of two - eyes—though they looked in different directions and were hard to - meet—threw Sam Lee’s hand up, and snatched the pistol from him. - </p> - <p>“’Twere easy to slay thee now, Sam Lee; and ’twere profitable, - too—if only Quong Lung were out of the way.”</p> - <p>“Ay, if Quong Lung were only out of the way; but Quong Lung lives and - waxes fat, and Wau Shun is his slave!”</p> - <p>No more was said. They turned into a narrow alley near the top of - Jackson Street, Wau Shun walking in the rear. As soon as they had - entered the shadow produced by the narrowness of the lane and by its - angle to the lighted main street, there was a sharp report, and Sam Lee - fell on his face, and coughed like one who is stricken through the - lungs.</p> - <p>The swarms that inhabit Chinatown began to buzz. In a few minutes the - alley was crowded with curious coolies jabbering excitedly, and in the - fifth or sixth row of those who stood round Sam Lee was Wau Shun, - watching the blood that welled from the mouth of the dying man and - prevented speech.</p> - <p>After Wau Shun had seen the corpse of his brother-highbinder laid out - on a slab at the morgue, he treated himself to a couple of jorums of - “hot-Scotch,” and sought his den in Cum Cook Alley.</p> - <p>Lighting a dim candle, he proceeded to barricade himself, and to - conceal his light, by means of a coverlet that was held in its place, on - his side of the door, by iron bars that crossed and recrossed each - other.</p> - <p>When all was snug, he drew from an inner pocket the roll of papers - given to him by Lee Toy, which set forth the names of the several - highbinders who belonged to his “tong,” the various loppings - accomplished by their “hatchets,” and, in a special supplement, the - instigations to certain notorious crimes by their master-mind, Quong - Lung.</p> - <p>Lighting a brazier, he tore out his own record from the writing, and - committed it to the flames. But that which related to Quong Lung he - placed in a receptacle cunningly concealed in the threshold of the door. - </p> - <p>Then, extinguishing his light, he sallied forth with the rest of Lee - Toy’s confessions in his pocket, to speak with Quong Lung, who had - awaited him these many hours with patience—and wrath.</p> - <div class='tac mt07'>II.</div> - <p class='sc tac mb05'> The Lesser Discipline.</p> - <p>The dawn of Christmas Day was rosy when Wau Shun reached Quong Lung’s - store. The bells throughout the city of San Francisco were once more - frantically announcing the birth of the Babe of Bethlehem, as Wau Shun - gave the signal of “The Brethren” on Quong Lung’s electric bell. It was - answered by a deep voice that came through a speaking-tube, the end of - which was so cleverly hidden that none but the initiated could find it: - “Peace attend thy feet! What brother needs succor?” </p> - <p>“Thy servant, Wau Shun.”</p> - <p>“Enter, Wau Shun,” and the door was opened by some mechanical - contrivance, and closed, as soon as Wau Shun had crossed the threshold, - with a snap suggestive of a steel trap. Pressing a concealed button, Wau - Shun lit an incandescent lamp that showed him how to avoid the thread, - the breaking of which would have precipitated a hundred-weight of iron - on the head of an intruder. At the end of the passage thus illuminated - was a door, to which he applied his pass-key and entered an apartment - that was a reflex of its occupant, in whom East and West were met. The - room was decorated and furnished in accordance with the tastes of a - Chinese gentleman of high culture; but the illumination was supplied by - electricity, and a long-distance telephone, of the latest pattern, stood - at the elbow of the stout, spectacled Chinese merchant, who sat on a - great ebony chair, gravely smoking a cigar.</p> - <p>This was Quong Lung, the famous head of the high-binders of the See - Yups—the most powerful “tong” in San Francisco—and who owed - his bad preëminence to the fact that he was absolutely unscrupulous, - using even his devoted friends as stepping-stones to his ambitions. - Then, too, he was a “Native Son of the Golden West,” and used the idioms - and swore with the ease of a born Californian. He had friends—old - school-fellows and college chums—among the executive of San - Francisco, and, by means of his more intimate knowledge of what was - happening, he was enabled to humiliate his rivals and punish his - enemies.</p> - <p>“Thou hast done well, Wau Shun,” he began, “and deservest - well—but dry tongues can not speak.”</p> - <p>Pouring out some whisky for himself, he pushed the bottle across to Wau - Shun, who had now seated himself on the other side of the table. </p> - <p>“Thy servant is enriched by thy approbation, Most Powerful,” replied - Wau Shun, draining his glass after Quong Lung had drunk.</p> - <p>“The passing of Lee Toy by way of fire was excellently done, Wau - Shun—most excellently done. And where is Sam Lee?”</p> - <p>“He is aweary and sleepeth, Great Master,” answered Wau Shun, whose - squinting was suddenly accentuated.</p> - <p>“May his sleep refresh him! But the end of Lee Toy, as I have already - said, was surpassingly excellent, Wau Shun. I learnt by this”—and - Quong Lung pointed with his cigar to the telephone—“I learnt by - this of the firing of the house of the white devil, whose babe Lee Toy - guarded, and how Lee Toy died to save the devilkin.”</p> - <p>“Ho, ho, ho!” interrupted Wau Shun, chuckling softly, and helping - himself again from the bottle.</p> - <p>“And the writings of Lee Toy?” asked Quong Lung, after a while.</p> - <p>Without a word Wau Shun laid a packet on the table.</p> - <p>“But these pertain to Sam Lee only,” exclaimed Quong Lung, after he had - examined the roll of papers; and his nostrils dilated slightly. “Thou - hast, doubtless, others that relate to thee and to me.”</p> - <p>“Now, nay, All-Seeing; the packet is as Lee Toy gave it to me—so - Sam Lee will tell thee.”</p> - <p>“If the dead may speak,” said Quong Lung, deliberately.</p> - <p>The other turned toward him with amazement and horror in his looks. It - was admirably done, but it did not even attract the attention of Quong - Lung, who quietly flicked the ash from his cigar, and went on: “And thou - wast seen by two of our brethren in the crowd that witnessed the end of - Sam Lee; and ’twere easy, too, to find witnesses who saw thee slay Sam - Lee.” Then, after a pause, he went on: “Moreover, only fools tell lies - to such as me. None may sit on that chair and lie to me—only lift - not thy voice at the proof of it, lest death come to thee suddenly!”</p> - <p>The next moment the horror-stricken highbinder was writhing under the - spell of an electric current, strong enough to prevent him from relaxing - his hold on the arms of his chair, which he had grasped as he tried to - spring to his feet.</p> - <p>After Quong Lung had disarmed his victim, he said: “Thou wilt be here - two days hence, and at the same hour, with the other writings of Lee - Toy! Two of thy brethren await thee on the street, and will see to thy - punctuality. Drink once more, Wau Shun, thou hast need. Ho, ho!”</p> - <div class='tac mt07'>III.</div> - <p class='sc tac mb05'> Sweet Counsel and “Black Smoke.” </p> - <p>“Roast turkey, cranberry sauce, mince pies, plum pudding, - cheese-straws, a choice between beer and champagne! Well, Quong Lung, - and what do you want of me, you prince of plotters?”</p> - <p>The speaker had all the outward and visible signs of one who was a - slave to opium; but under the influence of Quong Lung’s Christmas dinner - his eyes sparkled and his spirits rose to a high pitch.</p> - <p>“Nothing, nothing, Jim—at least nothing to speak of; and we won’t - speak of it until we have had a small black coffee, and—a small - black pipe. By the way,” he went on, “Miss Ah Moy and Miss Shun Sen will - come in presently with the coffee and pipes.” </p> - <p>Quong Lung’s guest, James Ray, was lank, and sallow, and of uncertain - age, because of his terrible vice, and his hair was prematurely gray. He - had been an electrical engineer of high promise until he became an - opium-fiend. Even his clothes betrayed his failing, no less than his - scanty and feeble beard and mustache and his leaden complexion. He had - attended the same Eastern college as Quong Lung, and had imbued the - latter with a taste for Shakespeare and Byron and the Psalms of David; - together they had graduated from Yale; and then Quong Lung, recognizing - the ability of his friend and the possibilities of electricity in the - career of a highbinder, had introduced Ray to the fascination of - opium-smoking; and so—through the uses of adversity—he held - the latter in pawn for his own nefarious ends.</p> - <p>“Why all this magnificence, Quong Lung?” inquired Ray, after Ah Moy and - her colleague had brought in the coffee and the implements pertaining to - “black smoke.” “You have but to say the word, old man, and, like Ariel, - ‘I’ll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes.’”</p> - <p>Now the hiring of Ah Moy and Shun Sen to twang their <i>samyens</i> for - the delectation of white devils, and hand them coffee and sing to them, - “came high,” for the damsels were famous in their way and in great - demand.</p> - <p>“This is too small a thing for you to notice, Jim,” replied Quong Lung; - “nothing is too good for my friend.”</p> - <p>“Why didn’t you add, ‘the earth is my lord’s and the fullness thereof,’ - and crush me with your compliments? As though I were a damned coolie!” - </p> - <p>There was some petulance in Ray’s voice, as he gave way to the feeble - irritability that attends the constant use of narcotics and stimulants - by all except Orientals. He rose to his elbow from the mat on which he - was smoking, and threw the pipe on its tray, like a spoiled child. But - Quong Lung took no notice of the little outbreak, and Ah Moy put the - pipe to his lips with her own fair hands and soon coaxed him into - complacency. When a look of contentment had once more settled on his - face, Ray said, deprecatingly: “It was the ‘dope’ that spoke, Quong - Lung, and not I; forgive me, old man! And now, what do you want?”</p> - <p>Quong Lung motioned to the girls to withdraw, and when he was alone - with Ray he said: “Jim, I shall hang unless you help me.”</p> - <p>“You must be in a bad fix, indeed, Quong Lung, if you depend on my - small arts to help you. Explain.”</p> - <p>“Certain papers implicating me are in the possession of one of my - blood-hounds, who has shown himself recalcitrant and - ungrateful—the damned dog! By means of the battery yonder, which - you rigged up for me, I frightened the brute considerably this morning, - and he will be here again two nights hence with such of the papers as - his fears may compel him to part with; but if his courage should revive, - as it may, and if he should come without the documents, I want to put - him under the stress of telling me where they are to be found, and then - I desire that he should never speak again!”</p> - <p>Quong Lung darted a look full of dangerous meaning at Ray.</p> - <p>“Why don’t you employ your regular bull-dogs to attend to this - unpleasant affair, Quong Lung?”</p> - <p>“Because their methods are coarse and their weapons clumsy.”</p> - <p>“But it is deuced risky to be an accessory before the fact in a murder - case, my friend.”</p> - <p>“No, no, Jim, not murder! Call it, rather, ‘the sudden death of an - unknown coolie, from unknown causes.’”</p> - <p>“And the consideration for me?”</p> - <p>“Two hundred dollars now,” said Quong Lung, laying a pile of notes on - the platform on which they were smoking, “and two hundred more after the - thing is over.”</p> - <p>“And if I refuse?”</p> - <p>Quong Lung shrugged his shoulders, and said, in an indifferent tone of - voice: “Life without opium, and without means of obtaining it, were - hell, as you know. Besides, so many accidents are constantly happening - in Chinatown.” </p> - <p>“Very well,” replied the other, rising languidly to his feet and - thrusting the notes into his pocket; “very well. You must let me have - entire possession of this room for the next two days, and provide such - assistance and implements as I may require.”</p> - <p>As he was leaving the room he stopped to smell a tuberose that stood on - a bamboo flower-stand. The passing act seemed to give him an idea, for - he turned suddenly to Quong Lung, saying: “See to it, Quong Lung, that - you provide plenty of punk-sticks for the eventful night. You will need - them, I am thinking. And be good to this green brother,” pointing to the - tuberose. </p> - <div class='tac mt07'>IV.</div> - <p class='sc tac mb05'>Concerning Cherries and Tuberoses.</p> - <p>An hour before the time set for the arrival of Wau Shun, Ray called - Quong Lung into the room wherein he had labored almost incessantly - during the past two days.</p> - <p>“All’s done,” he said, “save only the payment of my dues.”</p> - <p>“Proceed,” returned Quong Lung, laying ten double eagles on the table - and seating himself on his favorite ebony chair.</p> - <p>Ray eyed him curiously while he pocketed the money, and the Chinaman, - who seemed to notice everything, rose quickly from the chair and said, - with a smile:</p> - <div class='poetry-container'> - <div class='poetry'> - <div class='stanza'> - <div class='verse'>“‘How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, - </div> - <div class='verse'>Makes ill deeds done!’</div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - <p class='ni'>Eh Jim? Now show me your trick.”</p> - <p>“Should somebody you dislike sit on the chair you have just left, Quong - Lung, pressure on this button”—pointing to an innocent-looking - cherry painted on a panel that hung on the wall—“would connect the - chair with the electric-light wires that pass over your house, and make - your objectionable guest the recipient of—say, three thousand - volts.”</p> - <p>“And then?”</p> - <p>“And then—slightly altering the words of your favorite poet, to - describe the result—‘his heart would once heave, and forever stand - still’; and nobody would know how your highbinder died.”</p> - <p>As Ray left the room, he was again attracted to the tuberose. After - smelling it, he turned round and called to Quong Lung, saying: “But you - will not leave this innocent in the room, Quong Lung; its odor would be - ruined by the punks you will burn, and by other savors.” </p> - <p>Then gravely saluting Quong Lung, James Ray left the Chinaman’s house, - and made his way to the office of the chief of police of San Francisco, - for even a dope-fiend has a fragmentary conscience.</p> - <div class='tac mt07'>V.</div> - <p class='sc tac mb05'>The Greater Discipline.</p> - <p>While Ray told his story to the chief of police, with all the - circumstances and detail that would exonerate him and implicate Quong - Lung, the latter met Wau Shun at his outer door, and, holding him by the - hand, escorted him to his chamber, which was dim with the smoke of many - burning punks, the odor of which filled the air.</p> - <p>“Those who are true to me, Wau Shun, will always find that my ‘ways are - ways of pleasantness, and all my paths are peace,’” said Quong Lung, - softly, misquoting the Psalmist.</p> - <p>“Thy house, Far Reacher, is the well-known dwelling of pleasantness and - peace.”</p> - <p>When Quong Lung would have seated Wau Shun on the chair of which the - highbinder had such a lively recollection, the coolie shook his head, - saying: “Nay, who is thy slave that he should sit in the presence of the - Most Powerful. The ground thou treadest is good enough for him.” And Wau - Shun squatted on the floor before his chief.</p> - <p>“There is no harm in the chair, Wau Shun,” said Quong Lung, seating - himself on it carelessly, “no harm unless, indeed, the sitter tells lies - or have deceit in his heart.” Then, after a pause, he went on: “The - writings of Lee Toy—thou hast brought them?”</p> - <p>“Of a surety,” replied Wau Shun, producing a packet of papers from his - blouse.</p> - <p>After Quong Lung had looked through them, and satisfied himself that - they were authentic and complete, he said: “Wau Shun, the white devils - say that virtue is its own reward; but that would be poor reward for - such virtuous actions as thine. Thou shalt drink with me first, and then - expound to me how I may lighten the burden of obligations thou hast laid - on me.”</p> - <p>He went to the table, and pouring out two glasses of spirits, he - advanced with them on a tray to the squatting coolie.</p> - <p>After they had drunk, Quong Lung resumed his seat, and lighting a - cigar, he said: “It is not meet that he who hath saved my life this day - should crouch on the ground like a dog. Let Wau Shun take my own - particular chair, whereon none have sat save those I would - honor—nay, I insist”; and Quong Lung pointed to the great chair of - ebony, broad enough to accommodate two men such as himself. It was - adorned with a shield of bronze, richly carved and inlaid, that formed - its back; and it stood on a dais of burnished copper, and might have - been the throne of an Oriental potentate; and behind it was a mirror - which reflected the exquisite carving on its back. </p> - <p>When Wau Shun, after much protestation, had ensconced himself in a - corner of the great chair, Quong Lung once more filled the glasses, and - again they drank in silence.</p> - <p>“And now, Wau Shun, though I can not weigh my gold against thy services - to me, yet, I pray thee, name some reward that will not put me to shame - to bestow on thee.”</p> - <p>“Will the payment of fifty dollars afflict thee, my lord?”</p> - <p>“Nay, Wau Shun, that is the due of but a part of thy merits—the - slaying of Sam Lee, for instance. Here is more for thy other many good - deeds,” and Quong Lung tossed on the table a heavy bag that chinked - opulently. “Moreover,” he continued, “now that Lee Toy, our keenest - hatchet, is dead, some worthy successor to him must be found, and who so - worthy as Wau Shun, the slayer of the uncommon slain, Lee Toy?”</p> - <p>“Further, Instigator,” interrupted Wau Shun, squinting atrociously, for - the liquor had begun to mount to his head; “further, it seems to me that - if anything happened to thee—which God forbid!—<i>I</i> - might be found worthy to sit in this thy chair by reason of thy - recommendation, and—my worthiness.”</p> - <p>“Of course, of course,” said Quong Lung, looking at the point of his - cigar and crossing his knees. “The See Yups have need of strong men, and - who so strong as Wau Shun! Drink once more to thy worthiness.”</p> - <p>After they had disposed of the liquor and smoked awhile, Wau Shun said, - familiarly and half-insolently: “Quong Lung, thou owest me reparation - for thy insults of two nights ago; and seeing thou art seated on the - chair of humiliation” (here Wau Shun lapsed into impudent vernacular), - “you must needs do as I say or be twisted out of shape.”</p> - <p>“What!” exclaimed Quong Lung, putting one hand carelessly behind his - head and resting the other against the adjacent wall, whereon was a - painted panel that glowed with cherries—“what! wouldst thou plague - me?” </p> - <p>“Nay, but I would discipline you,” said Wau Shun, thickly; “I would - discipline you with cramps, if need were.”</p> - <p>“And cramps only?” asked Quong Lung, toying with the flower-painted - panel. “’Twere dangerous to play with me so lightly. Cramps can not - touch me and are for fools alone.”</p> - <p>“Then I would kill you otherwise, smooth, fat hog!”</p> - <p>“Have at thee, Wau Shun!” exclaimed Quong Lung, fiercely, pressing the - fatal cherry; and Wau Shun, sitting in the corner of the gorgeous chair, - stiffened into a frightful attitude, and then began writhing dreadfully. - To the heavy, punk-laden atmosphere of the room was added an odor of - burning flesh.</p> - <p>Quong Lung rose from his seat and crossed the room to where his victim - was being electrocuted. “Ho, ho, ho!” he laughed softly; “excellent Jim, - most excellent Jim!”</p> - <p>As he watched the grim murder enacting before him, he saw, reflected in - the mirror behind the chair of doom, the door that led into the room - slowly open, and James Ray and a detective well known to Quong Lung - entered swiftly.</p> - <p>“Throw up your hands, Quong Lung!” commanded the officer, as he covered - the Chinaman with his pistol.</p> - <p>Taken in the midst of his crime, Quong Lung started and, backing - against the fatal chair, he fell on the seat beside his victim, with a - yell, as the tremendous current shot through him, killing him instantly. - </p> - <p>“Turn off the current, Ray. For God’s sake, be quick!” shouted the - officer, as the bodies writhed and twisted on the chair of death. </p> - <p>“Yes, yes,” came the leisurely reply, as Ray took the tuberose from the - flower-stand; “there will be plenty of time after I have removed this - sweet tenderling from this horrible atmosphere.”</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s09' - title='A Double Shot'>A DOUBLE SHOT</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Stewart Edward White</div> - <p>Pat McCann came up from the plains into the hills in a bad humor with - himself and the world. He had tried to be a cow-puncher and had been - promptly bucked off; he had tackled the cooking problem and only escaped - mobbing by resigning his job; now he had dragged his little, squab form, - with its hanging arms, up into the hills to try mining. He applied to - the first camp he came to. King, the foreman, gave him a job.</p> - <p>Early the next morning he and another man walked down the gulch through - the sarvis bushes for half a mile, turned abruptly to the right, climbed - the uneven length of a zigzag trail, and at last halted near the top of - a ridge. The pine trees, slim and tall, grew out of the unevenly - carpeted ground, through which cropped irregular slices of a red-brown, - crumbling rock. At the very crest was a dark-gray “dike” of quartzite, - standing up steep and castellated for a height of thirty feet or more. - This was the “hanging wall” of the prospective mine. Down through the - trees were glimpses of vast, breathless descents to other ridges and - other pines far below. Over the dike was nothing but the blue sky.</p> - <p>The two men had stopped within a hundred feet of the top. The old hand - went over to a rough lean-to of small trees covering a rude forge, from - beneath which he drew several steel drills of various lengths and a - sledge-hammer, which he carried to a scar in the face of a huge - outcropping rock. After dumping these he returned and got a can of water - and a long T-shaped implement of iron. The two men then set to work.</p> - <p>McCann held firmly while the other struck. After each blow he would - half-turn the drill. When a dozen strokes had been given, he poured a - little water in the hole, and thrust the drill through a bit of sacking - to keep it from splashing. The other man jammed his hat down closely - over his forehead and struck fiercely, alternately breathing in and - grunting in rhythmical succession. When the hole became clogged with - fine, gray mud, McCann carefully spooned it out with the T-shaped - instrument, wiping the latter each time on his trousers. While he did - this his companion leaned on his sledge or threw chunks of rock, with - wonderful accuracy, at the squirrels that ran continually back and forth - on the ridge. As the hole grew deeper, longer drills were used, until at - last the longest of all left barely enough above the surface of the rock - to afford a hand-hold. With that the miner expressed himself satisfied. - He then brought three cylindrical packages wrapped in greasy paper.</p> - <p>“What’s them?” McCann inquired.</p> - <p>The miner grunted contemptuously.</p> - <p>“Hercules powder,” he replied. He pronounced the proper name in two - syllables.</p> - <p>With a sharp knife he cut these into lengths of about three inches - each, and dropped them one by one into the hole in the rock. He then - rammed them home with a hickory ramrod, just as all old miners will - insist on doing. Because of this a large percentage of old miners have - no fore and middle fingers on their right hands. The last piece he - split, inserted in the crack a bit of fuse, on the end of which was a - copper cap, dropped it in, and then carefully chinked-in with the wet - grit which had been spooned out of the hole.</p> - <p>“Mosey for cover, Irish!” he said, and touched it off.</p> - <p>From behind his tree McCann saw the sputtering fuse disappear. The next - instant the rock seemed to bulge, splitting in radiation as it did so, - and then the smoke belched forth in a canopy, filled with fragments of - quartz. Following the miner, he found a jagged opening in the rock. Then - they sharpened their drills at the forge and went at it again. By night - they had fired two more blasts, and had made a start toward a shaft. - After the third, Bob, the miner, said, glancing at the West: “That’ll - do, Irish.”</p> - <p>They <i>caçhed</i> the tools, caught up the water-bucket, and swung - rapidly down the trail. Bob was ahead, slouching along with the - mountaineer’s peculiar gait, which seems so lazy, and yet which gets - over the ground so fast. In a very few moments he reached the gulch - below, plunging from the bare, rock-strewn hillside under the pines to - the lush grasses and cool saplings of the cañon bed, as from a desert to - a garden. He looked around to say something. McCann was gone.</p> - <p>“Well, I’m damned!” he ejaculated, and yelled loudly.</p> - <p>After a moment’s pause, from far down the opposite slope came a faint - whoop. Bob sat down on a fallen tree, and waited philosophically, - shouting at intervals. In a little while the Irishman came charging - frantically up the gulch, tearing along through the vines and bushes at - full speed, so terrified that he passed within ten feet of Bob without - seeing him. The latter watched him surge by with an odd little twinkle - in his eye. Then suddenly he shouted again. Pat slowed up, looked about - for a moment vacantly, and then his rugged Hibernian face broke into a - multitude of jolly wrinkles.</p> - <p>“Arrah, it’s yerself, darlin,” he said; “Oi thought it’s Pat McCann as - is goin’ t’ slape wid th’ mountain lines this night!”</p> - <p>“You stick t’ me,” was Bob’s only comment.</p> - <p>After a short climb the men reached the camp on a knoll overlooking two - confluent gulches. There was the superintendent’s office, the - cook-house, the bunkhouse, the blacksmith’s shop, the stables, and the - corral—all of logs. Supper was served at sundown. The men filed - in, took off their coats, and sat down without a word. As each one - finished eating, he arose, put on his coat again, and sauntered outside, - filling his pipe as he went. Finally the whole gang was gathered at the - bunk-house, smoking, telling laconic stories, or playing - cribbage—the great American game in the mountains.</p> - <p>As the last comer, Pat was told to water the horses. He went boldly - into the corral with a rope, and was kicked flat. The boys straightened - him out, and, after he had regained his breath, gave two of the horses’ - halters into his hands. Except in the main cañons of the Black Hills - there is no surface water, the creeks all running down along the - bed-rock. As a consequence, wells are necessary even in the upper hills. - Pat first let a horse get loose, then he lost the bucket down the well, - then he fell in himself in trying to fish it out. The boys fished him - out with some interest. So manifestly inadequate an individual it had - not been their fortune to meet before, and they looked on him as a - curiosity. On the spot they adopted Pat McCann much as they would have - adopted a stray kitten or puppy, and doubtless in somewhat the same - amused, tolerant state of mind.</p> - <p>The next morning Bob and Pat cleared away the <i>débris</i> of the - three blasts, wrenching off the broken, adhering bits with a pick, and - shoveling them out. King came up with an axe-gang and built a rough, - square breastwork of logs down the hill, to catch the quartz as in a - bin. They also squared a number of timbers, and tongued the ends. These - were to timber the shaft. </p> - <p>All this interested the little Irishman. He recovered his spirits, and - his Old World blarney came back to him. The clear, fresh air of the - hills, the abundant food, the hard work, the sound sleep, the reaction - against the taciturnity of the men, and the calm grandeur of the - mountains, filled him with animal spirits. He imagined he had found his - vocation at last. He wanted to do everything. In time he learned to - strike with the sledge, although it was only after long practice on a - stake that he could induce any one to “hold” for him; he sharpened - drills—after a fashion; he even helped in the timbering-up. The - only thing lacking was the “shooting” of the charges. He had an ambition - to touch the thing off. This King roughly forbade.</p> - <p>“That fly-away fool to risk his neck that way?” he said; “I guess not! - He don’t know enough now to make his head ache. When I want a wild - Irishman too dead to skin, I’ll let you know. I don’t want that man to - have the first thing to do with the powder. Understand that!” </p> - <p>What King said went in that camp. Besides, the men knew him to be in - the right. Pat was the unluckiest man alive, and the most awkward. He - was sure to be in any trouble there was about—in fact, as Jack - Williams said, he was a sort of lightning-rod for the whole camp in the - way of trouble; every one else was sure of exemption, if there was only - one man’s share of difficulty dealt out. So McCann pleaded in vain.</p> - <p>This went to his heart. He would have given his black-thorn shillalah - from Dublin to have been looked upon as a full-fledged miner. He used to - put on all the airs of one in Sweetwater when he went down there once a - week, swaggering about in copper-riveted jeans, with his hat on one - side, conversing learnedly though vaguely on “blow-outs,” “horses,” - “foot-walls,” and other technicalities, hauling out of his pockets - yellow-flecked bits of quartz—in short, “putting on dog” to an - amazing extent. But as he turned past the stamp-mill of the Great Snake - and began to scale the heart-breaking trail that led to the top of the - ridge, his crest began to fall. As he followed the narrow, level summit - for the three miles of its length, standing as it were in the very - blueness of the air, his spirits began to evaporate. When he took the - shorter and gentler descent to the camp, the old conviction had returned - with sickening force. He was not a miner. He had never “shot.” He used - all his persuasive powers in vain. For one thing, the men were afraid to - disobey King. For another, they liked Pat, and, having a firm faith in - his “hoodoo,” were convinced that his “shooting” and sudden death would - be synonymous terms. So Pat abandoned persuasion and tried craft.</p> - <p>The old shaft on which he and Bob had first begun work had been carried - down fifty feet. Appropriate cross-cuts and drifts had been made to - exploit the lead. It was now abandoned. Bob and Pat were put to work at - another spot in the same lead a little farther along the ridge. The - place marked out for the first blast was between two huge bowlders, or - rather between the two rounded cheeks of one bowlder. The passage - between them was perhaps five or six feet wide. One end led out in a - gradual descent to the broad, open park of the ridge top, the other - dropped off abruptly three or four feet to another level place. Around - the corner of the first the miners kept their tools and forge; down the - second they planned to drop when the blast was fired; and there they had - built a little fire, it being, on that particular day, in the lee of the - rock.</p> - <p>The hole had been all drilled before Bob discovered that he had - forgotten to bring any powder; so, cursing, he started down the passage - to get some from the sheet-iron powder-house in the draw. Hardly was he - out of sight before McCann, chuckling softly to himself, pulled from - under a shelving bit of rock the missing powder. With this he loaded the - hole; he arranged the fuse, and then dropped down the ledge to get a - brand from the fire. It was nearly out, so it took a few moments to - start a torch. However, he was in no hurry, as it was some little - distance to the powder-house, and Bob could not possibly return inside - of half an hour. At last he coaxed a bit of pine into a glow, and turned - to climb back. A startling sight met his eyes.</p> - <p>When Bob went to get the powder he stopped at the forge for the - water-pail. As he stooped to pick it up, something struck him a sudden - blow in the thigh that knocked him over and set the blood - flowing—he said afterward he thought the bone was broken. When he - could see, he looked about to find what had hit him, and discovered not - ten feet away the long, tawny body of a puma.</p> - <p>The great cat lay watching him through half-shut eyes, lazily switching - its tail back and forth. From the depths of its throat came a deep - rumbling purr. He tried to rise, but could not. Then he turned over on - his left side and started to crawl painfully through the passageway of - the rocks. The beast opened its eyes and followed stealthily, step after - step, still switching its tail, and still purring. It was in a sportive - mood, and played with its prey, as a cat plays with a mouse. Inch by - inch the man pulled himself along, leaving a trail of blood. At last, - within a few feet of the ledge, he stopped; he could go no further. The - puma, too, paused.</p> - <p>At this moment Pat McCann, a blazing pine-brand in his hand, looked - over the ledge. Bob saw him and faintly warned him back. The puma saw - him too. The purring ceased, and the lithe muscles tightened under the - skin. The game was over. The animal was preparing to make its spring. - </p> - <p>It did not occur to the little Irishman’s fighting soul to retreat. His - comical features stiffened; his little blue eyes fairly snapped. Slowly - he drew himself up on the ledge, keeping his eye fixed on the puma, - until he stood erect, then he shifted his brand mechanically into his - left hand, and drew his sheath-knife. He did not know that the fire was - his best weapon, and Bob was too weak to tell him. The brand, held point - downward, began to blaze. The puma’s great eyes shifted uneasily at - this, and its muscles relaxed. It was evidently discomposed. Pat did not - await the attack, but stepped forward, holding his knife firmly.</p> - <p>When within a few feet of the animal, Pat hesitated and stopped. His - nerve was still unshaken, but he did not know how to begin. The puma - still sniffed uneasily at the blaze, but had recovered from its first - fear, and was again gathering its powers for a spring. For a moment - there was absolute silence, and Pat heard through the still air the - sharp chatter of a squirrel and the clank of the ore-team’s - whiffle-trees from the ore road far below. While he stood thus - uncertain, the fire from the pine, having run up along the torch, began - to burn Pat’s fingers. Without moving his head or shifting his eyes, he - dropped it gently—plumb upon the fuse he had so carefully arranged - a few moments before. Then he took a step backward to avoid the smoke. - There was a splutter and a flash, then a sudden roar. The man and the - beast were hurled violently in opposite directions, and a volcano of - rock shot high in the air and showered down again.</p> - <p>The axe-gang found the puma very dead and Pat very hard to revive. The - whisky-and-water method brought him around at last. He looked hazily - about him in evident bewilderment until his eye caught sight of the dead - animal, and then his face lighted up with eager joy.</p> - <p>“Glory to God, Oi’m a miner!” he shouted. “Oi’ve ‘shot’ at last!” </p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s10' - title='Ten Thousand Years in Ice'>TEN THOUSAND YEARS IN ICE</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Robert Duncan Milne</div> - <p>While lounging listlessly along the sea-wall one afternoon about the - beginning of August last—the eighth, I think it was—enjoying - the sunshine and inhaling the sea-breeze, my attention was attracted to - an unusual bustle and commotion on the quay of Section Two. I could see - from where I was that considerable exertions were being made to transfer - some heavy object from a vessel moored alongside the quay to the quay - itself. As I got nearer I discovered by the name on the stern that the - vessel was the whaling-bark <i>Marion</i>, and that the object which the - crew, assisted by a number of longshoremen, were making such efforts to - get on shore was an immense rectangular block, measuring some nine feet - in length by about four in breadth and thickness. Had it been a block of - granite, the men could not have worked harder, prying it with rollers - and levers along a gangway made of a dozen or so of stout planks laid - abreast from the ship’s deck to the quay. As, however, this object, - whatever it was, was swathed and enveloped with a plentiful supply of - sacking, I could form no opinion as to its nature.</p> - <p>While standing abstractedly by, looking on and speculating as to what - this very heavy object might be, and wondering what it could be doing - aboard a whaler, I was tapped gently on the shoulder by somebody, and, - looking round, my eyes rested on a heavily bearded and bronzed - individual in pea-jacket and rough trousers, with a laughing eye, who - said, cheerily: “What! don’t you know me?”</p> - <p>I was certain I had never seen the man before, though something in the - voice sounded familiar. My doubts, however, were speedily set at rest by - this individual exclaiming: “Don’t you recollect Joe Burnham? Has a year - made such a difference? If so, I’m glad of it. You couldn’t have paid me - a better compliment.”</p> - <p>“Can it be possible?” I said, in surprise, as I grasped his hand; “why, - Joe, who would have expected to meet you coming off a whaler? And with a - heavy beard, too!”</p> - <p>“Why, I thought you knew all about it,” he returned, with equal - surprise; “just wait a minute,” he added, as he turned to give some - directions to the men who had now got the heavy object safe on shore, - and were proceeding to hoist it upon a dray.</p> - <p>While he was thus engaged, I recalled some circumstances which served - to explain the unexpected and original appearance of my friend.</p> - <p>Joe Burnham, the son of the well-known millionaire mining-man, had, I - knew, been recommended to go abroad for change of air about a year - before, owing to failing health arising from too intense application to - study. This, however, was all I knew, and I had no idea that he had - concluded to take his change of air aboard a whaler. But knowing his - taste for scientific pursuits of any and every character, I can not say - that I was very much surprised to meet him again as I had just done. At - any rate, the trip had certainly been most beneficial, as he had changed - from a sickly and rather delicate student to a hale, hearty, and robust - man.</p> - <p>“Yes,” he remarked, as he came back from the dray, which was now moving - slowly off, the four sturdy horses which drew it evidently straining - under the weight with which it was loaded, “my doctor prescribed - absolute freedom from brain-work of any kind. He shook his head when I - suggested Europe. There was too much, he said, to be seen in Asia, or, - in fact, in any other quarter of the globe, to insure the perfect repose - he thought necessary. Even a prolonged yachting excursion did not meet - his views. That, he said, would be worse than anything else. Its very - monotony and loneliness would drive me to cogitation. The sea part of - it, he admitted, was capital. If a sea voyage could be combined with - excitement and something to do—but would I work? Then some lucky - inspiration seemed to flash across my mind, and I asked him if there - were any objections to a whaling trip. ‘The very thing,’ he said; ‘you - have plenty of money and can go more as a passenger than as a sailor. - You won’t have much time to study on board <i>that</i> kind of a vessel, - and I’ll risk all the chances you get to indulge in the study of the - flora and fauna of the Arctic.’ And now you see how it is that I happen - to be disembarking at the present moment from the stanch bark - <i>Marion</i>.”</p> - <p>“You seem to have got plenty of baggage, anyhow,” I returned, motioning - toward the dray, which was now fast retreating in the direction of the - city; “your share of the blubber, perhaps,” I added, banteringly; “or - maybe specimens of the flora and fauna of the Arctic, which your doctor - cautioned you against.”</p> - <p>“Partly right and partly wrong,” said Burnham, sententiously and - somewhat seriously; “you may have got nearer the truth about that queer - parcel than you think. But this is no time or place to speak about it. - Come up to the house to-morrow forenoon, if you have time, and I will - show you something that will astonish you. I particularly wish you to - come,” he added, with emphasis; “you will be amply repaid for doing so - by what you will see. Meantime, I have something more to arrange on - board this vessel.” So saying, he crossed the gangway and disappeared. - </p> - <p>Next morning about ten, in accordance with my friend’s invitation, I - ascended the steps of the Burnham mansion, rang the bell, and sent in my - card. I was evidently expected, as the servant requested me to follow - him, and led the way downstairs. There, in a small court-yard sacred to - himself, and in which, together with two apartments opening thereon, my - friend conducted his experiments, I found him in his shirt-sleeves, - superintending the disposition of the ponderous mass which had excited - my curiosity the day before on the sea-wall. The workmen had just - succeeded in hoisting it on to a strong and massive trestle-work, some - three feet from the ground, and upon this the nondescript, oblong - package, swathed with sacking and bound with ropes, now rested.</p> - <p>“There!” said Burnham, as he settled with the men and turned the key of - the door leading into the ordinary court-yard of the house; “the most - laborious part of the job is over. It was no easy matter getting the - package up here. But now, as publicity at this stage must on every - consideration be avoided, I must ask you to stand ready to lend me a - hand when necessary. Better leave your coat in the laboratory or in the - studio—which you please—you can suit yourself.”</p> - <p>The “laboratory” and the “studio” were the respective names of the two - rooms opening onto the court-yard where we were now standing, which was - itself separated, as I have said, from the main court-yard of the - building by a tolerably high wall, opposite which were the entrances and - windows of the rooms aforesaid, which had been originally intended for - outhouses of some sort. The other two sides of this little court-yard - were blind-walls of the house itself. Certainly, if secrecy were the - requisite aimed at in my friend’s enterprise, whatever it might be, a - happier place could not have been chosen. The “laboratory” and the - “studio,” while each opened on the court, and while there was also - intercommunication between the rooms, differed greatly in interior - arrangement, as well as in the uses to which they were put. The - laboratory was fitted up with benches, tables, and shelves, littered - with chemical, optical, electrical, and photographic apparatus, - zoölogical and botanical specimens, <i>et hoc genus omne</i>; a perfect - scientific chaos, in short, without a semblance of law and order. The - studio, on the other hand, was richly and luxuriously furnished and kept - in scrupulous order by Burnham’s own valet, who, I noticed, however, was - not there at this time. </p> - <p>Passing into the laboratory first, I noticed that a trestle-work - similar to that in the court-yard stood in the centre of the floor, and - that it was surmounted by a shallow pan of zinc, fitted at one end with - a waste-pipe, like that of a bath-tub, leading to the gutter of the - court. I was still further surprised to note, when I passed on into the - studio, that the centre of that chamber also contained what might be - termed a supplement to the trestle-work, in that the furniture had been - moved to one side to make room for an improvised table on which rested - an ordinary mattress. In addition to this a bureau-bed had been unfolded - and set in readiness at one of the walls, while a blazing fire burned in - the grate, although the day was anything but cold. Before I had time to - speculate upon the meaning of all these mysterious preparations, I heard - Burnham calling, so throwing my coat on a settee I hastened to join him. - I found him engaged in firing up a small portable steam-engine that - stood in one corner of the yard, and in affixing to the exhaust-pipe of - the cylinder another pipe, several feet in length, with a movable arm, - evidently for the purpose of ejecting steam in any desired direction. - </p> - <p>“Now,” he said, as he completed the connection, “while the boiler is - getting up steam, you and I must get to work and uncover our package. I - expected Dr. Dunne here before this, but doctors, you know, are always - entitled to latitude in non-professional matters.” </p> - <p>So saying, he took a knife and began to cut away the ropes from the - package, I following his example. Then we removed layer after layer of - sacking, the air growing, I thought, all the time sensibly colder, till - upon removing the last of the sack-cloth—we could not, of course, - remove the wrapping on which the weight rested, but merely contented - ourselves with ripping the top open and letting it fall on either - side—what was my surprise to see before me an immense oblong block - of blue, pellucid ice. But who shall express my feelings when, a moment - after, I discerned <i>imbedded in the heart of the transparent crystal - the form of a man</i>.</p> - <p>But let me describe what I saw. There, lying on its back in the middle - of the frozen slab, was unmistakably the body of a man, but so - wonderfully life-like in every detail that it was as difficult to - believe that the man was dead as it was to conceive how he had come into - his present position. The eyes were dark and wide open, and whether or - not it was due to some peculiar refracting qualities of the medium - through which they were observed, they did not look glassy or seem to - have lost their lustre. The short, thick, curly black locks that - clustered about the forehead, and the closely trimmed beard that fringed - the cheeks, looked as natural as they could have done in the heyday of - life. But just as inexplicable was the dress. It was composed of some - light material such as is worn in hot climates, and had more in common - with the ancient Greek chlamys, or the Arab burnous, than with any other - type of dress that I recall. Such colors as it had were tasteful and - resplendent, and had lost none of their original freshness. The feet - were shod with sandals, and a gemmed ring still sparkled upon one of the - fingers of the right hand. It was the face and figure of a handsome man - of thirty, or thereabouts, and the whole posture was so indicative of - repose as to indicate that, whoever he might be, he had met his end - calmly and without pain.</p> - <p>I turned mechanically toward Burnham and saw that he was watching my - surprise and smiling.</p> - <p>“Well, what do you think of my package,” he asked; “was it worth the - trouble of bringing it here from the Arctic circle?”</p> - <p>“I must congratulate you on your specimen,” I returned; “it will - certainly be a great acquisition to our scientific men and antiquaries. - But how are you going to preserve it? Won’t you find it rather a - difficult matter to keep the ice in a state of congelation—and - expensive, too, I should think?”</p> - <p>“That is not my intention,” he replied; “I mean to thaw him out.” </p> - <p>“And then?” I queried.</p> - <p>“Resuscitate him.”</p> - <p>I looked at my friend to see if he were not joking, but could detect no - sign of mirth about his face.</p> - <p>“Why not?” he said; “that man in the ice there is as organically - perfect as you or I are. No fibre or atom of his organism has undergone - any change since he came into the condition he is now in. Say that he - met his death—if indeed he is dead—by drowning, and the - water he was drowned in was subsequently frozen, he is no worse off at - this moment, even though he has been lying where he is thousands of - years, than the man who was drowned five minutes ago. And I hold, and my - friend Dr. Dunne agrees with me——”</p> - <p>Dr. Dunne, one of the most scientific physicians and surgeons in the - city, as is well known, entered the court-yard at that moment, after - giving a secret knock, and apologized for his tardiness.</p> - <p>“My friend, Dr. Dunne, I say, agrees with me, that our treatment of - drowned, or so-called drowned, men is all wrong, and that they can be - resuscitated hours after death has apparently supervened, if the proper - measures are taken. Drowning is simply a case of arrested function, that - is all. Provided the organism is sound, why should it not be made to - perform its functions again? Does a temporary stoppage ruin a watch if - the works are all right? If so, what are doctors and watch-makers for, I - should like to know? Is it not so, doctor?”</p> - <p>“At all events we can try,” rejoined the doctor, impressively; “I am - heartily glad of such a favorable, such an ultra-favorable, opportunity, - I should say, of testing the efficacy of my treatment of drowned men - upon so promising a subject.” </p> - <p>“But what about the freezing, doctor?” I ventured to remark, for the - coolness with which the whole subject was treated reminded me painfully - of my own deficiencies of scientific lore and rendered me - proportionately modest. “I have always understood that frozen limbs are - as good as dead, and that amputation alone can save the life of the rest - of the organism in such a case. It seems to me that when the whole body - is frozen, so much the worse.”</p> - <p>“So much the better,” returned the doctor, warmly; “it is much easier - to work where the conditions are homogeneous.”</p> - <p>By this time the steam escaping from the safety-valve of the portable - engine showed that the pressure was considerable, and Burnham, who had - previously shifted the slide-valve so that the steam would pass straight - into the exhaust, now wheeled the engine opposite the block of ice, - pointed the lateral pipe, which he had connected with the exhaust, and - which he manipulated on its joint by means of a fork, toward the side of - the block, turned the globe-valve and let the jet of blue vapor play - upon the ice. The court-yard was soon thick with clouds of steam, but - the huge ice-block kept dwindling away as the steam was directed upon - one point or the other, by wheeling the engine round it, till in less - than half an hour the court-yard was little better than a puddle and - nothing remained of the ice-block but a crystal envelope, a few inches - thick, around the inclosed body, so deftly and skillfully had Burnham - directed the steam-jet upon all portions alike. </p> - <p>“We shall now have to exercise more care,” he remarked; “the remaining - ice must be removed in a more gentle manner. Help me to carry the body - into the laboratory.”</p> - <p>So saying, we all lent a hand and transferred the ice-bound body to the - zinc tray upon the trestles in the laboratory, in which a roaring - stove-fire had previously been lit, and the temperature of which, when - the doors were shut, was like that of a Turkish bath. </p> - <p>“There!” ejaculated Burnham, who, though in his shirt-sleeves, was - perspiring freely and panting after his work; “so far, so good. Let us - go into the studio and sit down and rest while <i>our guest</i>”—I - was struck with the quaintness of the epithet as applied to the corpse - in the next room, as also with the emphasis Burnham gave it—“sheds - the remnant of the crystal mantle he has worn for who shall say how many - thousand years. It will take at least half an hour before he is - completely thawed out, and meanwhile, if you like, I will tell you how I - managed to run across him in the Far North.”</p> - <p>We were all curious to know, so Burnham gave the following details: - </p> - <p>“After leaving San Francisco in March, last year, we sailed North with - the intention of reaching Behring Sea by the time the ice broke up, - hoping to do well enough with whales and seals to return before the - season closed. I had, of course, made my arrangements with the captain, - going as a volunteer, to do duty or not as I pleased, and living in the - cabin. We had the usual adventures which are part and parcel of a - whaler’s experience, and which I will not bother you with, as they are - not germane to the question, and I found my health improving wonderfully - under the influence of the fresh air, exercise, and excitement.</p> - <p>“By June we had passed Behring Straits and then cruised for a good many - weeks in the open sea beyond; but our luck was bad, and, owing to trying - to better it before we left, we waited too long; worse than that, we - were caught by a storm which blew us nearly due north for several days - to a point some hundred miles east of Banks’s Land and the Parry Isles; - and before we knew where we were, we found ourselves shut in by the ice, - luckily in the lee of some bluffs, forming part of a small island only a - few square miles in extent, to which circumstance alone we could - attribute the escape of our vessel from being crushed by the ice-pack. - Subsequent observations showed that we were in longitude 162 degrees W. - and about latitude 76 degrees N.—a point, by the way, rarely - reached by navigators even under the most exceptionally favorable - circumstances. There was nothing for it, however, but to make the best - of a bad job and prepare to winter it out with the best grace we could. - Luckily we had plenty of provisions—I had looked after the matter - of commissariat, personally, before embarking—and I think I may - safely say that few whalers ever wintered in the Arctic circle better - equipped in that respect than we were.</p> - <p>“As you can readily imagine, the life of a ship’s crew, ice-bound, - during the long, dark, northern winter is not an enviable one. Suffice - it to say that we got through it with probably less than the ordinary - amount of hardship, and were very glad to catch a glimpse of the sun - about the beginning of April, as it looked like a sign of release, - though the captain did not think the ice would break up for at least six - weeks longer. There was now some pleasure in rambling, as there were a - few hours of sunlight to do it by, and I used to make the most of it, as - one might get an occasional pop at a seal or otter, and not unfrequently - the captain—we were by this time great chums—would accompany - me.</p> - <p>“One day in May we were tramping along, gun in hand, over the - ice-fields, going over some new ground to the east of the ship, when we - came upon a patch of remarkably clear and transparent ice, about a mile - from the vessel. This was the more peculiar as the generality of the ice - in our neighborhood was rough, jagged, opaque, and usually coated with - snow. Looking down casually as we were crossing this patch, my eye was - arrested by the curious spectacle of the body of a man embedded in the - ice, some sixteen or eighteen feet below the surface. I called the - captain’s attention to the phenomenon, and, getting down on our hands - and knees, we spent a good while in examining the strange object as well - as we could, and speculating upon how it could have got there. What - puzzled us most was the white clothing upon the body, the captain’s - theory being that it was the corpse of some officer of consequence, - belonging, perhaps, to some government expedition, whose shroud had - burst its canvas casing after being consigned to the deep, and which had - afterward drifted there with the currents and frozen fast. I, however, - whose eyes were keener, could see that the dress upon the body was no - shroud, and that the features, instead of being livid, bloated, and - swollen, like those of a corpse that had been some time in the water, - were clear-cut, fresh, and untouched by decay. I became anxious to - obtain a nearer view of this strange discovery, and at length prevailed - upon the captain to let me have the use of half a dozen of the crew to - dig down through the ice till I could satisfy my curiosity regarding it. - Accordingly, next morning we set to work with pick and shovel to sink a - shaft in the ice, and it was only the work of an hour or two before we - were within two feet of the body.</p> - <p>“At this distance I renewed my examination and became the more and more - impressed and mystified as I did so. But my astonishment was still - further increased when, upon gazing downward through the pellucid depths - below, I saw, or thought I saw, the dim outlines of buildings, just as - they might seem from the top of some tall monument. I thought I could - detect lines of streets and squares, the buildings on which were white - as of marble, their architecture seeming to approach the Grecian in - type. Gardens and trees, too, I thought I saw, but the light of the low - sun was so feeble that I did not know whether it might not all be due to - the fantastic forms of sea-weed, and that imagination was doing the - rest. As it was, however, the impression I received served to increase - my interest in the mysterious object beneath me.</p> - <p>“I now resolved to secure possession of this wonderful windfall, from a - scientific standpoint, which luck had thrown in my way; and by dint of - promising a liberal reward to my assistants I succeeded in persuading - them to dig round and below the body, leaving the block, which we just - now melted, only supported securely enough at its ends to keep it from - breaking down, till such time as we were prepared to remove it. Here, - again, I had a bitter altercation with the captain, when I mooted my - design of carrying off my prize. It was absurd, he said, preposterous, - to think of packing a huge block of ice, containing only the dead body - of a man, and of no earthly use to anybody. Did I think that whalers - were fitted out for costly voyages into polar seas for the fun of the - thing? Look at the room it would take, if nothing else. No; he must draw - the line there; he would be d——d if he gave his countenance - to any such nonsense as that, science or no science.</p> - <p>“I now saw that it was neck or nothing. There is nothing so obdurate as - a sea-captain, if he sets his foot down, and by long association I knew - my man. I determined to try him on a new tack, and to go to almost any - length in doing so, partly through the spirit of opposition which is - strong within me, and partly because I had already formulated, in a - vague manner, the scheme which we are now carrying into practice. I felt - a deep conviction, too, that I was in some mysterious way working out - mysterious ends, and that gave new strength to my resolve.</p> - <p>“‘Captain,’ I said that evening as we sat in the cabin, ‘what do you - estimate that your present trip is worth?’</p> - <p>“‘Worth nothing as yet,’ he answered, with a growl; ‘worse luck to it.’ - </p> - <p>“‘I mean what would you take for the net earnings of the voyage, - provided somebody bought your chances for what you might pick up upon - the return?’ </p> - <p>“The captain studied. It was plain that I had given his ideas a new - turn. Perhaps he divined the bent of mine.</p> - <p>“‘Well,’ he said, at length, ‘there would be the crew to be considered, - as well as myself, in a case of that sort. We’re all working on shares. - Captain gets half, and the other half of the net proceeds are divided - <i>pro rata</i> among the petty officers and crew. What would suit me - mightn’t suit them.’ </p> - <p>“‘Well, what could you reasonably expect to take on the home voyage - with average luck?’ I said, returning to the charge.</p> - <p>“‘Half a dozen sperm-whales wouldn’t be out of the way,’ returned the - captain, cheerily; ‘might get more. Catch might range anywhere from - twenty to forty thousand dollars.’</p> - <p>“‘Call it thirty thousand,’ I said; ‘would that be a fair average?’ - </p> - <p>“‘Well, there’s twenty-two of a crew. That would net about seven - hundred dollars apiece for their share. I don’t think they would growl - at that. Fifteen thousand would suit me, and I think I should be very - well out of it, for that matter. But why do you ask such questions?’</p> - <p>“‘Read that,’ I said, for answer, and shoved a slip of paper across the - table.</p> - <p>“‘Why, what’s this?’ said the captain, taking up the slip of paper and - reading:</p> - <div style='margin-top:0.7em; text-align:right'> - <div style='margin-right:4em' class='sc'>Off the Parry Isles,</div> - <div style='margin-right:2em'>Long. 162° W., lat. 76° N.,</div> - <div>May 14th, 1888.</div> - </div> - <div class='sc'>Bank of California, San Francisco.</div> - <p>Pay to the order of J. F. Manson, captain whaling bark <i>Marion</i>, - the sum of thirty thousand dollars ($30,000) and debit</p> - <div style='text-align:right; margin-bottom:0.7em' class='sc'> Richard - Burnham. </div> - <p>“‘Simply a check for your possible gains on the return voyage, captain. - I want the use of your ship as far as San Francisco. Everything - satisfactory, I suppose. Good-night.’ So saying, I strolled into my - stateroom, leaving the worthy captain to deliberate upon my proposal. - </p> - <p>“Next morning I purposely got up late; but by the earnest and - many-voiced conversation which I could faintly hear, upon the deck above - me, I knew that the seed I had sown was germinating, if not bearing - fruit.</p> - <p>“Well, to cut a long story short, my proposal was accepted; the - ice-block dug out and conveyed to the vessel with a good deal of - trouble; my check certified and cashed in Victoria, where most of the - crew were paid off, and——here we are. Now, suppose we - adjourn to the laboratory and see if <i>our guest</i> has completely - thawed out yet.” </p> - <p>The strong heat from the stove had, in truth, very nearly finished what - the steam had begun. Though there was still a shell of ice surrounding - the body, it was little more than a shell, and Dr. Dunne recommended - that the next stage in the treatment should be approached with all - expedition. Burnham, accordingly, went off to prepare a bath in the - bath-room adjoining the studio, and when he hailed us, the doctor and - myself carried in the zinc tray with the body and deposited the latter - in the bath.</p> - <p>“We must proceed very slowly,” said the doctor, as he stood by, - thermometer in hand; “I shall begin with a temperature of fifty and - increase it very gradually—say, in half an hour or so—to - blood heat. All the internal organs are, of course, frozen; the lungs, - too, are doubtless full of ice, and the first thing to be done is to - relieve them of the water. Not the least remarkable feature, gentlemen,” - he continued, turning to us, “is that this body must have been frozen - almost before—in my theory, certainly before—it was drowned. - But how to account for this? That is the point. It is certainly beyond - the range of our scientific experience, nor can we conceive of any - natural or chemical force powerful enough to effect such a result. This - man, too, is clad in the garb of a tropical, or sub-tropical, region. - These are evidently his every-day clothes which he is wearing. He must - have been both drowned and frozen almost simultaneously. The drowning - and the freezing must have been nearly coincident events—at all - events, within an hour or two of each other. I can not see into it. I - give it up,” concluded the doctor, with a shake of the head. </p> - <p>“Still,” said Burnham, “have we not something of a parallel in the - elephants which, some years ago, were found embedded in the ice to the - north of Siberia, just as this man was? The elephant is a tropical - animal, and can scarcely be credited with going to the North Pole on a - pleasure trip. How do you account for that?”</p> - <p>“Perhaps,” suggested I, “it was a case of the mountain coming to - Mahomet in both instances. Perhaps the pole came to them. Suppose that - through some unknown natural cause, or some outside cosmical agency, the - axis of the earth should change abruptly, as it is probable that it is - now doing gradually, and that what were formerly the equatorial regions - became the polar, and <i>vice versâ</i>, what would naturally follow? In - the first place, the oceans and seas would be hurled over the continents - in tidal waves miles high. Only mountaineers dwelling in the highest - altitudes would escape. That would be the first result. The second would - be that the waters upon what were formerly the tropical regions would be - frozen. The third would be——what we see before us now in - that bath.” </p> - <p>“Very ingenious, certainly,” remarked the doctor, dryly; “but we have - got no time for speculation now. Let us attend to business. Our friend - here should be pretty thoroughly warmed through by this time. Please - lend a hand to get him on the operating-table.”</p> - <p>Accordingly, we removed the body from the bath to the mattress in the - studio, the room having been meanwhile closed and its temperature raised - to blood heat.</p> - <p>“We must first get the water out of the lungs,” said the doctor, as he - reached for what looked something like a stomach-pump, but which, - instead of the suction tube, terminated in a diaphragm made of some - elastic substance, which he applied to the open mouth of the body, - pressing it closely with his left hand, at the same time asking me to - compress the nostrils tightly. The flesh was now warm, soft, and - yielding. The doctor then drew back the piston of his pump and a stream - of water followed through the discharge tube. This was repeated several - times, till the lungs were pronounced free from water. </p> - <p>A consultation now followed between the doctor and Burnham.</p> - <p>“The blood in the veins and arteries,” said the doctor, “though it has - undergone liquefaction, is probably, to a certain extent, coagulated. - Though why,” he continued, musingly, “should such be the case? At any - rate, let us see.”</p> - <p>He then took a lancet from his instrument-case and proceeded to make an - incision in the median vein of the left arm, when, to his manifest joy, - as I could see, a few drops of blood spurted out.</p> - <p>“Yes! it is as I thought,” he exclaimed, joyfully; “the blood has - <i>not</i> coagulated. It is a simple case of drowning, and, to all - intents and purposes, our friend here is no better and no worse off than - if he had been asphyxiated by water only a few hours ago. Mr. Burnham, I - congratulate you,” taking that gentleman by the hand and shaking it with - the utmost enthusiasm, “upon being instrumental in providing a subject - for resuscitation—for resuscitate him I do not doubt that I shall, - now that I have direct evidence that the blood has undergone no chemical - change—a subject, compared with which a mere, ordinary case of - drowning sinks into the most infinitesimal insignificance; for—who - can tell?—perhaps this man has lain in this condition for - hundreds, aye, for thousands of years; perhaps he belongs to a remote - prehistoric age, for ice, the great embalmer, knows neither time nor - seasons, and a thousand years are to it but as one hour. Whatever our - friend here is, or has been, he will presently be one of us; he will - open his mouth and unlock the secrets of the past. He will tell us how - he came to be in his present plight. He will add another page to the - world’s history.”</p> - <p>I felt myself catching all the doctor’s enthusiasm, and now hung upon - everything that he did with breathless interest.</p> - <p>“The next step,” said the doctor, “is to stimulate the heart’s action - and restore the circulation. To do this will require our united efforts. - You, Mr. Burnham, will take charge of the battery and apply the - electrodes; our friend here”—signifying myself—“will assist - in inflating the lungs; I will attend to the circulation. Your battery - is ready, is it not, Mr. Burnham?”</p> - <p>The battery, with its auxiliary apparatus for intensifying the current, - was brought round and placed on a table close by. Dr. Dunne then made an - incision in the breast so as to expose the breast-bone, or sternum, and - another in the back, in the region of the third vertebra. To the former - of these the negative pole of the battery was applied, and to the latter - the positive electrode.</p> - <p>“Where is that phial, I wonder?” interjected the doctor, looking over - his medicine-chest, and taking out bottle after bottle; “ah, here it - is,” he said, at last, “here is the substance on which I rely to restore - the action of the heart and give new life to our friend here. It has - only lately been introduced into the pharmacopœia; but since its - introduction it has done wonders in cardiac affections. It is distilled - from a plant which grows only in East Africa. Its name is - <i>strephanthus</i>, and its effect is to accelerate the action of the - heart. It is now my purpose to inject a portion of this powerful - stimulant into the median vein, which I have just opened, in our - friend’s arm, whence it will be conveyed to the heart. Meanwhile, you, - Mr. Burnham, and our friend here will induce artificial respiration in - the lungs, so that the blood may be oxygenated after it has been - expelled from the heart by the spasmodic valvular action which the - <i>strephanthus</i> will excite in that organ. Now, let us each attend - closely to his allotted duty.”</p> - <p>My part consisted in inflating the lungs by means of a tiny bellows, - the nozzle of which had been introduced into the larynx, till such time - as the breathing should become automatic and the rise and fall of the - lungs regular. At a given signal from the doctor, Burnham turned on the - current, the electrodes having been previously placed in position, and, - at the same instant, the chest expanded. I plied my bellows as the - breast rose, and a second afterward it collapsed, the discharged air - rushing back through the larynx with a whistling sound. Three seconds - afterward the chest rose automatically again, and again I assisted its - rise by inflating the lungs as before. This was kept up for some dozen - or more respirations, occupying in all about two minutes.</p> - <p>Meantime, the doctor was intently engaged with a syringe and graduating - glass at the left arm of the body. So absorbed was he in his occupation - that he seemed oblivious to everything else. Suddenly he sprang to his - feet, with an exclamation which startled us.</p> - <p>“We have won!” he shouted; “see! the blood is circulating.”</p> - <p>I looked down at the arm, and, sure enough, blood was spurting in a - thin jet from the lower extremity of the vein which the doctor had - severed. In my excitement I had withdrawn the bellows from the mouth, - but there was no further use for artificial respiration, as the chest - was now rising and falling automatically and in regular cadence. The - doctor now tied up the severed vein, sewed up the incision in the arm, - and, after dressing the patient—for such he must now be - called—in a suit of Burnham’s underwear, we lifted him into the - bureau-bed that had been prepared at the side of the studio next the - fire.</p> - <p>“There is nothing more to be done,” said the doctor, simply; “he will - wake by and by of his own accord, and will then need some nourishment. - Soup and stimulants will be the proper thing to administer at first.” - </p> - <p>Burnham went out and returned presently with a tray containing the - desired refreshments. We now waited anxiously for the awakening, which - must sooner or later come. The breathing, which had hitherto been - labored and stertorous, was becoming easier, the color was returning to - the cheeks, and the occasional twitching of the muscles showed that our - strange patient was on the point of awaking. At length he turned on his - side, opened his eyes, stared fixedly at us, and then uttered an - exclamation in some foreign tongue. Burnham got up, wheeled a table to - the side of the bed, set the tray of refreshments upon it, and motioned - him to help himself, at the same time pouring out a glass of wine. Here - Dr. Dunne interposed. </p> - <p>“No,” he said, smiling; “after a fast of so many thousand years I - certainly must prescribe hot water as an initiative. It is absolutely - necessary for the stomach to begin with.”</p> - <p>The hot water was brought, and our patient, evidently comprehending - that he was under medical treatment, shifted his position in bed so as - to recline upon his elbow, took the tumbler which was handed him, and, - after eying it critically, raised it to his lips and tasted the - contents. A shade of surprise and faint protest passed across his - features as he elevated his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, and - swallowed the potion.</p> - <p>“Now let him attack the viands if he wants to,” said the doctor, as our - guest’s eye roved somewhat greedily, I thought, over the table. Burnham - pushed the tray a little nearer, no second invitation being necessary, - and the bowl of soup that had been brought, together with a couple of - glasses of old Madeira, speedily disappeared. This duty having been - performed, our guest became voluble. He gesticulated and spoke, and, to - judge by the inflexions of his voice and the character of his gestures, - he was, I should say, appealing to us for an explanation of his presence - there and of the strange objects which met his gaze. It need scarcely be - said that we could not understand one word of what he was saying, though - the voice was clear and mellow and the syllables of his words as - distinct and sonorous as ancient Greek, though they bore no other - resemblance to that language.</p> - <p>“Suppose we bring him pen and ink and see if he can write,” suggested - Burnham, and the idea struck us as a peculiarly happy one. </p> - <p>Pen, ink, and paper were accordingly set upon the table. Our patient - eyed the articles curiously for a moment or two, took up the pen, and - examined the steel nib with an expression of critical approval, then - took up a sheet of paper, examined its texture, and smiled, at the same - time spreading it out before him. It was evident that he comprehended - what was required of him, for he dipped the pen into the ink and wrote a - few words upon the paper, guiding the pen, however, from right to left, - according to Oriental usage. The characters partook more of the - Chaldaic, or ancient Sanscrit, than any other type. As it was, none of - us could make them out. Our guest watched our efforts at deciphering - with an amused smile, but when one of our daily papers was handed him by - Burnham, this quickly changed to an expression of rapt attention and - intense interest. He did not, however, handle the sheet like a savage, - but like one who knew the object of it, examining the words and letters - with the closest attention, evidently to see whether he could gain any - clew to their meaning. After a minute or two he gave up the task, and - then, tapping his forehead with a tired expression, smiled at us, lay - back on his pillow, and was soon fast asleep.</p> - <p>“He will be all right by evening,” remarked the doctor; “and then,” - turning to Burnham, “what will you do with him? Introduce him to the - Academy of Sciences, I suppose?”</p> - <p>“Not just yet,” returned Burnham; “I have no objection to some inkling - of our wonderful prize getting out—our friend here,” alluding to - me, “will, no doubt, attend to that—but I certainly shall not - bring him before the public in any way, nor even introduce him to our - scientific men, till I have educated him to some little knowledge of our - language. There will, I think, be no difficulty about that. He is - evidently a man of superior intelligence, and I shall go right to work - in the same way as if he was any ordinary foreigner cast upon our shores - with no knowledge of our language and I myself equally ignorant of his. - It is merely giving names of objects, he learning my name for the - object, I his. In that manner we shall speedily arrive at a solution of - the all-absorbing question who this remarkable being is whom we have - rescued from the jaws of death, and who, to all intents and purposes, - has been dead for—who can tell?—how many ages past.”</p> - <p>The events I have here detailed occurred on the ninth of August last. - Since that time, my friend Burnham has been enthusiastically engaged in - carrying out the project which he mapped out on the day of the - resuscitation of his remarkable patient and guest. His tailor was called - in, and, when Mr. Kourban Balanok, as the stranger calls himself, left - Burnham’s studio three days after, he did so as a nineteenth-century - gentleman, and is now installed in Burnham’s house as one of the family. - People may have noticed the young, handsome, and distinguished stranger - to be seen occasionally walking arm-in-arm with Burnham on Kearny or - Market Street, but none would guess that he had lain in the North Polar - ice in the neighborhood of ten thousand years. Such is the case, - however, and, as he is fast acquiring an intimate knowledge of the - English language, we may confidently look forward to the appearance, in - the near future, of a detailed account of the economy of the prehistoric - world, and of the vast cataclysm which swamped it and left Mr. Kourban - Balanok embedded in the ice.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s11' - title='Leaves on the River Pasig'>LEAVES ON THE RIVER PASIG</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By W. O. McGeehan</div> - <p>The Boulong <i>casco</i> lay on the Quiapo Market, which is on the left - bank of the Pasig, just below the suspension-bridge. The Chinese - junk—tradition says—was modeled after a whimsical emperor’s - shoe, consequently the <i>cascos</i> of the Philippines, being really - junks without sails, are not very dainty bits of naval architecture. As - a rule, they are not accorded the dignity of a name; but this one was - known as the “Boulong casco,” because it was owned and manned by members - of one family. Santiago Boulong was steersman, his three sons were - polemen, and Simplicia, the daughter, was <i>el capitan</i>—her - father said, affectionately. Their permanent home was a little - <i>nipa</i>-thatch shelter at the stern of the vessel.</p> - <p>The men had gone ashore shortly after the mooring—the father on - business, the sons on pleasure bent—and Simplicia, much to her - disgust, was left on board. She was a Tagalo girl, of the - light-complexioned type, pretty even when judged by our standards, of - which fact she was aware. </p> - <p>“The river, the river,” she said to herself, petulantly, “always the - river. I was born on the river, and I have been going up and down the - river all my life. When we come to Manila I may go ashore for a few - hours only, and then the river again—and the lake. And Ramon is a - fool!”</p> - <p>It was a clear, warm night, and the rippling water of the Pasig - glistened in the moonlight, so that she could see the leaves rush by in - clusters. Ramon had said: “Think of me when you see the leaves on the - river—the bright green leaves from the dear lake country. It seems - sad to think that they must float down past the city where the water is - fouled, and then out—far out—to be lost on the big salt - sea.” But Ramon was always saying queer things that she could not - understand. </p> - <p>The murmur of drowsy voices came from the crowded huts of the - market-place. Oh, how long till morning! She wanted to buy some bits of - finery there, and then to stroll through the city, especially along the - Escolta, where there were stores that exhibited splendors from all - countries. She hoped that one of her brothers would hire a - <i>carametta</i> the next evening, and take her to the Lunetta, where - the wealthy of Manila congregated to enjoy the cool night air and the - concert. A band of Americanos played there every evening. </p> - <p>They were wonderful men, these Americano soldiers, much taller than - Filipinos or Spaniards, and many of them had blue eyes and hair of the - color of gold. The pride of kings was in their stride, and they looked - as though they feared nothing. </p> - <p>Farther on down the river at the Alhambra Café, where the Spanish - officers once gathered to hear the music of Spain, the orchestra played - a new air that delighted her. There was a burst of cheering. The music - was “Dixie,” and the demonstration was made by some Tennessee - volunteers, who always gave something reminiscent of the old “rebel - yell” whenever they heard it. From the Cuartel Infanteria, across the - river, the American bugles began to shrill a “tattoo.” Their music was - wonderful—everything pertaining to these big, bold men was - wonderful, she thought.</p> - <p>Something bumped against a side of the <i>casco</i>, and Simplicia - hurried over to order away a supposed ladrone. She leaned over the side - with such abruptness that the wooden comb slipped from her heavy mass of - black hair. It fell a dusky curtain, and brushed the upturned face of a - man. He was not a little brown Filipino, but a tall Americano, fair and - yellow-haired. He laughed a soft, pleasant laugh. She drew herself - backward with a frightened cry, but his eyes held hers. The man was - standing in a small canoe, steadying his craft by holding on to the - <i>casco</i>.</p> - <p>“<i>Buenas noches</i>,” he said, smiling. He spoke Spanish, but not - like a Spaniard or a Tagalo. Simplicia smiled, faintly. She knew that - she should go into the <i>nipa</i> cabin, but this handsome man looked - so kind and—Ramon was a fool. And her father and brothers were - selfish, and—— </p> - <p>So Simplicia returned the salutation, and stood leaning over the - bulwark tasting the delirious delight of her first flirtation. The - man—he was a college boy until the United States Government gave - him a suit of khaki and the right to bear the former - designation—thrilled with joy at the delicious novelty of the - situation. He was in a city that was at once the tropics and the Orient, - and over which hung the glamour of departed mediæval days. For several - hundred years guitars had tinkled on that river, and voices had been - lifted to laticed windows. The air was laden with ghosts of everything - but common sense and scruples.</p> - <p>A bugle across the river caused the man to recollect that he was under - certain restraint. “I must go,” he said, but he did not release his hold - on the <i>casco</i>.</p> - <p>Simplicia’s eyes were big and bright in the moonlight. He stretched out - one arm and drew her face toward him. She tore herself away, and stood - breathing hurriedly through parted lips.</p> - <p>“<i>Mañana por la noche</i>,” said the soldier. He plied the paddle - vigorously, and the canoe glided away. But he looked back, longingly, - for Simplicia’s lips were very soft and warm.</p> - <p>She stood gazing after him till the canoe vanished into the shadow of - the Cuartel Infanteria. The unseen bugle softly wailed “taps,” the call - that bids the soldier rest. It is also sounded over graves. </p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>The sun beat down fiercely on the Pasig. Canoes toiled up and skimmed - down the river. Lumbering <i>cascos</i>, their crews naked to their - waists, were poled painfully along. The Quiapo Market was astir with a - babble of tongues, the barking of dogs, and the incessant challenge of - hundreds of game-cocks. The little brown people bought, sold, and - bargained with the full strength of their lungs. </p> - <p>Simplicia, as purser of the <i>casco</i>, was in the market purchasing - provisions, but she spent most of her time near the stall of a Chinese - vender of fabrics. After much haggling, she became the possessor of a - dainty bodice of silk and piña cloth.</p> - <p>Most of the girls who visited the market-place seemed to be drawn to - that spot, for there Simplicia met a friend who had left the lake - country a little later than herself.</p> - <p>“Ramon will come down the river to-night,” said the friend, - breathlessly, delighted to carry a message of that sort. “He has written - something that he thinks they may print in <i>La Libertad</i>. Isn’t - that wonderful? You must feel so proud of him. For a man to be able to - write at all is wonderful—but for the papers!”</p> - <p>Apparently there were no words in the Tagalo dialect strong enough to - express the girl’s admiration. Simplicia tossed her head, loosening the - hair, a frequent happening. She caught the heavy tresses quickly, and - almost forgot for an instant everything but the last time they had - fallen.</p> - <p>“Are you not pleased?” asked the other girl, in astonishment. She was - dark, and not pretty from any point of view.</p> - <p>“Oh, yes,” drawled Simplicia, “but Ramon is very tedious sometimes, and - the lake country is very dreary. We will go into the city this afternoon - and see the Americanos.”</p> - <p>They saw many Americanos—State volunteers clad in blue shirts and - khaki trousers. The city was full of them. They occupied all the - barracks formerly the quarters of the Spanish soldiers, and they crowded - the drinking-resorts. Along the Calle Real they came upon companies - drilling, and on the Lunetta they saw an entire regiment on - dress-parade.</p> - <p>Simplicia, though she scanned every soldier’s face, did not see the - stranger of the previous night, nor did she see a face that seemed - nearly as handsome.</p> - <p>“They say,” mused the other girl, “that the men of Aguinaldo will drive - these Americanos out of Manila if they do not go of their own accord - soon.” </p> - <p>Simplicia laughed scornfully, and pointed toward the troops. The men - were in battalion front, standing at “present,” and the sun glistened on - a thousand bayonets.</p> - <p>“But there are only a few Americanos and there are many thousands of - Filipinos,” said the girl.</p> - <p>“The Americanos will take what they want and nothing can stop them,” - announced Simplicia, decisively. “Let us go to our <i>cascos</i>.”</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>The twilight gathered on the river. In the north the sky was lit by - continuous flashes of lightning. Myriads of stars were overhead, and the - Southern Cross was viceroy of the heavens, for the moon had not yet come - into her kingdom. The water noisily gurgled by, and Simplicia waited. - Which would come first, the tedious Filipino school-master lover or the - stranger? Would the Americano come again? </p> - <p>She watched every canoe that passed, but they were all going up or - down. The moon appeared and clearly revealed the river’s surface. - Simplicia fixed her eyes on the shadow of the Cuartel Infanteria. - Something emerged from it and glided rapidly through the stream. It was - a canoe, and it was being paddled with strong, sure strokes toward her. - Her heart beat tumultuously, and she almost cried out in her delight. - </p> - <p>He came, and, fastening his canoe, swung himself aboard the - <i>casco</i>. Her arms were about his neck in an instant, and her - beautiful tresses escaped the comb again.</p> - <p>They sat in the shade of the <i>nipa</i> thatch talking in low tones. - His arm was round her waist. Her head rested on his shoulder. He puffed - with deep breaths of enjoyment a cigarette that she had daintily lit for - him. The intoxication of the country was in his brain—the devil - that whispers, “There is nothing but pleasure, and no time but now.”</p> - <p>The <i>plunk-plunk</i> of a guitar close by startled them both. - Simplicia trembled violently.</p> - <p>“It is a foolish man who is always singing to me,” she explained. </p> - <p>A clear, musical voice rose in a song, and the soldier checked a - question to listen, for the voice and the song charmed him from the - first note. The song was in Spanish, and, though he was by no means - perfect in the language, he caught the meaning and spirit of it. It ran - something to this effect:</p> - <div class='poetry-container'> - <div class='poetry'> - <div class='stanza'> - <div class='verse'>Bright are the leaves and the blossoms that grow - in the beautiful lake country,</div> - <div class='verse'>They fill the place with brilliance of things - celestial.</div> - <div class='verse'>Some of them drop or are thrown to the river, - </div> - <div class='verse'>Helpless they drift on its swift running surface. - </div> - <div class='verse'>Down past the city through sliminess foul, </div> - <div class='verse'>Out they are whirled to waters eternal</div> - <div class='verse'>Lost and forgotten forever and ever.</div> - <div class='verse'>Blossom I cherish; I’ll hold thee.</div> - <div class='verse'>Never shalt thou leave the lake country. </div> - <div class='verse'>But my heart, it is sad for the leaves on the - Pasig. </div> - </div> - </div> - </div> - <p>The last words died on the air like the sob or the faint cry of a - passing spirit. The soldier sat mute, like one bewitched by fairy music. - Simplicia’s lips, pressed against his cheek, brought him back to her. - </p> - <p>“I do not care for him. On my soul, I do not!” she whispered. She was - pretty, and her arm tightened coaxingly about his neck. His better - nature was conquered, and the devil in his blood reigned supreme. The - situation suddenly seemed highly amusing, and he laughed a suppressed - laugh of recklessness. To be serenaded by a native poet while the arm of - the troubadour’s lady-love encircled his neck—verily he would have - a great tale to tell some day. </p> - <p>There was a faint sound of a footfall on the deck of the <i>casco</i>. - The soldier disengaged himself. A face peeped in through an opening in - the thatch, and the American struck it a sharp blow with his fist. He - would have rushed after the intruder, but Simplicia held him.</p> - <p>“It is only a foolish man,” she said, “do not follow him. It would make - trouble.”</p> - <p>“I would not bring you any trouble,” he said. “What is the matter? You - tremble.”</p> - <p>“It is nothing,” she replied. “I love you.”</p> - <p>The soldier’s conscience smote him. He swore that he loved her, and - tried to believe that it was true. She seemed almost happy again. </p> - <p>“To-morrow the <i>casco</i> goes up to the lake again, and we will be - gone three days. Oh, that is so long!”</p> - <p>“Very long,” he assented.</p> - <p>“But you will wait and think of me always.”</p> - <p>“Yes, I will watch the leaves on the river——”</p> - <p>She shuddered.</p> - <p>“No! no! Do not speak of them. <i>Madre de Dios!</i> I hate the river, - and I hate the leaves it drags along. I think I hate everything but - you.”</p> - <p>The soldier was young, and this was his first experience with hysteria - and woman, which combination often disturbs even wiser heads. It - disturbed him exceedingly, but he soothed her finally with the wildest - vows and many kisses. He kissed a tress of her long hair as he stepped - from the <i>casco’s</i> poling platform into his canoe.</p> - <p>For the second time she watched the canoe till it glided into the - shadows. Then she shivered violently, chilled to the bone.</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>A sergeant of a certain regiment of United States volunteers was - prowling along the brink of the Pasig, outside the Cuartel Infanteria’s - walls, looking for a pet monkey that had disappeared. Something in the - long grass caught his eye, and he stopped. He stepped back quickly and - hurried around the corner of the wall, returning with four soldiers.</p> - <p>He parted the grass with his arms, and they saw the dead body of a - Filipino girl. Her face was concealed by a disordered mass of black - hair, and, pinned to her breast by a rudely fashioned knife that was - buried to the hilt, was a miniature insurgent flag.</p> - <p>They tenderly bore the body to the pathway, and the hair fell from the - face. One of the soldiers let go his hold and tottered to the ground. - </p> - <p>“Harrison’s a softy,” grunted one of the men. “Take hold, sergeant. - He’s fainted, I guess.”</p> - <p>The form was placed in an unused storeroom. When the news went round - the men came to view it, not out of curiosity, but to show respect such - as they would pay to their own dead.</p> - <p>“This is the way I make it out,” said the sergeant, sagely. “The girl - was killed by Aguinaldo’s gang, and it must have been because she spoke - a good word for our people.”</p> - <p>“And we’ll take it out of their hides when the time comes,” said one of - the soldiers, snapping his jaws together, which resolution the regiment - unanimously adopted. Even the chaplain refrained from chiding when he - heard of it. He knew his flock.</p> - <p>There being no way of finding out anything about the girl, a fund was - quickly collected and arrangements made for the funeral. Several hundred - soldiers followed the hearse to the cemetery at El Paco.</p> - <p>The regimental chaplain read the regulation burial service, while the - men stood with bared heads. They placed at the head of the freshly made - mound a plain board that read:</p> - <div class='tac'>FOUND IN THE PASIG.</div> - <p>After the last soldier had gone, a cowering thing walked unsteadily up - to the grave, and, kneeling beside it, laid down a cluster of green - leaves.</p> - <p>“By God! I did love her. I did,” he muttered, continuously. He drew a - pencil from his pocket and scratched her name on the board: “Simplicia.” - </p> - <p>And his youth was buried there.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s12' - title='The Great Euchre Boom'>THE GREAT EUCHRE BOOM</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Charles Fleming Embree</div> - <p>To Euchretown, Los Angeles County, came Mr. Stoker and his wife. He - bought ranches, and, strikingly dressed, drove about in the rubber-tired - buggies of real-estate agents; while Mrs. Stoker, a handsome young - woman, sniffed the social air. Just what should she do to win, with - <i>éclat</i>, the commanding place in the local feminine view? For her - no slow progress to social supremacy! Rather the Napoleonic sweeping - away of rivals.</p> - <p>At that stage of its rise from a desert to a paradise Euchretown was - belied by its name. A sombreness hovered over the thought of the place; - the method of life was Puritanic. Euchre? One would have thought there - was never a deck in the town. </p> - <p>“I don’t want to be un-Christian,” snapped the wife of Reverend Hummel; - “but I wish that Mrs. Stoker had never stuck her foot in this town.”</p> - <p>Mrs. Hummel was out of place linked to a preacher. Fairly well had she - clothed her mind in the prevalent Puritanic mood; but in her heart she - was different. As for social leaders, she was the one, and she knew it. - </p> - <p>“Why, Jennie,” complained the Reverend Hummel, a pale gentleman with - eyes that ever bespoke a receptive surprise at his debts; “your words - ring evil. And then the term you employed—stuck. How, pray, could - Mrs. Stoker stick her foot?”</p> - <p>At this moment the maid (employed despite the mortgaged condition of - Hummel’s real estate) ushered in Mrs. Banker Wheelock.</p> - <p>“And <i>have</i> you heard the news about Mrs. Stoker!” cried Mrs. - Wheelock, as Mr. Hummel, wandering away, hummed “Throw Out the Life - Line” in a fumbling voice. “Oh, haven’t you got an invitation?”</p> - <p>“What is it?” said Mrs. Hummel, darkly.</p> - <p>“A euchre-party! Everybody!”</p> - <p>Mrs. Hummel’s arms dropped limp.</p> - <p>“But, of course,” she said, “nobody will go.”</p> - <p>“They’re all wild about it!” ejaculated Mrs. Wheelock; “Mrs. Stoker is - said to have struck the psychological moment.”</p> - <p>Mrs. Hummel started up.</p> - <p>“There hasn’t been a card-party for years!” cried she; “where’ll she - get her decks? Does she carry around a trunk full? Or will she clean out - the saloons? But——” and the tears leaped up to her lashes, - “I wouldn’t be un-Christian about it.” </p> - <p>Mrs. Wheelock arose and laid her hands on Mrs. Hummel’s arm.</p> - <p>“Of course, dear, you know the only reason you wouldn’t be invited is - that you’re the preacher’s wife,” soothed she; and then, with a puzzled - air: “That <i>must</i> be the reason.”</p> - <p>Now the maid brought in an envelope. It was Mr. and Mrs. Hummel’s - invitation to Mrs. Stoker’s euchre-party. The eye of Jennie met that of - Mrs. Wheelock, as a partial relief made its way into the breast of the - preacher’s wife.</p> - <p>“Did you ever hear of such impudence?” she breathed.</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>Mrs. Stoker had a new green cottage with nine Corinthian pillars - (capitals enormously ornate) along her front porch. Within, electric - lights, white-pine woodwork, brilliant floral tributes of Axminster - carpets, and bird’s-eye maple furniture combined to produce an effect - luxurious, irrefutable.</p> - <p>“Oh, yes,” natty Stoker was saying to the men, “I gave him three - thousand for his ten acres. Wheelock, run over to the city with me - to-morrow and look at the Pasadena Villa Tract. I’ve a mind to pick up a - bunch of those lots.” </p> - <p>“O <i>Mrs.</i> Hummel!” came Mrs. Stoker’s winning voice, and everybody - listened. There was the purple-draped hostess flowing toward the - preacher’s wife. “I was dreadfully afraid you wouldn’t come! I’m - <i>so</i>” (powerful kiss) “glad you did! And dear Mr. Hummel?”</p> - <p>“To-night he works on his sermon,” said Mrs. Hummel, beaming about on - the faces of the alert and delightfully surprised company. “I persuaded - him to run in for me later; for I just came to look on. Of course,” here - she turned the sweet lips toward Mrs. Stoker, “you couldn’t expect us to - play.”</p> - <p>Mrs. Stoker put new fuel in her smile to Mrs. Hummel; and Mrs. Hummel - did likewise further fire up her smile to Mrs. Stoker; and the edified - company sat down.</p> - <p>The games went on with a vim that made it seem some hungry gambling - spirit, dormant in the town, rose up and reveled. Mrs. Stoker had risked - it all on her belief in the psychological moment—and won! The town - was ready for sin.</p> - <p>“And that little statue is the prize,” now said Mrs. Stoker, moving - about. “Mrs. Hummel, would you hold it up?”</p> - <p>All eyes came round in sneaking way toward Mrs. Hummel, who grew - pallid. There, on the mantel, near her hand as she stood to watch, was - the statuette—a nude Greek maid.</p> - <p>“Would you mind holding it up? They can’t see,” repeated Mrs. Stoker, - louder, fires in her eyes.</p> - <p>Hypnotized, Mrs. Hummel lifted it and saw a price tag, $7.50.</p> - <p>“Why,” said she, forcing into her voice the daring experiment of a note - of censure, “I didn’t know there was to be a prize!”</p> - <p>“Oh,” echoed Mrs. Wheelock from a distance, instilling into her tones a - strain of triumph, “I didn’t know there was to be a prize!” </p> - <p>“No!” chimed all the women, in mutually sanctioning delight, “we didn’t - know there was to be a prize!”</p> - <p>“Just a cheap little thing,” said Mrs. Stoker.</p> - <p>A new brightening of eyes fastened on euchre decks. The games went on - with strange excitement; for, lo! all the women had suddenly resolved to - win or ruin their nerves in the fight.</p> - <p>“Would you punch—while I look to the sherbet?” whispered Mrs. - Stoker to Mrs. Hummel, with new, bald patronage.</p> - <p>The preacher’s wife stared round. The fascination of the game was - influencing her. She felt her footing go; she saw the Stoker triumph, - the reins gone from her hand. Desperately did she leap at this only - chance to cling to the victorious vehicle of pleasure which her rival - from this night on was to drive headlong through the Puritanic mood of - Euchretown.</p> - <p>Mrs. Hummel punched the cards.</p> - <p>More fierce became the spirit of gaming, until, with final shriek of - delight, Mrs. Wheelock won the statue. Followed by jealous eyes she took - it. </p> - <p>“Splendid!” she cried, examining the tag and seeing $7.50. Then she - passed it round. “Beautiful!” said the women, seeing $7.50.</p> - <p>And the corruption of Euchretown was accomplished.</p> - <p>We pass hastily to the strange fury in its later vigor. From the night - of the initiative prize an extraordinary inflation went on apace. - Scarcely had a week elapsed (full of gossip at the Stoker’s indubitable - success) when Mrs. Wheelock gave a second euchre-party. And when the - guests flocked to the banker’s two-story house in the mission style (on - the fifty-foot lot which he bought for $1,400 of Jeffreys Sassy), they - were yet more morally poisoned to observe, on the cut-glass dish which - she awarded to shrieking Mrs. Botts, the half-extinguished price-mark, - $9.65.</p> - <p>For six days, $9.65 was a sort of tag to the town’s mental status; - when, to the thrilling of all, Mrs. George Botts did suddenly cast out - invitations; and at Mrs. Bott’s brilliant affair, Mrs. Stoker, after a - dashing race neck-and-neck with six women who all but beat her, won a - clock on the bottom of which, mysteriously blurred, the figures $13.75 - could, after careful scrutiny, be distinguished.</p> - <p>The value of the prize at the fourth party was $15; at the sixth, $19; - at the ninth, $25.50. Agape, the town stared ahead at its coming dizzy - course. Then Mrs. Samuel Lethwait, taciturn woman, stupefied the - inhabitants of the place by making one flying leap from $25 to $50. Out - of the ranks, out of the number of the unfeared had Mrs. Lethwait made - her daring rise.</p> - <p>There was an instant’s recoil. Could Mrs. Stoker, Mrs. Wheelock, Mrs. - Botts pause now? Their shoulders were at the wheel, their hands on the - flying plow which tore up such amazing furrows in the social field. The - recoil was but momentary. At the very hour when Mrs. Botts was putting - on her hat, sworn to buy a prize worth $60, there fell into her agitated - hand an invitation. Mrs. Stoker had sprung to the breach.</p> - <p>A scramble for the cottage of the nine pillars. And behold on the - golden lamp there displayed as prize, were the shameless figures, - $75.00.</p> - <p>Now had the insanity taken general root. He who fails to understand - knows not California. The dangerous mania once contracted, no matter - what its form, must continue till the collapse. If the gold fury of ’49, - and the equally furious land boom of ’87, are not object-lessons enough, - let the sociologist recall the Belgian hares. And if yet he doubts the - historical verity of such a cast in the California mind, let him give - this euchre boom his careful consideration. As men bid for twenty-five - foot lots in San Diego in the insane days of ’87, so did women now bid, - under the thin disguise of euchre prizes, for choice positions in the - social field of Euchretown. It was the old disease.</p> - <p>In two more leaps the prizes had advanced to a hundred. And, most - significant of all, seldom was the price of a prize now paid down. The - credit system had saved the day. The people of Euchretown were not - millionaires. Few felt able to toss out a hundred with this rapid - periodicity. So small first payments, contracts, “the rest in six and - twelve,” became the rule.</p> - <p>In the rear dust of this race, panting, tagged Mrs. Hummel. Again and - again, contrary to the will of pained Mr. Hummel (who to himself sang - “Throw Out the Life Line” in despair), did she attend, punch cards, look - on with jealous eye; yet she did not play. She was a buffer whom the - sinners held between their gaming and their consciences. Oh, how she - longed to give a party that would stagger the general mind!</p> - <p>Now for a fatal three weeks Mr. Hummel was in Oregon. Two sleepless - nights his wife spent tossing, then arose feverish, stood on the high - pinnacle of temptation, and plunged down.</p> - <p>First she went for a prize. The price had risen to a hundred and forty; - she must act quick; now!—lest she be ruined, for the boom waited - for no man. At a furniture store she asked information on the contract - system. The dealer (who had furnished prizes) was confused; he could not - accept the Hummel’s contract. Why? she gasped. Oh, he hastened, it was - not for doubts of the Hummel honesty; it was for doubts of the honesty - of the community. In the present furious state he did not believe the - Hummels would get their salary! Infinitely sorry, infinitely polite was - he; and she went away dazed. </p> - <p>But she would do it or die. One more hour of suffering brought her - back. </p> - <p>“I’ll mortgage our household goods,” said she, dry-eyed, “till Hummel - returns.” And he agreed.</p> - <p>So, Mrs. Stoker’s old slain rival rose up astonishing over the horizon. - The chill that ran through the community with Mrs. Hummel’s invitations, - gave way to white heat, and everybody, euchre mad, now rushed to the - preacher’s home.</p> - <p>Mrs. Hummel’s struggles had been heroic; the house was decorated as - never before, the refreshments were beyond any that Mrs. Stoker had - conceived. And on the portières (given as a prize) the mark one hundred - and fifty dollars stook forth a challenge.</p> - <p>Mrs. Stoker, playing recklessly, lost; and her drawn face suggested - nervous collapse and thoughts criminal. But a crisis in the social life - of Euchretown was now imminent. There was yet another element to Mrs. - Hummel’s victory; a murmur went round of the coming ruin of Stoker. As - ladies moved to tables they eyed Mrs. Stoker, and whispered gossip; as - men sat down they hinted at revelations, speaking in one another’s ears. - </p> - <p>“What is it?” whispered Mrs. Hummel, huskily, to Mrs. Wheelock.</p> - <p>“They say that Stoker is found out; that he gave false title to some - land!” </p> - <p>At that moment Stoker’s wild, unnatural laugh was heard.</p> - <p>In the final neck-and-neck sprint to the goal, Mrs. Stoker, gone to - pieces, wretched, was distanced; Mrs. Botts carried off the portières; - the party broke up, and Mrs. Hummel’s night of sinful conquering passed - into history. </p> - <p>When Hummel returned, the news emaciated him. He went to bed and lay - ill for a week, and nobody threw out the life line to him. Nay, even the - bed he lay on came near to being snatched from under him. And now, with - the boom trembling on the verge of collapse, with everybody’s contracts - coming due, bills began to rain upon the preacher’s head.</p> - <p>“Jennie,” groaned he, “you have ruined me. See, they haven’t paid my - salary, and the furniture man is mad. We will be cast into the street!” - </p> - <p>Then there fell into Mrs. Hummel’s hands an envelope—“Mrs. - Stoker—at home—Friday night—euchre!”</p> - <p>“Why,” cried Mrs. Wheelock, bursting in with Mrs. Botts, “everybody - knows that the Stokers are on the brink of ruin. They say he is fighting - like mad to keep his head up—maybe to keep out of jail! This is - their final fling. And everybody has learned about her prize. Guess what - it is!”</p> - <p>“And guess what it cost!” shouted Mrs. Botts.</p> - <p>“I wouldn’t be un-Christian about it,” declared Jennie, “but I do think - swindlers had better hide their heads. What is the thing, then, and what - does it cost?”</p> - <p>There was an impressive hush.</p> - <p>“A bedroom set worth two hundred! And she’s let everybody know that she - paid cash down for it.”</p> - <p>They all gazed at one another, the fire of gaming in their eyes. </p> - <p>“She is making one last grand play,” said they.</p> - <p>One day of gloom did Mrs. Hummel pass in Hummel’s bedroom, arguing, - pleading. To Hummel, he and the whole town were gone to the devil. </p> - <p>“No! Never!” cried he, receiving more duns, and shaken.</p> - <p>But at last toward night he arose and, haunted, went to the furniture - store. In the window was the bedroom set, and over it a sign, “The prize - for Mrs. Stoker’s euchre-party.” Staring, the emaciated Hummel lost his - soul.</p> - <p>“Would it cover the bill,” he whispered, hoarsely, in the dealer’s back - room, “if we won it?”</p> - <p>“About,” mused the dealer; “Hummel, since it’s you. I’d call it - square.” </p> - <p>And Hummel returned, unsteady on his feet.</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>Once again the cottage of the Corinthian pillars shone with the - brilliancy of a euchre evening. Stoker was making a high play to-night - to keep his footing with the men. Mrs. Stoker had rouged to hide the - pallor of her cheeks. The house distanced all previous efforts in its - decorations, the refreshments were beyond the experience of the most - high-rolling citizen of the town.</p> - <p>Behold, in came Mrs. Hummel, her blood up.</p> - <p>“And dear Mr. Hummel?” asked Mrs. Stoker, taking Mrs. Hummel’s hand in - both of hers.</p> - <p>“Hummel’s in bed,” said Jennie, tersely; “Mrs. Stoker, I’ll play - to-night.” </p> - <p>A moment’s silence, as of a solitude; then a great hubbub, the guests - making for tables.</p> - <p>“So glad!” cried Mrs. Stoker; “we’ve always hoped you would!”</p> - <p>“So glad!” shrieked all the women into Mrs. Hummel’s ear; and the games - began.</p> - <p>Why dwell on the mad scramble? That night was the culmination. - Disgraceful as was the thing in itself, it pales before the disgrace - incident to a mood of reckless confession which seized the company. - Somebody blurted out that she’d win that two hundred or die. Then a nigh - insane man in a corner shouted across the room, to the shocking of all: - “Let’s make it poker!”</p> - <p>The laugh that greeted this was spasmodic; and all at once right before - Mrs. Hummel on the central table, Mr. Stoker, as though he had lost his - mind, and grown wild and cynical, began to deal out—ten-dollar - bills from his deck. These Mr. Wheelock snatched up and shook aloft with - fearful merriment under the chandelier.</p> - <p>In that instant the boom collapsed. Who could predict the psychological - moment? The sight of the ten-dollar bills was too much. Shame rushed - into every breast; the reaction began; and henceforth in the hands of - everybody but Mrs. Hummel (who, brain on fire, had failed to catch the - significance of the moment), euchre fell a limp and lifeless thing.</p> - <p>And that alone is why the preacher’s wife, who scarcely knew her - bowers, won the bedroom set.</p> - <p>A sudden, fierce knocking at the door, and in burst an officer.</p> - <p>“I have a warrant for the arrest of John Stoker,” said he.</p> - <p>“I’m here,” said Stoker, sneering and white; and Mrs. Stoker fainted. - </p> - <p>Everybody stared; all seized hats; like rats the euchre players slunk - away; the Corinthian cottage, like a bedizened but deserted courtesan, - stood gaudily shining in the night, alone.</p> - <p>Later the town awoke, as the high-roller awakes next morning with a - suffering and repentant head, and the readjustment began. Everybody owed - somebody for prizes, as, in ’88, everybody owed somebody for lots. - Everybody was a buffer to everybody. The thing let itself down and - evened itself up, and nobody was hard on anybody. And thus the euchre - boom passed into history.</p> - <p>Now the church people began to rehabilitate their consciences. And - Banker Wheelock hit upon a scheme. As financier of the bankrupt soul, - Wheelock will ever stand out a genius.</p> - <p>“Why,” said he to Botts, “we did it to help Hummel.”</p> - <p>“True,” said Botts, dazzled; “let’s go and tell him.”</p> - <p>And on a Saturday evening a score of citizens came to Hummel’s house. - </p> - <p>Hummel was lying pallid on a lounge.</p> - <p>“We’ve come,” said Wheelock, blandly, “to felicitate you. We couldn’t - bear to see you carry that debt, Hummel. We fixed the little thing in - what was, I agree, an unprecedented way. But when we schemed beforehand - with Mrs. Stoker to give a party and pass the victory on to your - wife—Hummel, my friend, our hearts went with it!”</p> - <p>And Hummel, seeing this astonishing loophole for them all, arose to - greet the general smile.</p> - <p>“Kind friends,” said he, in trembling relief, “more blessed is it to - give than to receive.”</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s13' - title='The Sorcery of Asenath'>THE SORCERY OF ASENATH</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Maria Roberts</div> - <p>People often ask me why I gave up a promising business career and - devoted myself to traveling, in which I find no pleasure; exploring, for - which I have no taste; and archæology, which is to me the most tiring of - pursuits. The question has never been answered, save by the statement - that there is no reason to give, which involves the telling of an - incredible story.</p> - <p>There are two or three to whom I would like to tell it. If they survive - me, they shall know—to that end, these pages.</p> - <p>It is my conviction that whatever intelligent man has known, he has - tried to record in some way—that living truths, new to us, may be - gleaned from the stone tablets of races extinct for ages. For such a - truth, I am searching. One man found it, but he is dead. His spirit I - have called up, as the woman at Endor called up Samuel, and questioned - it. He told me that the knowledge had sent it to the world of shades - before its time, and had put power into the hands of an evil one, who - had bidden it never in any place to reveal to any mortal what it knew. - </p> - <p>“Even yet I must obey her,” said the spirit of Paul Glen; “but what you - seek is written.”</p> - <p>As yet, I have not read. Many strange things have I unearthed, but - never this that I seek.</p> - <p>Now, I will write my story. You who read it may believe or not, as you - see fit. I know that it is true.</p> - <p>It is many years now since I went South to visit my sister Helen. I had - not seen her since the day of her marriage, three years before, till she - met me at the door of her own home and welcomed me in her old sweet and - quiet manner. It seemed to me, at the first glance, that her face had - aged too much, and that a certain once fine expression—a - suggestion of latent determination—had overdeveloped, and marked - her with stern lines. From the first moment, too, I feared the existence - of a trouble in her life, of which her letters had given no hint.</p> - <p>She seemed, though, cheerful enough. She led the way into a great room - that was shaded and cool and full of the scent of lilacs. With a motion - of her hand, she dismissed three or four black maids, whom she had been - assisting or instructing at some sewing work, and they went out, - courtesying and showing their white, even teeth at the door.</p> - <p>A fourth did not leave, but retired to a far end of the room and went - on with the sewing. I noticed what a tiny garment she was making, and - what a sharply cut silhouette her face made against the white curtain of - the window by which she sat. </p> - <p>Helen chatted away, apologizing for her husband’s absence, asking a - host of questions, and planning some pleasure for every one of the days - of my stay with her. I lay back in my chair, with a feeling of languid - content, and listened. When Helen suggested sleep and refreshment, I - declined both, feeling no need of anything but her presence and that - delicious room, the atmosphere of which was laden with rest as with the - scent of the lilacs.</p> - <p>The black woman sat directly in the line of my vision, and I remember - now that my gaze never strayed from her. I noticed, idly at first, then - with interest, the regularity of her features and the grand proportions - of her head and bust. Her hair, brownish in color, with dull copper - tints, was as straight as my own, and she had a hand and arm so - perfectly molded that, except for their black skin, they might have been - those of a lady of high degree. But it was the pride, speaking from - every line of that dark face, that most attracted my notice. There was - in it, too, an exultant sense of power, and it was the most resolute - face, black or white, that I ever saw. </p> - <p>Presently I began to feel that it required an effort to keep the thread - of what Helen said, and to reply. Her voice seemed to get faint, then to - come in snatches, with an indistinct murmur between them; at last, not - at all, though I knew she was still speaking.</p> - <p>I was not unconscious, but perception was contracted and concentrated - upon one abnormal effort. From me a narrow path of light stretched down - the room to the black woman. She seemed to expand and to grow luminous; - a vapor exhaled from her, floated to the middle of the pathway, and - there assumed her own form, almost nude, perfect like her face in its - every line, motionless as if carved from ebony, but with fierce, impure - eyes that looked straight into mine and from which there seemed to be no - escape.</p> - <p>Their gaze begot an overwhelming sense of disgust. My soul shuddered, - but my body could not move. The evil face smiled. A cloud floated over - the form of ebony, slowly passed away, revealing one like polished - ivory, but the eyes changed not. </p> - <p>How long their gaze held me motionless and helpless I do not know. - Suddenly, something white shut out the vision, and my sister’s voice, - now harsh and loud, struck upon my hearing like a lash. Instantly the - room assumed its ordinary appearance, the scent of the lilacs greeted me - as if I had newly come into the atmosphere, and Helen, in her white - dress, stood before me, trembling.</p> - <p>The negress at the window looked at us both with insolent amusement. It - was to her that Helen spoke.</p> - <p>“How dared you!” she exclaimed; “oh, that I could punish you as you - deserve!”</p> - <p>The girl smiled and slowly drew her needle through the cloth in her - lap. </p> - <p>“Go out to Lucas,” commanded Helen. “Go!”</p> - <p>The girl drew herself up, and her face took on an expression of sullen - defiance. It seemed for an instant that she would not obey. She clenched - her hands, and I heard her teeth grate together. But she hesitated only - a moment, then went slowly out of the room. Presently she passed by the - window, pushing a heavy barrow full of earth. Lucas, the gardener, - followed, carrying a long gad. In a minute or two they passed again, - going in the same direction, and afterward again and again. The girl was - pushing the barrow around and around the house.</p> - <p>“That is the heaviest and most menial employment I can devise for her,” - said Helen; “I wish there were something worse. She grows more impudent - every day, but this is the first time she has dared to exert her snaky - power upon a white person in my presence. How did you feel while you - were under that spell?”</p> - <p>“Now, Helen, for heaven’s sake don’t imagine——”</p> - <p>“I imagine nothing,” she interrupted, in a low voice. “I know that - girl. She can do strange things. If ever a human creature was possessed - of a devil, she is.”</p> - <p>“Why, Helen!”</p> - <p>She went on without heeding my astonishment. “Every negro on the - plantation, except Lucas, is mortally afraid of her. My birds cower in a - corner of their cage if she approaches them, the gentlest horse we have - will rear and kick at sight of her, and if she goes into the - poultry-yard the hens cover up their chicks as if night had come. She - has affected others as she did you. She has done worse. When I first - came here, she was given to me for a maid; but, not liking her, I took a - little mulatto girl who was bright and smart then, but who is now - idiotic through fear of Asenath.”</p> - <p>I did not think it best to dispute with Helen, knowing her well enough - to be sure that any argument I could adduce against her belief she had - already weighed and found wanting. She was not a superstitious woman, - nor a hasty one, but one whose very mistakes deserved respect, since she - always took that course of action which she believed to be wisest and - best, even if it were to her own disadvantage. I simply asked: “Why do - you not get rid of her?”</p> - <p>“I have tried, but something frustrates every effort of that kind. - Robert objects to sale—it is unusual on this plantation. We once - offered her her freedom if she would go away; but she only looked as if - she scorned the freedom we could give, and laughed in a way that chilled - my blood.”</p> - <p>“She seems very insolent.”</p> - <p>“Insolent—that is a weak word! I sometimes think she is - birth-marked with impudence as she is with straight hair.”</p> - <p>“That hair, then, is a birth-mark? I thought it must be a wig.”</p> - <p>“She was born with it and with an insane craving to be white. When a - child, she used to scream and shriek over her blackness for hours at a - time. Mother Glen whipped that out of her.”</p> - <p>“It is a pity she did not whip out some of her other peculiarities.” - </p> - <p>“Mother Glen was much to blame for some of them. You knew Paul Glen, - and what a strange, silent being he was—always absorbed in some - mysterious pursuits, roving from one lost region to another, coming - home, now and then, for a day and leaving, as if for a short time, to be - heard of after months of inquiry in Hyderabad, or Jerusalem, or the - heart of Guinea. Well, after he came home the last time he made Asenath - the subject of numerous psychological experiments. He could mesmerize - any one—what other gifts he had is not known; but he called - mesmerism child’s play. Mother Glen did not object to his making this - use of the girl, because she did not wish to cross Paul and have him go - away again. It is my belief that Asenath discovered, through some of his - experiments, the existence of an occult power in herself. Before long, - she had Paul completely under her control. I had not yet come here; but - Mother Glen told me about it, and that any effort to break the spell - made Paul perfectly furious. He taught her to read, and to sing, and - obeyed her in everything—think of it! After a while he fell sick, - but it was thought not dangerously. Asenath nursed him, and he would not - eat or drink unless she bade him.”</p> - <p>“That, though, may have been a mere whim, such as the sick often take.” - </p> - <p>She shook her head. “You have not heard all: Two of the - servants—Mammy Clara and Belinda—declare that they overheard - Asenath forbid Paul ever to touch food again, and tell him that she - would pretend to bid him eat, but he must not do so. And it is certainly - true that he at last refused all sustenance and died of starvation.”</p> - <p>“What a horrible idea!”</p> - <p>“Shortly before Paul was stricken down,” Helen proceeded, “he disposed - of all his property—it was in securities of various - kinds—and we have never been able to find out what he did with the - money he received. Thousands and thousands of dollars took wing somehow. - It was never brought here, so she could not have stolen it actually, but - I am as sure that Asenath knows where that money is as I am that I - live.”</p> - <p>“Now, Helen, be sensible, do.”</p> - <p>“Mother Glen was a sensible woman, and she believed as I do. She said - the girl was uncanny. Moreover, she declared to me that Asenath had set - out to conquer her as she did Paul, and that it was only by constant - resistance that she prevented her from gaining her object. There was a - psychic contest between them. Mother Glen’s brain was in a condition of - siege for months. It could not stand the strain. She was seized with - paralysis and died. I blame Asenath for her death.” </p> - <p>I did not say much in reply. My odd experience of a few minutes before - puzzled me. Helen’s account of the girl threw a weird light upon what I - felt bound, as a reasonable man, to consider merely curious phenomena, - subjective in character and due to some unexplained physical cause. I - determined to say a few decided words to Robert Glen about the - culpability of allowing his delicate wife to contend with such an - annoyance as Asenath, who, if not a sorceress, certainly was a fractious - and troublesome servant.</p> - <p>“It is strange that Robert does not remove her,” said I.</p> - <p>Helen’s face flushed and was drawn by a momentary spasm. She looked at - me in troubled silence, as if she could not decide to speak what she - wished to tell me.</p> - <p>“I am afraid for Robert,” she said at length, almost in a whisper; - “there is something in that girl’s demeanor to him that it sickens me to - think of—and which I dare not try to explain, even to myself. It - seems impossible that she can dare to think that he”—she went on - hurriedly, after a pause—“you see, he believes in no psychic - powers and is not on his guard. He calls her unearthly pranks mere - mischief that a few years’ discipline will take out of her. Robert - intends her to marry Lucas.”</p> - <p>She spoke the last sentence quite loudly, and, as the girl and her - driver were passing by the window, they overheard. Lucas, a squat, - stolid-looking mulatto, with a face like that of a satiated animal, - chuckled and poked at Asenath with the gad.</p> - <p>The girl stopped. She threw down her burden, flung back her head, and - turned upon Helen a wild and vicious stare. Her face, streaming with - perspiration, was full of threat. She gasped for breath from emotion or - the heaviness of her toil. She raised one hand, wiped her brow with its - open palm, and flung the drops of sweat in a shower at Helen.</p> - <p>“May every drop curse you!” she said, between her labored breaths. </p> - <p>Helen looked at her with quiet scorn. “Go on, Lucas,” she said, calmly. - </p> - <p>Asenath shook herself, like a chained animal. She ground her teeth and - turned upon Lucas in fury, as if she would rend him. He did not quail, - but raised his gad threateningly and pointed to the barrow-handles, and, - after a momentary struggle with herself, the girl took them up and went - on, panting under her toil.</p> - <p>“She shall continue that until she drops,” said my sister.</p> - <p>“But, Helen, that surely is cruel.”</p> - <p>“Not more so than drawing the fangs of a snake. I have discovered that - she is psychically powerless when physically exhausted. All the negroes - on the place know this and are rejoicing now—they all feel more - secure for knowing that she has been disciplined.”</p> - <p>While she was speaking, I saw Robert Glen coming along the walk to the - house. Helen saw him, too. Leaning out the window, she called to Lucas - and bade him take his charge “to the old barn.” He hurriedly departed, - driving the girl—who now seemed doubly unwilling to drag her - load—literally like an ox, and very unsparing of the gad.</p> - <p>Robert greeted me cordially; but it was evident to me that there was a - cloud between his wife and him. His ruddy face assumed a stern - expression when he looked at her, and his voice had a hard tone when he - addressed her. Her manner to him had an appealing, almost fawning, air, - which it distressed me to see.</p> - <p>It was some days before I found a chance to speak to Robert on the - subject of the girl. I had better have held my tongue, for he was - nettled in an instant, shrugged his shoulders, and curled his lip. </p> - <p>“You Northern people know nothing whatever about the management of - slaves. Helen leads that girl the life of a toad under a harrow, because - the other darkies say she ‘hoodoos’ them, and because my mother had some - irrational ideas about demoniacal possession. I declare to you, Tom, - that if I did not know Helen’s delicate condition and nervousness were - much to blame, I should be ashamed of her treatment of Asenath, who is a - good house-servant, and valuable.”</p> - <p>“But she is an annoyance that Helen should not have to contend with - now.” </p> - <p>“How is she to be got rid of?” he demanded, impatiently. “We never sell - any of the people on this estate, and she won’t take her freedom as a - gift. I can’t kill her.”</p> - <p>Then I dropped the subject. When I next saw Helen, she had been crying, - and she begged me not to speak to Robert about the girl again.</p> - <p>I saw no more of Asenath for some time, and learned that she had been - put steadily to work at the loom, the day following my arrival. </p> - <p>One morning, news came that the loom-house had been entered in the - night, all the yarn carried off, the woven cloth cut to pieces, and the - loom and wheels so shattered that new ones would be necessary. Even the - walls of the building were half-destroyed.</p> - <p>“This is some of Asenath’s work,” said Helen.</p> - <p>Robert, who had been annoyed by the news, now seemed additionally so. - </p> - <p>“Pshaw, Helen!” he said sharply; “it would take the strength of several - men to do some of this mischief.”</p> - <p>“She has it at command. Lucas shall take her in hand again.”</p> - <p>“No, we will have no more of that,” Robert said, sternly. “Now, hear - me, Helen; I have told Lucas that if he obeys you in that respect again - he shall be flogged within an inch of his life, and I mean it.”</p> - <p>Helen’s face turned very white, her hands fell into her lap, and she - sat as if stricken helpless and hopeless. I hastened away to avoid - hearing more, comprehending now what the trouble in my sister’s life - was, and with a presentiment of coming evil that would be greater.</p> - <p>It was that very night that, having strolled into the shrubbery to - smoke my cigar, I fell asleep upon a rustic bench there and awoke to - find it was late at night, with the wind moaning as if a storm were - brewing in the cloudy heavens.</p> - <p>As I arose to go to the house, something—that was not - visible—seemed to come from every quarter at once and smite me. I - felt a sharp, electric thrill, which was followed by a sensation as if I - had been flung from a height and raised up again, with some of my - faculties benumbed by the fall. My hair stood up, but I felt no fear, - only a passive wonder, mixed with expectation. Turning, I saw, by a - transient gleam of moonlight, the girl Asenath, standing in the path - near by, pointing at me with a long, slender rod. The ray passed and - left a black Shadow there, which moved slowly away, beckoning to me. I - followed.</p> - <p>The Shadow led me out of the shrubbery and along the wide avenue - between the two rows of huts occupied by the negroes, and ended at the - mansion house. I had no will or thought but to follow it exactly. It - stopped before one of the huts and bent itself nearly double. I, too, - bent over, involuntarily, and every muscle of my body seemed to become - tense. The perspiration started out of me, and my will was like a bar of - steel ending in great fingers, which grasped something and pulled upon - it with such force that my inner self was a-tremble with weakness when - the tension relaxed, which it did at the opening of the cottage door and - the coming out of a little lad—a mere child—who looked - ghastly, as one of the dead walking. He placed himself beside me, we - followed the shadowy woman to another house, dragged at the invisible - cords of another human soul, and brought it out into the night. It was a - woman, this time, in scantiest of night-robes.</p> - <p>And so we went on, stopping at every door, and from every door some one - came forth, except from that of Lucas. There, grasp as it would, the - steel fingers clutched nothing, and the door remained shut.</p> - <p>The woman Asenath muttered to herself, and all the crowd of followers - muttered, too. With them, my own lips formed words, of which I did not - then comprehend the meaning: “Soulless beast!” We went on beyond the - quarters, stopped at the mansion, and dragged at something that resisted - with all its strength, which was weaker than ours, for it yielded at - last, and came slowly, slowly down the steps and stood among us. It was - my sister Helen. </p> - <p>Asenath laughed, and ghastly laughter broke from all, even from Helen - herself.</p> - <p>I had no feeling of compassion for her, nor of fear for her or myself, - but was simply a force which another exerted. The wills of those who - followed Asenath were but strands in the cable of her power, and their - strength was in her hands for good or ill.</p> - <p>We followed again—out of the plantation, through a forest of - pines, over a bridge that spanned slow-crawling, black water, past a - fallen church, surrounded by forgotten graves, to the top of a hill - where there were stones laid in the form of a serpent—a great - cleft stone, like open jaws, forming the head. There Asenath paused and - cast down her rod. She stretched out her hands, and in a moment we were - formed into a circle about the rod. </p> - <p>And then once again those fingers of steel grasped - something—something that all their strength seemed unable to move. - Our breath came in gasps, our forms shook like the leaves of the aspen - tree, and in the heart was a fear, too great to be measured, of failure. - Long, long the effort lasted—lasted until the will seemed to - discard its own puerile strength and to fling itself upon the bosom of - impersonal force, seize the reservoir of the universal will, and turn - its power in a mighty stream upon the burden of one desire—one - unyielding demand that the door be opened. And with that borrowed force - came the sense of unlimited strength. Faith was born. We stretched out - our arms in gestures of which I can only remember that they were first - those of invitation, then of welcome. Nature began to pulsate. There was - a sound like the slow, regular beating of a heart, in the chambers of - which we were inclosed. The inner life throbbed with it so fiercely that - the blood seemed almost to leap from my body. All about us were the - movements of awakening birds and insects; from afar came the lowing of - kine, the crowing of cocks, and the crying of children, as if they were - suddenly startled into fear. </p> - <p>In the centre of the circle appeared a square of strange light. We - looked upon it and beheld a place of which the darkness and the light of - this world are but the envelopes. We saw there, afar off, a vast - crystalline globe, from which extended, in all directions, millions of - filaments of clear light. The globe scintillated as a diamond does, and - its sparks floated away upon the endless filaments of light. Nearer to - us, moving about, were beings not human, and not resembling each other - further than that they were all gigantic and all possessed of some human - attributes. Some were beautiful, some hideous; but upon every one was - stamped—in strange characters that I somehow understood—the - words “<i>I only am God</i>.” Upon some the writing was fantastic, as if - put on in mockery. Upon others it shone with a clear and cruel radiance - that pained the sight. Some bore it faded and dim, as if the pretension - it set up had fallen like a leaf into the stream of the ages and been - almost forgotten. A great awe fell upon us all, so great that all, - except the woman Asenath and myself, fell down and seemed as if dead. - The woman trembled and murmured to herself, and again my lips formed her - words: “Is it worth while, when human desires are so poor, human life so - short?”</p> - <p>Through that door there floated not a voice, for the silence was only - broken by a faint, soft hum, like very distant music, but an unspoken - command that impressed itself upon the spirit.</p> - <p>“<i>Speak!</i>”</p> - <p>Still the woman hesitated. Suddenly her lips moved again, mine - following them: “But only through this can <i>he</i> be won.”</p> - <p>“I would have the desire of my heart,” she said aloud.</p> - <p>“<i>It is thine</i>,” was the silent answer; “<i>to him who knocks at - this door shall it be opened, and what he asks for there shall he - receive, whether for good or ill. It is the law.</i>”</p> - <p>“I would be fair, like those who enslave me. All that she - has”—she pointed to my sister—“I would take from her and - have for my own.”</p> - <p>“<i>The power to obtain thy will is thine, whether thou be of the just - or of the unjust. The spirit which commands shall be obeyed. It is the - law.</i>”</p> - <p>“And is there a penalty to be paid?”</p> - <p>“<i>Thy act is the seed from which its penalty shall grow.</i>”</p> - <p>The woman sighed.</p> - <p>“What penalty?”</p> - <p>“<i>Thou knowest the law.</i>”</p> - <p>Sighing again, bitterly, Asenath stretched out her hand. The square of - light went out. Across the spot where it had been, drifted indistinct - forms which passed into invisibility on either side. Under their feet - ran a serpent of fire, which leaped at the woman. She grasped it, and it - seemed to become the rod she had cast down. </p> - <p>I remembered nothing more until I came slowly to myself, stretched upon - the bench in the shrubbery, with the morning sun shining into my face. - My limbs were stiff, my head ached, and my heart was heavy with a - foreboding of evil. It was impossible for me to decide whether the - experience of the night was a dream or a reality, but I was sorely - troubled; I could not think of Asenath without a creeping of the flesh. - </p> - <p>On approaching the house, I saw Robert standing in the doorway. My - first glimpse of him set me to trembling with fear of evil tidings, he - looked so agitated and distressed. When he perceived me, he wrung his - hands and burst into tears.</p> - <p>“Oh, Tom!” he cried, “Helen is dying. She was taken with convulsions - early this morning. She does not know me. The baby was born dead, and - Helen can not live. I must lose her! Oh, God, I must lose her!”</p> - <p>He ran through the hall and up the stairs, like a wild man. I followed, - but the heaviness of the shock was so great that it was but slowly and - with a feeling as if the floor was rising up to my face. Asenath was - moving stealthily about the hall. I bade her begone. She looked at me - like a startled cat, but did not go. A black girl, coming down the - stairs, passed me, and I recognized her as the first of the women who - had joined our ghastly crowd the night before. She gazed straight before - her, with wide-open, horrified eyes, and her face had the same pinched - look the hall mirror had shown me upon my own as I glanced into it - involuntarily when passing it. At the top of the stairs, Belinda, - Helen’s poor little maid, flung herself at my feet and clasped my knees. - </p> - <p>“Oh, Massa Tom,” she cried, “she am ’witched. Go an’ git d’ witch - doctah t’—tak’—de spell off’n her. Nuffin’ll save her ef yo’ - don’t do dat.”</p> - <p>As I stopped to put the poor creature aside, old Mammy Clara, her face - streaming with tears, came up to me.</p> - <p>“Massa Tom,” she said, solemnly, “de good God hab tooken Miss Helen. - She’s in heben wid her li’l’ baby.”</p> - <p>The blow overcame me. It will be best to pass over that time. I shut - myself into my room and bore my agony alone. I went once into the room - where Helen lay and looked at her face. It was the face of one in - peaceful rest, but it had aged twenty years in twelve hours. Her maids, - directed by Mrs. Grayson, an old friend of the family, were ready to - prepare her for the grave.</p> - <p>“They think,” whispered Mrs. Grayson, “that she had walked in her - sleep. Her feet are scratched and torn, as if she had been among briars - barefoot, and the doctors say that her convulsions probably came on from - the shock of awakening. She was found at daybreak, unconscious, in the - hall, and the outer door was wide open.”</p> - <p>I left the plantation a few days after the funeral, and for years - neither saw nor heard directly from Robert Glen. I never could forgive - his indifference to Helen’s peace of mind while she lived, nor get over - a certain disgust with which his lack of self-control at the time of her - death inspired me. I never liked him, and, after that sad time, I had - less regard for him than ever. I never told him the story I have - written. He would only have pronounced me mad, and I did not wish to - obtain that reputation for the mere sake of warning him. Besides, I - tried with all my mind to believe the experience of that night a dream, - but I found that impossible and was always looking for a sequel to it. - The sequel came in its appointed time.</p> - <p>Years passed away. At the outbreak of the war, the Graysons came North. - From them, I learned that Asenath had disappeared from the plantation - long before, and was supposed to have drowned herself in the black creek - and to haunt the plantation in the form of a black-and-white snake. Dr. - Grayson blamed himself for her death.</p> - <p>“Some of the Glen negroes,” he said, “told some of mine that the girl - was turning white, and that, with the exception of her face and hands, - her whole body had changed its color. Now I had heard of such cases, but - never had seen one, and in spite of what Buffon and other naturalists - say on the subject, felt doubtful of the possibility of such a thing - taking place. I rode over to Glen’s one day to investigate the matter. - Glen was not at home; but, presuming upon old friendship with him, I saw - the girl and told her the object of my call. I wish you had seen her; - she flew into an outrageous passion, called me vile names, said there - was not a white spot on her person, and that if I touched her it should - cost me dear. Of course, I paid no attention to her threats, and called - that Lucas of Glen’s to help me turn up her sleeves. Her arms really - were white, but before I could half-examine them, she broke away from us - and tore out of the house. We followed, but lost sight of her in the - shrubbery, and to this day she has never been seen again. The negroes - say she drowned herself. Glen, when he returned, seemed to believe so. - He took me to task in a most ungentlemanly manner for what had happened, - and we have not been on speaking terms since. He has now gone abroad to - stay until this little war squall blows over, I hear.”</p> - <p>“I trust that he may—and longer,” I said. The doctor chuckled a - little and changed the subject. In secret, I said to myself: “I don’t - believe the girl is dead, and I do believe that Robert Glen knows where - she is. The sequel will come.”</p> - <p>In ’68, Robert returned home, bringing a wife with him. He wrote me a - formal announcement of his marriage, to which I replied with equal - formality.</p> - <p>It was rumored that the new wife was rich in her own right; that she - was of English parentage, but born and reared in Calcutta. Later, I - heard that Robert’s old neighbors had not taken to her at all, and that - she had an ungovernable temper, being unable to keep any servant under - her roof, except a couple of East Indian women, whom she berated - continually in their own tongue, but who could not speak English enough - to impart any information about their mistress to her neighbors. </p> - <p>The year after Robert’s marriage, I accepted an invitation to spend a - few days with the Graysons. Feeling that I owed Robert the courtesy of a - call, I rode over to the plantation, not so much to discharge a social - duty as to see the new Mrs. Glen, about whom I noticed, on the part of - the Graysons, a marked reluctance to speak. They edged away from the - subject, when I brought it up, with nervous looks at each other.</p> - <p>Leaving my horse at the outer gate, I walked along the wide avenue - nearly to the house. There was a spectral stillness upon the place. - Sadness exhaled from everything, to be drawn in with every breath. The - old servants were all gone. I had met the once sleek and stolid Lucas, - now rheumatic and ragged, begging in the village. Belinda was in the - county asylum, and the others were scattered or dead. The scent of the - lilacs was gone from the air—the very bushes were rooted up, and - lay, sear and dead, by little heaps of earth. A triangle of cloud in the - sky cast upon the earth a triangle of shadow, in the midst of which - Robert Glen’s home lay as if it were entranced. No sign of happy life - met me; but, as I turned aside to look at a certain bench in the - shrubbery, a black-and-white snake ran over my foot.</p> - <p>I went no further. A woman was seated upon the bench—a fair - woman, with hair like dull copper reflecting sullen fire, with a face - and form perfect as those of the goddesses of old, a face which - betokened an indomitable soul which knew the secret of the power wielded - by the gods. She was bending over her clasped hands, her face was turned - aside in an attitude of eager waiting, and wore a smile that - transfigured it. Slowly approaching her, walking as a man walks in his - sleep, came Robert Glen. He threw himself at her feet and laid his head - upon her knee. She bent to him with a little rapturous caress, and both - faces were as happy as those of the people in Paradise.</p> - <p>I turned and went away from the place, and entered its precincts no - more. From that hour, I was self-devoted to one purpose—to seek - the knowledge that should open the door to her degradation and - destruction. In the midst of her success, and in the height of her - pride, she should turn black as she was in the day when Lucas drove her. - I swore it. So should my friend and my sister, whom she robbed and slew, - be avenged. </p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s14' - title='Old “Hard Luck”'> OLD “HARD LUCK”</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By E. Munson</div> - <p>Every one admitted he had a good heart in him. Even his bitterest - enemy, Kid Alderson, was willing to make that concession, but qualified - it by adding that he “was so blamed unlucky and peculiar, a body never - knowed when he <i>was</i> in to clear.”</p> - <p>This singularity extended to his name. “H-o-s-s-e-l-k-u-s, accent on - the <i>sel</i>,” he was wont to explain, with something like a shade of - weariness, when a new operator faltered on his long patronymic.</p> - <p>Eben J. Hosselkus was engineer of Engine Seventeen-Forty-Three.</p> - <p>With the meagre data available, it is difficult to determine whether - the name Hosselkus belongs to the Anglo-Saxon, Indo-European, or - Teutonic family; but no such uncertainty attached to the origin of its - unfortunate bearer. He was an unmistakable Yankee; rather below the - medium height, lean and wiry; his mild, light-blue eyes were - overshadowed by bushy and frowning eyebrows, and his grizzled mustache - bristled with a singular ferocity, which the weakness of mouth and chin - immediately belied. The whole man was decidedly contradictory. When - first addressed, his manner was brusque and his voice gruff; but, after - a few terrible expletives, his tone would soften and his most positive - assertions invariably ended with an appeal for confirmation. “Now ain’t - it so, for a fact? Now wouldn’t you say so, ’f you’uz me?” he would ask, - while his wistful eyes wandered from face to face in search of support - or sympathy, perhaps.</p> - <p>He was the oldest engineer on the division, and the most unfortunate. - Two decades of brakemen and conductors had twisted and distorted his - luckless surname in every conceivable way; but to all appellations, from - “Old Hoss” to “Hustle-Cuss,” he ever accorded the same ready response. - </p> - <p>Of late years he had been known simply as “Hard Luck.” When a - train-crew would reach the end of the division, wan and famished from a - protracted sojourn at some desert-siding, the first inquiry of their - sympathetic brethren would be: “Who was pullin’ you?” “Old Hard Luck, of - course,” was the seldom varied reply.</p> - <p>Old Hosselkus had probably suffered more “moving accidents by flood and - field” than any other man ever lived through. And yet he was a - thoroughly competent engineer. He was an earnest student of mechanical - engineering, and could explain the mysteries of “link motion,” the - principles of the “injector,” and the working of the Westinghouse - automatic air-brake in a singularly lucid manner. Nothing pleased him - better than to enlighten a green fireman upon some knotty point, and the - walls of the roundhouse and bunkhouse are still covered with his - elaborate chalk and pencil diagrams of the different parts of the - locomotive.</p> - <p>As far back as he could remember, it had been the dream of Hosselkus’s - life to be a regular passenger-engineer—in railroad parlance, to - “pull varnished cars.” This was the goal upon the attainment of which - the best efforts of his life had been concentrated, and still, after - twenty years’ service, he seemed as far as ever from success. Many times - he had almost achieved it, but always something had happened to prevent, - some unaccountable and unavoidable piece of ill-luck. Finally, his name - became so synonymous with disaster that the “Company” hesitated to - intrust the valuable equipment of an express-train and the lives of the - traveling public to him. Thus, as the years went by, old Hard Luck had - become accustomed to crawling out from under the disgruntled engine of a - side-tracked worktrain or way-freight to acknowledge the patronizing - wave of the hand, as some former fireman of his whizzed by with a - passenger-train or an “officers’ special.” Despair, however, had no - place in his heart, and he still reveled in the fancied joys of pulling - the fast express, and dreamed of that happy time when, to the customary - inquiry as to the time of his departure, he would be able to answer: “I - go out on Number Three.”</p> - <p>There is a great difference in engineers; some can step off the - foot-board at the end of a long run looking as fresh and clean as at the - start, while, to judge from the appearance of others, one would imagine - they had made the journey in the ash-pan. Hosselkus belonged to the - latter class. It would have required some more powerful solvent than - simple soap and water to have removed the soot and grime that had - gradually accumulated in the wrinkles and hollows of his countenance - during the years of arduous service. There was some excuse for him, - however, seeing that so much of his life had been spent upon - superannuated “ten-wheelers,” which, as every one knows, are awkward - machines to oil, on account of their wheels being so low and close - together. Then, too, he had so many accidents. He scarcely ever made a - round trip without “slipping an eccentric,” “bursting a flue,” or - “burning out his grates,” not to mention more serious mishaps, such as - derailments, head and hind-end collisions, or running into slides and - wash-outs. Much practice had made him almost perfect in “taking down a - side,” or disconnecting a locomotive, while some of his exploits in the - fire-box, plugging flues, rivaled the exhibition given by the Hebrew - children in that seven times heated furnace of Holy Writ.</p> - <p>But while his extensive experience upon the road had developed habits - of self-reliance and a certain readiness in emergencies, it was not - calculated to impart that gloss or polish which enables one to shine in - society. Hard Luck’s only appearance within the charmed circle had been - when he acted as pall-bearer at the funeral of a division - superintendent, and upon that occasion he had scandalized his colleagues - by appearing without the conventional white gloves, and a hurried and - embarrassed search of his pockets only brought to light a bunch of - “waste” and a “soft hammer,” articles which, though almost indispensable - on a locomotive, are not essential to the success of a well-ordered - interment.</p> - <p>Gamblers say that if one is but possessed of sufficient capital, the - most persistent run of ill-luck may eventually be broken, and so it - proved in Hosselkus’s case.</p> - <p>An “officers’ special,” carrying the leading magnates of the road upon - a tour of inspection, was expected, and Engine Seven-Seventy-Seven, the - fastest locomotive on the division, and Bill Pearson, an engineer with a - record, had been held in readiness for some time to take them out.</p> - <p>The engine, with a full tank of the best coal, had already been run out - of the roundhouse, and the train-dispatcher had the freights safely - side-tracked, and satisfactory “meets” with the passenger-trains about - figured out, when he was interrupted in his study of the train-sheet by - a nervous ring at the telephone. The dispatcher answered it himself, and - the foreman of the roundhouse announced that Pearson was sick, and - unable to take the special out. </p> - <p>“That’s bad,” mused the dispatcher, but added, a moment later: “Well, - send the next best man, and get a move on; they’ll be here in ten - minutes.”</p> - <p>“They ain’t none,” replied the roundhouse.</p> - <p>“No other engineer?” shouted the dispatcher.</p> - <p>“Well, there’s only Perkins on the yard-engine and Hard Luck just in on - Scott’s work-train—might double him out again—that’s all.” - </p> - <p>The dispatcher rushed into the adjoining room to consult the - superintendent.</p> - <p>It was in the midst of the busiest season, and every available engineer - was out upon the road.</p> - <p>“Hard Luck? nonsense!” said the superintendent when he was informed of - the situation. “Tell Pearson he must take the special out—this is - a nice time for him to get sick!”</p> - <p>The roundhouse was notified, and replied that Pearson was “foamin’ - awful—his wife’s got him jacked up and two doctors workin’ on - him,” yelled the foreman.</p> - <p>“This is terrible! <i>terrible!</i>” groaned the superintendent. - “Perkins is only a boy, we can’t put him on, and Hosselkus will never - get over the division without something happening—never in the - world!” and the perspiration started upon his forehead. The whistle of - the special aroused him to the necessity of immediate action.</p> - <p>“Tell them to put Hosselkus on, and get him out as quick as - possible—we are in the hands of Providence anyway, I suppose,” he - added to himself.</p> - <p>All was hurry and excitement when the special pulled in. The engine - that brought it in was cut off and hurried out of the way, while the - huge, well-groomed “Three-Sevens” backed slowly down in charge of - Hosselkus, whose heart swelled chokingly as the brazen clangor of her - bell pealed out.</p> - <p>But the beginning was ominous. The engine was unfamiliar to him and - worked more stiffly than he had expected, so that when he backed down to - be coupled on, he struck the train with a momentum that jarred its - occupants uncomfortably.</p> - <p>“Lord! <i>Lord!</i>” moaned the superintendent as he wiped his clammy - brow and sought to divert the directors’ attention from the mishap by - suggesting some needed improvements in the “Company’s” water supply.</p> - <p>Presently he excused himself and went ahead to the engine to interview - Hard Luck. He found him with an oil-can in one hand and a bunch of waste - in the other, engaged in the important duty of “oiling ’round.”</p> - <p>Hosselkus had had no time to change his greasy jumper and overalls for - cleaner ones; his hasty wash had merely imparted a smeary look to his - countenance, and the badge on his cap was upside down, but his eyes - sparkled beneath their shaggy brows, his mustache bristled savagely, and - the whole man was nervously alert as, with a squirt of oil here, a dab - of the waste there, and feeling carefully each key and bearing to detect - any signs of heating, he worked his way around the mighty racer. He was - just finishing his round when the superintendent came up.</p> - <p>“Now, Hosselkus,” said the latter, appealingly, “<i>do</i> be careful - and try and get us over the division in some kind of shape—make - time, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t break down on the road. If you make - a first-class run, I’ll see what we can do about getting a passenger run - for you.”</p> - <p>Hosselkus put away his tallow-pot, wiped his hands on the bunch of - waste, which he then carefully placed in his pocket to serve as a - handkerchief, and at length spoke: “Colonel,” he said, “don’t you lose - no sleep over this excursion—we’ll git there in the biggest kind - of shape—this mill has got it in her, an’ if I can’t coax a move - out of her, I’ll run a stationary the rest of my life. Now, these - kid-engineers of yours, they ain’t up in mechanics like they’d oughter - be—not but what they’re good boys—mind you, I’m not sayin’ a - word agin ’em—but they waste her stren’th—they don’t really - savvy the theory. Now——” </p> - <p>“Yes, yes,” hurriedly interrupted the superintendent; “I know, but we - must be getting out of here, and don’t forget that passenger - run—it’s manslaughter, if not murder in the first degree,” he said - to himself, as he hastened back; “but if we escape with our lives, he - shall have the run.”</p> - <p>The conductor waved his hand, Hosselkus opened the throttle slightly - and the steam shrilled through the cylinder-cocks as the special moved - down the yard. Slowly he threaded the network of tracks, cut-offs, and - blind switches, and then more rapidly by the long siding opposite the - row of cottages, where the families of the conductors and engineers - lived. And instinctively he felt the eyes of the women upon him, and - that they were saying: “Well, if there ain’t that crazy fool on - Pearson’s Three-Sevens, with a passenger special! Wouldn’t that kill - you?” for women are jealous divinities—they would not that man - should have any other gods or goddesses before them, and, as Hosselkus - worshiped only a locomotive, a thing of steel and iron, they made of him - a by-word and a reproach. But at that moment, Hard Luck cared but little - for their disdain; he only thought of his triumph, and the discordant - clanging of the bell of the Three-Sevens sounded in his ears as a pæan - of victory. “At last—at last,” seemed to say its brazen tongue. - </p> - <p>The last switch was passed, and Hosselkus, forgetting the lightness of - his train, opened the throttle so suddenly that the engine fairly leaped - forward, while passengers’ necks received a violent wrench. </p> - <p>“This engineer of yours, colonel,” said the general superintendent, - spitting out the end of a cigar he had involuntarily swallowed, “is just - off a pile-driver, is he not?”</p> - <p>The colonel laughed a joyless laugh. “The fact is,” he replied, “the - regular man was taken sick at the last moment, and we had no one but - this fellow to put on. He is an old engineer, but not used to the - engine. I think he will improve when he gets the hang of it.” </p> - <p>“I hope so—I hope so,” said the general, fervently, as he lit a - fresh cigar; “there is evidently room for improvement.”</p> - <p>But presently even the anxious superintendent was forced to admit they - were moving. Telegraph-poles, that had appeared and disappeared with - majestic deliberation, began to flit by the windows with a frequency and - abruptness very unusual in those stately objects; quicker and less - rhythmic came the click of the wheels as each rail was passed, and the - leaps of the engine at each revolution of the driving-wheels were merged - into a continuous, convulsive shudder. The passengers no longer - experienced the sensation of being drawn along, but felt as though - projected through space, and the more timid clung to their seats to - avoid soaring off through the roof. Trainmen who could traverse - undisturbed the reeling roofs of a fast freight, made their way through - the swaying cars with difficulty. </p> - <p>Old Hard Luck was evidently “getting there,” and the superintendent - prayed silently that he might maintain the speed to the end.</p> - <p>At the first stop he went forward to congratulate the engineer. The - fireman was under the engine “hoeing out,” and Hosselkus, sooty but - triumphant, was “oiling ’round.”</p> - <p>“How’d’s that suit you, colonel?” he cried, as his superior approached; - “the old girl’s a-crawlin’, ain’t she?”</p> - <p>“You’re doing fine, Hosselkus—fine, but keep it up—pound - her on the back, for the porter tells me the wine is getting low and - they’re liable to see something to beef about. Keep ’em a-rollin’, and - the passenger run is yours.” The colonel had risen from the ranks, and - at times, unconsciously, lapsed into the old dialect.</p> - <p>“Don’t you worry none, we’ll git there. Gimme this mill, colonel, an’ - none of the other boys on the division ’ud ever get a smell of my smoke. - An’ she does it so easy, reminds of your maw’s old rocker—just - handle her right, don’t crowd her, that’s the main point. Now my - theory’s like this, we’ll say the cylinder receives so - much——”</p> - <p>But the colonel had fled. Hard Luck carried his theory with him, for he - never succeeded in obtaining a listener to whom he could expound it.</p> - <p>No accident occurred, however; the speed was maintained, and the - special reached Oleson’s Siding so far in advance of the - train-dispatcher’s calculations that quite a wait was necessary while - Number Three, the east-bound express, toiled up the grade.</p> - <p>Hosselkus lit the headlight, for the sun was impaled upon one of the - peaks of the distant Sierras, whose eastern slopes were already purpling - with shades of evening.</p> - <p>It was the last stop. Below him wound the tortuous Goose-Neck Grade, - with the division terminus at its foot. The run was nearly ended.</p> - <p>Having finished oiling, Hosselkus leaned against the cylinder-head and - gazed abstractedly down the track. A brakeman was seated on the - head-block of the switch, throwing stones at an adjacent telegraph-pole, - and moodily speculating upon the probabilities of “getting in” in time - for supper, while an occasional breath of wind from the valley brought - with it, from far down the grade, the puffing of the engines on Number - Three.</p> - <p>He had succeeded. The record would be broken beyond a doubt; but as the - cool breeze of sunset blew in his face, he suddenly became aware of the - fact that he was tired, and he remembered then that he had been on the - road for over forty-eight hours.</p> - <p>The smell of heated tallow struck him, for the first time, as being a - singularly unappetizing odor, and he looked over the huge machine with - something akin to dissatisfaction in the expression of his face. He - sighed, and the brakeman asked if she was coming—meaning the - train.</p> - <p>“No,” replied Hard Luck; “she ain’t showed up ’round the bend - yet—I’uz just thinkin’.”</p> - <p>“Well, here she’s a-comin’.”</p> - <p>Hosselkus clambered to his seat, and as soon as the express-train had - cleared the switch it was opened by the brakeman, and the special was - once more under way.</p> - <p>Leaning uncomfortably now to this side, now to that, and with angry - grinding of flange on rail, it swept around the curves with - ever-increasing speed. A crashing roar, a flare of yellow sunset light - reflected from rocky walls, told of a cutting safely passed, while - bridge, and culvert, and trestle bellowed again as the engine cleared - them at a bound.</p> - <p>The Three-Sevens devoured the way. Again and again Hosselkus proved the - correctness of his theory by the terrific bursts of speed with which the - mighty engine responded to his every impulse; but his nerves were no - longer responsive to the exultant thrill of triumph. A sickening - foreboding griped his heart; yet, whenever he would have shut off steam - and slackened speed, an unconquerable impulse restrained him; for, in - the exhaust of the engine and the roar of wheels, he fancied he heard - one word repeated over and over again, with maddening persistency: - “Hurry! hurry! hurry! hurry!” And the fireman, as he shoveled in coal - and struggled to maintain his difficult footing, noted with wonder, not - unmixed with uneasiness, that Hosselkus was working steam on grades - where it was usual to “let them down” under the restraining pressure of - the air-brakes. </p> - <p>The lagging summer twilight gradually deepened until the illuminated - faces of clock and steam-gauge stood out with pallid distinctness in the - gloom of the cab. Lights in lonely section-houses shot past, and - occasionally a great flare of red rushed upward from the momentarily - opened door of the fire-box. The dazzling light of the furnace revealed - old Hard Luck crouching forward on his seat, one hand on the throttle, - the other grasping the reversing lever. His features were set and - sharpened, and so pale that through its grimy enameling his face looked - positively blue. An occasional swift, comprehensive glance took in - clock, steam-gauge, and water-glass, and then his eyes were again fixed - upon the arrowy torrent of ties that streamed into the glare of the - headlight and disappeared beneath the pilot with unbroken, dizzying - swiftness. At last a white post flitted by and Hosselkus relaxed. He - glanced at the clock, and the next moment a long, wailing blast of the - whistle warned the yardmen at the division’s end.</p> - <p>The record was broken; the passenger run was his at last; old Hard Luck - had actually got over the division without a mishap and in time never - before equaled; but instead of exulting over it, as he shut off steam, - he found himself marveling how faint and far away the whistle had - sounded; had he not felt the vibration of the escaping steam, he would - hardly have believed it was the Three-Seven’s stentorian voice. - Undoubtedly there was something wrong; he would have to fix it the first - thing in the morning. The engine lurched over the switches, and - Hosselkus cursed the sudden fog that had dimmed the switch-lamps so he - could hardly tell red from white, but at length he pulled up before the - Railway Hotel—fortune favored him to the last, he made a splendid - stop. </p> - <p>With a great sigh of relief he leaned back on his seat, while the - eating-house gong banged and thundered a hospitable welcome to the - belated guests.</p> - <p>“You made a magnificent run, Hosselkus. I’ll fix it with the - master-mechanic—you go out on Number Three to-morrow,” called out - the superintendent, as he hurried by.</p> - <p>Presently a yardman uncoupled the engine and waved his lantern. “All - right!” called out the fireman, who was standing in the gangway.</p> - <p>The engineer made no move.</p> - <p>“What’s the matter?” inquired the switchman, climbing into the cab; - “Why in——” The light of his lantern fell upon the engineer’s - face; he paused suddenly, for it was white beneath the grime.</p> - <p>Hard Luck was taken from the engine, laid upon a bench, and a physician - hastily summoned. Engineers, with smoky torches, and trainmen, with - lanterns, crowded around with bated breath, while the doctor listened - long and attentively for a sound of life, but only the air-pump on the - Three-Sevens sighed softly, as the light rings of smoke from her stack - floated up, and up, and up in the quiet air, where still a tinge of - twilight lingered.</p> - <p>“Dead!” said the doctor, and the tension was relaxed.</p> - <p>Then they all praised their late comrade, and all agreed that the old - fellow had a good heart in him, anyway—that is, all but the - doctor, who, as he rose and carefully wiped his spectacles, muttered - something about “Organic weakness—told him so.”</p> - <p>The next day, as the superintendent had promised, Hard Luck went out on - Number Three—but he went in a box, lashed to the platform of the - baggage-car.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s15' - title='The Dotted Trail'> THE DOTTED TRAIL</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By W. H. Irwin</div> - <p>The first time that Dudley Latimer kissed Belle Sharp, the half-Spanish - “help” at the P. L. Ranch, he was not in earnest; he would have been the - last to say that there was any serious intention in it. He did it partly - in a spirit of pure bravado, and partly because the morning was as warm - and white as new milk, and she, smiling back over her shoulder as she - emptied her pails, looked a part of it. Equally innocent of any harmful - intent, she let him after a formal struggle. He was tall and clean, and - as handsome as a young Englishman can be when he is in perfect - condition, and has a fine, red coat of tan. Then he bade her good-by. He - had been at the ranch a week, ranging the hills in a vain hunt for - antelope, already then, in the early eighties, becoming scarce. His - canvas-covered wagon and his “side partner,” the Hon. Justin Weymouth, - waited by the gate.</p> - <p>The Hon. Justin was taking a parting nip with the “Old Man,” and did - not see the diversion, and none of the four noticed that Emilio Gonolez, - horse trainer and man-of-all-work, was coming in through the kitchen - yard carrying an antelope so freshly killed that its throat was not yet - cut. Emilio stood and watched. He saw the struggle, heard the girl cry - “The gall of you!” saw her color turn as she lifted her face with - unwilling willingness, saw her throw at young Latimer, walking away, a - look of admiration that he took for something else. Then Emilio slipped - round the barn with his quarry, and came upon the wagon in front. Dudley - was smiling across the fence at Belle, who had found business in the - front yard. For half a minute, Emilio looked what he felt; then smiled - as he slipped into view, and said: “I make-a present you thees antelope. - He ees fresh. Myself, I shoot heem. He come ver’ close.” </p> - <p>“Careful how you tie it, Emmy,” said the Old Man. “Dump it in for ’em. - Well, boys, stacking in the north field. Good-by, and luck to you.”</p> - <p>While Dudley chatted across the fence with Belle, Emilio was explaining - to the Hon. Justin how an antelope should be tied and hung for a - journey. “Head down so he bleed—the dust bother ver’ - leetle—oh, yes, a lee-tle cut on the throat so he bleed slow. That - ees bes’. I cut heem.” A slow, red stream trickled over snowy throat and - gray jaws. The wagon drove on. Down the road behind it trailed an - irregular line of wet dots, the centres for an army of noisy flies.</p> - <p>“Awfully jolly girl,” said Dudley, as they bowled easily along through - the red dust. The Hon. Justin puffed at his pipe, and made no answer. He - might have said that he hastened their going just because his companion - was very young and the girl very pretty. A flock of sage-hens started - from the olive-green brush to one side. Justin pulled up, took out his - shotgun and followed, Dudley throwing stones to make them rise. A right - and left shot brought down a brace. They gathered up the birds, and - turned to the wagon, and as they did so, the elder man looked back. Just - level with the ranch house, two miles behind, a cloud of red dust veiled - the road and lapped far over its edge. Through the thin atmosphere came - a muffled rumble, and then a few dots, followed at an interval by - another, heaved out of the mass.</p> - <p>“Cattle!” said Dudley. “That’s jolly. I always wanted to see one of - those big droves on the foot. Shall we wait for them to pass?”</p> - <p>“I think not,” said the Hon. Justin. “Not until we get to the next - ranch. They say that those wild range cattle do singular things.” But - still they stood and watched, fascinated by the shimmering, shifting, - red cloud, the distant rumble, the glint of a blazing sun on the sabred - heads of a thousand Texas long-horns.</p> - <p>Of a sudden the dust-cloud, which had spilled over the road only to the - right, away from the ranch fence, widened out, shifted to the left. They - had passed the fence corner, and were on open range. No dust arose on - that wing; it was hard prairie, tied close by sagebrush. And - inexperienced as were their eyes, the two Englishmen could see some - commotion running through the mass; the units composing it were - spreading hither and thither; two compound dots, mounted men, were - swinging wide about them. The rumble grew louder, lulled, rose again, - and above the noise came the sound of a dozen shots, fired in quick - succession. Away back in his consciousness, Dudley began to regret that - they had chosen, in their young British insolence, to travel without a - guide, who might explain to them the strange happenings of this - incomprehensible country.</p> - <p>Justin started at the sound of a frightened snort in his ear. He turned - to see his horses quivering in every nerve. Almost before he could catch - its bridle, the near one was plunging and pitching.</p> - <p>“Get the reins!” yelled Justin; “we’d best be out of here.”</p> - <p>The team broke into a dead run. Looking back, Justin saw the cloud - ominously, frightfully near. A struggling advance-guard of long-horns - heaved out before, and ahead of them were two men, riding like demons, - yet ever beating backward as they rode. Then the red veil fell, and - there was nothing but a dust-cloud, rolling on nearer and nearer.</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>When the Englishmen were gone, Belle looked after their retreating - wagon, and sighed. She was just realizing, now that the week was past - and these clean, courteous, easy-moving beings of another world were - gone, that she had been dreaming dreams. Emilio looked also, sometimes - after the wagon, sometimes after the girl. When he bent his gaze on - Belle he was serious enough, but when his eye ran down the track of - bloody dots, he drew his lips back from his white teeth, and smiled. He - was holding the reins of his roan bronco; he dropped them to lean over - the fence, and looked up the road, away from the wagon.</p> - <p>“What is it that you see up there?” she asked, carelessly, in Spanish. - </p> - <p>“Something that your white-haired friend will be glad to see,” he - answered. She looked, saw the dust-cloud coming, saw the little, caking - pool of blood, and went white in a moment.</p> - <p>“That,” she cried, “that is what your antelope meant! You knew that - cattle were coming this way to-day.”</p> - <p>“A thousand head passing up to the White River country. And wild, very - wild.”</p> - <p>“They will trample them; kill them!”</p> - <p>“You thought about that when you kissed him,” he sneered; “the blood - goes straight, and the wind is right. He will have a run for - it—your lover.”</p> - <p>Then the roar of padding feet was louder, and the herd was coming. They - were fifty yards away—and a great, white steer, horned in - splendor, lowered his muzzle, and bellowed, and tore the earth, and shot - out in advance. Another followed, and still another, each breaking into - that rocking run, each one stretching out his nostrils to taste the - polluted air. They plunged together over the little pool of blood; they - rolled over and over, horns tossing, feet stamping, throats acclaim. The - leaders crowded against the corral until its foot-wide posts bent and - cracked. A deafening roar, the bellow of a thousand mad cattle, and then - nothing but a tangled riot, speeding on down the scent, a thousand - great, horned hounds after their quarry.</p> - <p>It was the blood stampede that makes half-wild cattle wholly demons. A - clap of lightning, a sudden shot, even the appearance of a dismounted - man, will send the mercurial herd rushing in panic fear; but let them - once scent blood, and all hell is loosed in them. No pack of wolves - follows with the relentless fury of range cattle on the trail of blood. - Huddled by the barn, still showing his teeth, but half in fright, at the - box of demons that he had opened, the man who laid the trail knew all - this. And the girl knew it best of all. </p> - <p>She was between him and his horse as she turned on him.</p> - <p>“You did this—you murderer!”</p> - <p>“I will go,” he said; “I will cut it loose—it will stop the - cattle.” </p> - <p>“Yes—<i>you</i>! I will go myself.” He jumped at her as she - sprang into his saddle. She saw the movement. His lariat hung at the - saddle-horn. She brought it down on his wrist. The same movement started - the high-strung little roan, already a-quiver with fear. His heels - clattered against the bars; Belle, astride like a man, her calico skirts - tucked about her hips, was riding after the red cloud, swinging wide - into the sage-brush to pass them.</p> - <p>The roan had a dash of the thoroughbred. He was the swiftest thing - coursing that day in the four-cornered race between cattle, cowboys, - hunted team, and woman, yet he had two hundred yards the worst of his - start. But, like a thoroughbred, he caught the bit and shook out his - dapple mane, and laid his belly to the earth as he skimmed. Over - sage-brush, over treacherous ant-hills, tangling gopher-holes he sped, - the reins loose, for he knew his work. Two cowboys, caught in the press, - fighting, swearing, striking brutally at heads and horns as they were - borne on, called to her in warning; but the roan rounded the pack, shook - himself free, and galloped on.</p> - <p>And then Belle saw what she had feared. Knowing their peril, but - ignorant of the cause, the two Englishmen were hurrying on ahead, with - the carcass still bumping from the tail-board. The cattle in the road, - where the running was freer, had gained upon those on the flanks. They - were going in a wedge, with the speed of an express train. The cows, - fleeter and fiercer than the males, were leading on. Half a dozen - cowboys skirmished before, shooting and lashing out desperately, trying - to back-fire by a counter-panic, taking chances of life with every - gopher-hole. But there was no checking that mass; when a steer flinched - before the heavy whip, he was pushed on from behind. And ever they - bellowed, with a note of tigers in their voices.</p> - <p>A moment Belle ran before the herd; then calling to the roan, who - understood as only a cow-horse can understand, she cut an oblique course - across the herd’s face. She gained the road; the herd was behind her, - and the roan, gathering his nerve for a final spurt, made for the wagon. - She shouted, but the roar behind drowned her voice, and so she reached - for the holster, where Emilio kept his knife. As she whipped it out and - drew even, reaching for the carcass, the wagon slackened and stopped. - Her own horse swerved in his course, and shot past before she could - check him.</p> - <p>The off-horse, what with fear and exhaustion, had stumbled and fallen - dead. And the wedge was coming on, now but a quarter of a mile away.</p> - <p>Deadly as was their fear, the two Englishmen, who had jumped to the - ground, stood and stared to see her turn in beside the standing horse - and, without any ceremony, cut his traces and reins. He reared and - plunged; Justin caught his bridle. </p> - <p>“Mount quick!” she shouted. And before he could grasp the situation she - had pushed Dudley to her roan, almost thrown him into the saddle, and - mounted behind.</p> - <p>As the snorting horses bounded away, the roar was almost on their - flanks. It rose to its climax in a great, dull crash. Looking back, the - girl saw that they were no longer followed. The dust-cloud was a - whirlpool that rolled and tumbled over the spot where the wagon had - been. For only a minute; the cowboys closed in, and the panic was over. - Slowly the men beat back the sullen, sated demons. And when the press - split there was no wagon at all—only broken wheels and scattered - bits of woodwork, and flattened belongings and blood—blood and - gleaming gray hairs trampled into everything. </p> - <p>The two men dismounted and turned to the girl. Then was she first aware - of her skirts tucked about her hips, and of the manner in which she had - ridden. Her color rose, and she jumped down. She turned redder a moment - later when Dudley Latimer took her in his arms and, for the second time - that morning, kissed her.</p> - <p>And that time he kissed her in deadly earnest.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s16' - title='The White Grave'> THE WHITE GRAVE</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By C. Alfred</div> - <p>Harrison and his wife were evidently tenderfeet. Worse than that, they - had never been outside the City of New York before; and why an - inexperienced, city-bred young man like Harrison should have attempted - to move a year’s outfit, which weighs a ton, over the Chilkoot Pass, and - tempt Fate in the bleakness of the Yukon country, no one knew.</p> - <p>The reason really was Harrison’s wife. Tired of a living salary in the - city, she was ready, when news of the Klondike gold-fields reached the - world in 1897, to catch the gold fever; caught it, and argued Harrison - into resigning his clerkship in an insurance company, and into taking - her with him to Alaska. They were very much in love, and could not be - separated. So they invested their savings in sacks of flour, and - blankets, and tins of coffee, and in tickets to Dyea.</p> - <p>They landed there in December. This, of course, was an idiotic time to - arrive, but they didn’t know, and there were lots of other idiots just - then. When Harrison grasped the fact that he must, himself, pull all his - pile of provisions over the desolate mountain range that ran upward in - front of him, his heart failed him; as the Yukoners say, he got cold - feet. But his wife cheered him. Mrs. Harrison was young, and, therefore, - hopeful. Moreover, she was a pretty little woman, with a great mass of - flaxen hair, and on her account many a rough packer on the trail gave - Harrison a lift with his load in the steeper places.</p> - <p>They struggled on together through storms and snowdrifts. Little by - little the outfit neared the summit that had lain eighteen miles from - them when first they landed. Every morning Harrison would load some two - hundred and fifty pounds on the sled, pull it up the trail seven miles - or so, and come back in the afternoon. And the girl, for she was nothing - more, would cook their little meals on the sheet-iron stove, and dry - Harrison’s moccasins and coddle him, and tell him how like it all was to - a picnic, and how she enjoyed the life. Which was not true.</p> - <p>And so they passed through Canyon City, beyond which there is no God, - the packers say, and up to Sheep Camp, which is far up in the mountains - on the timber line, and beyond which there lies a frozen desolation that - supports no living thing—not even the scrubby spruce that can - exist on the bare rock in lower altitudes. Here they disappeared from - view, because the horses do not go past Sheep Camp, the trail being too - rough; and the packers, not seeing them, could bring no word.</p> - <p>Now, there were hotels of a fashion in Dyea at this time, but the - entire downstairs part was usually made into one room, and used as a - bar, dance-hall, and gambling house. So when Harrison came back down the - trail two weeks later at three o’clock in the morning, he had to elbow - his way up to the bar in the Comique to ask for a room. The first - bartender looked at him inquiringly, for he had seen the Harrisons on - the trail, and the teamsters had said they must be over the summit by - now. His curiosity got the better of him.</p> - <p>“Are you the party that went up with a little blonde lady three weeks - ago?” he asked.</p> - <p>“I may be,” said Harrison.</p> - <p>“She seemed kind of light for this country,” pursued the bartender. - “Hope she’s standing it all right. Did she come down with you?”</p> - <p>“I brought her with me,” said Harrison.</p> - <p>“Isn’t she coming in? She doesn’t have to pass through the saloon here - if she don’t like. She can——”</p> - <p>Harrison’s hand went to his forehead. “She’s dead,” he said.</p> - <p>A teamster came in the side door and spoke to him, and he followed the - man out. So did two of the dance-hall girls and the first bartender. - Outside in one of the big freighting sleds lay Mrs. Harrison. Her flaxen - hair waved as in life over the girlish face, hard now as marble and - colder. The moon shone full upon her, and a snow crystal hung here and - there on the little fur parkee that she wore. She might have been a - marble Madonna there in the moonlight. Through the open door came the - noise of the next waltz. One of the girls slipped in, and the orchestra - stopped. Quickly a little group began to gather, but Harrison did not - move. He seemed as in a trance, staring open-eyed, mistily, at the - frozen woman in the sled. </p> - <p>Presently, Blanche, the girl who had stopped the music, touched him on - the arm.</p> - <p>“I know there is nothing much I can do for you,” she said. “I know how - it feels; but I thought perhaps you’d like to bring her inside, and you - can have my room till you—till the funeral.”</p> - <p>And Harrison thanked her. But next day he moved the body to an empty - cabin that stood on the river bank in the pine grove back of the - Comique. He could not bury her, he could not give her up, he said. True, - she could not speak to him, nor move, but even to have her body with him - was something, a kind of comfort. The bitter cold of the Northland, the - icy winds that roared in untrammeled fury down the cañon—these had - killed her; now they would preserve the beauty they had stilled; keep - her forever young, as he had known and loved her. Why should he bury - her? And when they spoke to him of burial, he bade them leave him alone. - </p> - <p>Only in the afternoons, when there was no dancing in the Comique, - Blanche used still to go daily to the cabin in the pines, and brought - him a padlock for the door, and a lantern, and other things. </p> - <p>It all might have drifted on in such wise indefinitely, had it not been - that in a month Harrison had no money to buy his meals with, and that - Blanche asked him point blank about it.</p> - <p>“Why don’t you come over and ask Coughlin for something to do?” she - said, when Harrison admitted that he had eaten no dinner that day. - Coughlin was the man who ran the Comique.</p> - <p>“What could I do?” inquired Harrison. “I’m only a bookkeeper.”</p> - <p>But that night he asked Coughlin about it. Now twice a day Coughlin put - all the gold and bank-notes that were in the cash drawer into his - pocket, leaving the silver for change; and he kept his accounts, which - were few, in his head; and he didn’t need a bookkeeper. But he was sorry - for Harrison; and, besides, Blanche had spoken to him of it, and he - wanted to oblige her. For Blanche was popular among the men, and was - asked to drink oftener than any girl in the house, and was valuable on - that account in a country where one gets a dollar for two drinks. So he - told Harrison he could go to work. </p> - <p>“In the morning?” said Harrison.</p> - <p>“Any time,” said Coughlin.</p> - <p>Harrison looked around a moment. “If you’ll show me the books, I think - I might look them over now.”</p> - <p>“Books?” said Coughlin, hesitatingly. “There aint any, but I guess you - can figure all right in this, perhaps.” He produced a small - paper-covered blank book from under the bottle rack. “You’ll find a lead - pencil in the drawer any time”; and he bustled over to the faro-bank, - satisfied that he had demonstrated his familiarity with the bookkeeping - craft. He came back to ask Harrison what wages he was going to work for. - </p> - <p>“Anything,” said Harrison. “In New York I got seventy-five dollars a - month.”</p> - <p>“That aint much,” said Coughlin. “I never asked any man to take less - than three dollars a day and board. You can eat in the restaurant - there.” Then he introduced Harrison to Big Joe, the day bartender, - telling Joe this was the bookkeeper. </p> - <p>An hour later Joe called Harrison to announce that Red Sheehan had got - a drink without paying therefor.</p> - <p>“He never will pay for it, either,” continued the experienced Joe, “but - I suppose you’ll put it down in the bookkeeping.”</p> - <p>Harrison seemed a little undecided as to the value of this entry, and - his uncertainty settled it, for thereafter Joe never mentioned such - items, and as for Coughlin, he continued to dump the uncounted contents - of the cash drawer at various times into his pocket, and to pay his - debts out of the same receptacle with a total disregard to cash - balances, daily receipts, or outstanding accounts, which made Harrison’s - methodical hair stand on end. </p> - <p>Occasionally, however, he would ask Harrison how he was getting along, - and Harrison, who had debited Red Sheehan’s account with one drink, and - who had never had occasion to make a second entry of any kind, generally - replied that the work was pretty light.</p> - <p>“That’s all right,” Coughlin would say. “Bookkeepers are mighty handy - to have around in case you want to figure some time.”</p> - <p>And so Harrison drew his three dollars a day, and ate in the - restaurant, where Blanche usually managed to sit opposite. Then in the - evening he sat idle in the Comique, and watched the roulette wheels spin - and the cards drop monotonously from the faro-box, heard the metallic - call of the dealers and the buzz of the ball in the runaway of the - wheel; saw the dancing-girls, in all the glories of scarlet satin, - promiscuous affection, and peroxide hair, waltz past; listened to the - wandering musicians of the orchestra play some good music and much bad; - sat in a chair near the end of the bar, and watched the carnival of sin - and revelry around him, and then, about midnight, when he felt entitled - to leave, he went back to the lonely cabin, where his wife lay in her - changeless sleep, to sit and keep his vigil with her he had loved in - life and still adored in death. </p> - <p>In the restaurant he had many conversations with Blanche. “How long - will you stay here?” she asked him once.</p> - <p>“Always, I suppose,” he said.</p> - <p>“But this is only a boom town,” she answered. “Next year there will be - no one here but the Siwashes, and they will be quarreling among - themselves for these buildings.”</p> - <p>“I’ll stay,” persisted Harrison.</p> - <p>“But how can you live? Coughlin is going down the river this summer, - and a man must eat. Why don’t you come along with the rest of us? He’ll - take everybody that is working here, for he means to open up again in - the Yukon country.” Harrison shook his head.</p> - <p>To Blanche he was interesting. Even in the depths to which she had - fallen, or rather deliberately descended, there exists an unconfessed - desire for the better things of the past, for the moral levels which - have been derided and deserted, for the things which are bitter with the - sourness of the grapes the fox could not attain to; and to talk with - Harrison was a breath from the old world, monotonous, perhaps, but - lovable, where she, too ... but she never thought of those things. What - was the use? It made her sad, and she would undoubtedly drink more than - usual, and get reckless, and buy wine with her salary and percentage - money, and be in debt to the house for a month afterward. So she didn’t - think much. It didn’t ever occur to her that her interest in Harrison - was passing the danger line. It wouldn’t have made any difference - anyway.</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>A month later, Coughlin announced that the Comique would have a grand - closing one week from that night. “The money is about through in this - town,” he said, in explanation. “We’ll move on to the gold mines.”</p> - <p>Blanche discussed it that evening with Harrison in the restaurant The - news disturbed him.</p> - <p>“You’ll come, too?” she said. He didn’t know. “There’ll be nothing - here,” she went on, “and it will be so lonely.”</p> - <p>“I don’t mind the loneliness,” said Harrison.</p> - <p>“But I’ll be lonely.”</p> - <p>“Perhaps Coughlin wouldn’t want me, anyway. I haven’t done a stroke of - work while I’ve been here.”</p> - <p>“But he’ll want you if I say so. I’m the best girl he’s got,” said - Blanche, modestly, “and if I say so it goes. And I do say so.”</p> - <p>Harrison was silent. He had often thought of this. He had known, of - course, that he could not live forever at the Comique. Many times he had - decided that death were easier than a final parting from the dead. He - had thought that he could never leave her, but - now—— Well, the lust of life is strong. We do not know - how far the fall is until we stand at the brink and look over. Besides - there is no coming back. If we could only try it for a while and return - again!</p> - <p>“Harrison,” said Blanche, suddenly, “listen. I think I know what you - are thinking, and I know I can not argue such a thing with you. No one - could. You know best, and no one else can know anything about it. But I - want to tell you one fact that perhaps you haven’t thought of. You want - to stay here with her—always. But you can’t. I know it is horrible - to talk of, but it is not always winter even in Alaska, and the summer - is almost here.” The man winced. “Go to bed, Harrison,” she said; “I can - not talk of such things. You know best.” </p> - <p>He went away to the cabin. He knew that Blanche was right. It must - be—but the anguish of it. How should he say the last farewell? - </p> - <p>At the foot of the mountains that stretch upward from the Dyea sands, - he dug a grave, four feet. And that night he would bury her. But his - resolution failed him. All night he sat beside the unreplying dead and - stroked her icy hands. “To-morrow I will do it,” he said. But the next - day he dug again in the grave. It should be six feet. And neither could - he say farewell that night.</p> - <p>Then Blanche came over to him. “We leave on Saturday. You know to-day - is Wednesday,” she said, and went away quickly, for she saw the sheeted - form, and understood something of his pain. On Thursday she came again. - Harrison had not been at the restaurant all day, and she carried a tray - with her. The cabin was empty, but a note on the table said: “I can not - give her up. I could not hide her in a grave of earth. I will lay her on - the mountain top above the glacier. Thank you. Good-by.”</p> - <p>Now the glacier lies in a greater crater of the mountains there, above - the snow line, five thousand feet above Dyea; and behind it there towers - a solitary peak that juts needle-like, head and shoulders over the - lesser crags of the crater. Up above the world, far from the sound of - man, into the great silence it reaches, where only the northern lights - keep the long vigils with its wind-tormented top.</p> - <p>That night when Blanche asked Billy Matthews, who ought to know, being - a squaw-man and an old-timer there, how long it would take to go to the - glacier, he said the Siwashes called it two days. “And how long would it - take to go to the top of the big peak?” Matthews smiled. “Why, no one’s - ever gone, sis, and I don’t scarcely think they will.”</p> - <p>But the next day Blanche borrowed the glasses from the trading-post and - watched the snow line. About four o’clock a black speck gradually - emerged at the timber limit, and showed sharply against the snow-fields - that lay beyond. The glasses showed a man with a long bundle upon his - back. Blanche closed them, and watched the speck with her naked eye. - Slowly it crept to the foot of the great ice rampart, and as it mounted - the green precipices, a bank of cloud engulfed it.</p> - <p>Early next morning Blanche searched the mountain with the glasses. The - speck had crossed the miles of glacier in the night, and was half way up - the mighty pinnacle that lay behind. There it clung to a precarious hold - on the storm-swept crag, its ghastly burden still upon its shoulders. - Five hundred feet below it lay a great snow-field, hundreds of feet - deep. Five hundred feet above it hung the mountain crest. Blanche could - see the wind sweep great banks of snow around the speck. The footing - must have been slippery, for the speck climbed less than a hundred feet - in an hour, and then, as a wind-gust swept a swirling eddy of sleet - across the precipice, it fell—fell straight to the eternal snows - five hundred feet beneath it, and disappeared. Even with the glasses - Blanche could see no hole in the drift, and besides the wind would fill - it full again almost at once.</p> - <p>Gray-lipped, she sought out Matthews. “Billy,” she asked him, “how far - would a man sink in that snow up there if he fell off the top of the - peak?” </p> - <p>“My God, what questions,” said Billy. “How do I know? He’d stay a - thousand years, anyway.”</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s17' - title='The Jewels of Bendita'>THE JEWELS OF BENDITA</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Gibert Cunyngham Terry</div> - <p>Old Bendito was digging when he found them—“the jewels of - Bendita.” He had been ordered by Don Francisco to make a new border - around the “Little Lake of the Emperor” (as it is called even to these - days), and, grumbling mightily, the old man set lazily to work. Stopping - only occasionally to refresh himself with a corn-husk cigarette, Bendito - dug away for as much as two hours, when he was joined by his comrade, - Andrés, who proceeded to pass the time of day.</p> - <p>“What makest thou, friend? Wherefore dost toil so strenuously with no - friend to assist thee, and in the heat of the day?”</p> - <p>“Oh, lazybones! According to that fool, Don Francisco—may the - devil fly away with him—I am making a new bordering for the little - lake. For why? Only God knows. But these strangers—<i>la - Virgen</i> bear witness that—lacking other work, they make a - hole in the ground, in order that a poor devil may have to straightway - fill it up again!”</p> - <p>Overwhelmed by his own eloquence, old Bendito groaned, emitted a fiery - Indian oath, and set to spading. “To that mango tree, and no further, I - will dig today!” he muttered. “To the devil with Don Francisco.”</p> - <p>Andrés, sprawling in the sunshine, offered sarcastic comments and - encouragements. “Have a care, comrade. Knowest thou not that there is - wealth concealed in this same garden of the emperor? Oh, yes! I - overheard Padre Diego say so to the Obispo. Be careful lest thou dig it - up, little brother.” </p> - <p>In cynical disbelief, Bendito dug away. “Thinkest thou that if riches - were here, Padre Diego and the Obispo would leave them untouched? - Nonsense. They-of-the-church never allow the paring of a nail to remain, - much less treasure. Compose thyself, little Andrés. <i>Once</i> there - may have been buried treasure of the emperor. But the nose of the church - is sharp, and it smells gold while yet far off.” </p> - <p>At this juncture, Bendito’s spade interrupted conversation with a loud - and startling “clink, clank,” and crossing themselves, their faces gray - with superstitious terror, both <i>peons</i> fled with all haste from - the spot. Their first thought was that a coffin had been uncovered, and - only witches and unblessed heretics would be buried here in this - unhallowed ground. But, as they ran, another idea occurred to them. They - stopped abruptly, and low talk ensued. Then they stole cautiously back - to the mango tree, where the spade still stood upright. And while old - Bendito dug away, in fear and trembling, but with more energy than he - had displayed since the big earthquake (wherein part of his roof came - down upon his head), Andrés watched to see that no one caught them. Who - knew what might be uncovered? It was well to be cautious.</p> - <p>Firmly embedded in the earth, the men found a large wooden box. Rotting - from damp, with its copper bands oxidized, there still showed intact an - insignia that caused the Indians to tremble with excitement. And no - wonder. They had stumbled upon the buried treasure of an emperor.</p> - <p>They hurried with the wonderful box to a small ruined pavilion at one - end of the great melancholy garden. No one ever visited this little - rustic building, which the superstitious vowed was haunted by the - unhappy emperor. But, forgetful of spirits or other evils, Bendito and - Andrés pushed back the door, and, in the half gloom, wrenched open the - rotting box.</p> - <p>Out upon Bendito’s faded <i>tilma</i>, spread beneath the box, dropped - things that made even those ignorant Indians gasp in greedy terror. How - they sparkled and shone—these ornaments that great queens and - empresses had worn—the chains of brilliant white stones, necklaces - of rubies and emeralds, exquisite ear ornaments, the diamond-studded - portraits of royalties, and other fabulously valuable things. There were - not more than a dozen articles in all, and yet worth much money, as - these men knew. For they had both traveled to the great, rich capital - city, on the Paseo, where the wealthy dames wore these same sparkling - stones. The two replaced the jewels, their fingers trembling and eyes - burning with greed, and begun to discuss the division. And the sun sank - low while they argued and disagreed.</p> - <p>Andrés, having no home or family wherewith to bless himself, was not - missed that night. But old Juana, the wife of Bendito, being of a - suspicious and jealous temperament, at last pricked forth in search of - her missing lord. As it was late, there went with her their daughter, - Bendita, a flat, squat maiden of sixteen. A good girl she was, but as - homely as could well be.</p> - <p>Bendito was not to be found in his usual haunts. Neither the - “Caballitos” nor the “Haven of Peaceful Men” <i>cantine</i> knew him, - and he was not listening to the music in the plaza. These things being - so, the baleful eye of his spouse lit up fiercely.</p> - <p>“The disgraceful old devil,” she muttered to Bendita, “is, without - doubt, in the great garden, which is sufficiently retired and convenient - for flirtations. We will find him there, doubtless, with the wife of - Pepe.”</p> - <p>And there they found him, very dead, but not with the wife of Pepe! - Instead, his companion was the equally dead Andrés. They had evidently - quarreled over the treasure, and then fought with <i>machetes</i>. - Between the two was the wooden box, with copper bands. It was - blood-covered, and the women of old Bendito wailed and crossed - themselves as they looked upon it and the two men who had fought over it - to the death. They hastily flung Bendito’s blanket over him, and, - crossing themselves, started to flee.</p> - <p>Bendita, lingering to caress the old man, again noted the box. “It may - be that it contains money,” she whispered, and picked it up, though her - mother protested.</p> - <p>With <i>rebosos</i> closely drawn, the women scurried homeward, leaving - the dead men alone where they had fallen. Heartless of them? Well, no, - for in the tropics law and order sometimes mean little, and these women - knew well that, if they gave the alarm, they would probably be suspected - and convicted of the murder.</p> - <p>Stealthily opened, at midnight, the box proved to contain what old - Juana and her daughter mistook for mere white, red, and green - glass—no gold and no silver! The old woman, in a transport of - rage, sorrow, and disappointment, spit upon the jewels. “Accursed things - of mere glass,” she screamed, “to think that my poor Bendito died for - such valueless things as <i>you</i>.” </p> - <p>There was great lamentation next morning when old Bendito was found and - brought home to his alarmed family. They wept and wailed so that people - were very sorry for them, and Padre Diego volunteered, in the goodness - of his heart, to say fifty masses, “at a merely nominal price,” for the - soul of the departed <i>peon</i>. Andrés, no one seemed to regret, and - no masses were ever said over him, at bargain prices or otherwise. And - so Andrés and Bendito passed away, by no means the first men to die for - the sake of greed and riches.</p> - <p>While the widow and daughter of Bendito considered the “glass jewels” - of no value, for all the world wore gold and silver trinkets, they were - nevertheless afraid to speak or even hint of them, lest they be - suspected of complicity in the murder. Therefore, the box was kept - hidden in a secret place, and for a while the widow kept her mouth - closed, though she dearly loved to gossip. But the custody of the box, - and the consequent secrecy entailed upon her, were entirely too much for - poor Juana. She sickened and began to pine for her country, as the - Indians so quaintly call their birthplaces.</p> - <p>Wherefore, their belongings were disposed of, and the two women - proceeded to their old home, many leagues distant. With them was carried - the crumbling box of jewels. Not long after reaching her birthplace, - Juana proceeded to die. Toward the last, she grew exceedingly nervous - over the “glass jewels,” speculating much as to their value, and - declaring that at the worst they might be pawned for a <i>peso</i> or - two. And, still babbling of them, the old woman died, and was, in - Biblical fashion, “buried with her fathers.”</p> - <p>While not of a superstitious disposition, Bendita began to experience - some of her mother’s qualms about the box and its contents. Finally, for - its safety, she secretly removed several tiles from the floor of her - room, and concealed the jewels therein. Then, satisfied that no one - would find them there, she gave no more thought to the matter, for of - what avail were the baubles? “One can not eat or drink them,” she mused. - “But for their sake my poor father died.”</p> - <p>At this time, Ponciana, the pretty daughter of Pancho, the - <i>cargador</i>, returned from Mission school to her proud family. After - her there trailed, later, her sweetheart, Amado. And after Amado, in - turn, came the deluge. For untoward things began to occur. First was the - falling in love of poor homely Bendita. This, of course, was all right; - any woman can fall in love with any man, if she so elects. But ordinary - decency demands that she at least restrain her passion when the - betrothed of another woman is concerned. And it was Amado, Ponciana’s - novio, upon whom Bendita needs must cast eyes. Of course, it was absurd. - For Bendita was square, fat, and flat (if you can figure to yourself - such a combination), while Ponciana was exceedingly sweet and pretty. - Besides, she had been taught in Mission school, knew some English and - much quaint slang, and was a fascinating little Indian maiden. </p> - <p>“La Ponciana, she knows <i>much</i>,” had been Amado’s glowing - description to that potent personage, his mother. “She plays the piano - and guitar well, and sings, aye, as do the birds! And she dances in a - manner entirely exquisite—and sews and embroiders.”</p> - <p>Despite all this eloquence, however, Amado, after due temptation, - heartlessly jilted Ponciana for the unattractive and homely Bendita. It - happened thus: Unable to make any impression on the handsome Amado, - despite her sighs and eye-rolling, Bendita at length decided to take, as - it were, a back seat, and merely view from afar her beloved, who nightly - paraded in the plaza with his beloved. And here it was, one evening, - that a brilliant thought came to Bendita.</p> - <p>It was an ideal night, “one borrowed from Paradise,” as the poetical - Amado had murmured to his Ponciana. Great bright stars blazed in a - velvety-blue sky, while silvery moonlight cast a radiance over the - beautiful tropical plaza, wherein fountains trickled musically, and - glowing flowers of the tropics heavily perfumed the soft, languid air. - From the remote band-stand came sweet, faint strains of the exquisite - “Angel de Amor,” while the lowered voices of many gay loungers murmured - in musical harmony therewith. </p> - <p>Every one seemed so happy that it was no wonder that tears came to - Bendita’s eyes, as she sat, alone and neglected, in her solitary corner. - “I have so much homeliness,” she thought, drearily; “no one will ever - wish me for a <i>novia</i>—<i>ay de mi</i>!”</p> - <p>Again Amado and Ponciana passed by, Ponciana smiling and dimpling. She - wore a white <i>mantilla</i>, while on her finger there was a genuine - ring of gold, set with a white stone that sparkled in the moonlight. It - was the ring of betrothal, that day given. Amado, being poor, had - secured it cheaply from a pawnshop. But Ponciana did not know.</p> - <p>As she gayly flitted by, Bendita noted the sparkle of the ring. “It is - like the little glass jewels,” she pondered. “How Amado seems to like - it! I might—I might wear those at home. They sparkle, too.”</p> - <p>Behold Bendita, therefore, the next night, arrayed even more - magnificently than Solomon in all his glory. For Solomon, whatever he - may have gotten himself up in, surely never wore such huge diamond - ornaments in the ears, such diamonds and rubies in the hair, such - magnificent bracelets. All this was topped off by a long string of - diamonds and pearls, while outside her <i>mantilla</i>, at the neck, - Bendita displayed, in all humility, a necklace of pear-shaped black and - white pearls.</p> - <p>Amado, who had served for three years as a pawnbroker’s clerk, alone of - the crowd in the plaza knew that the girl’s jewels were - real—fabulously rich. “<i>Carrambas</i>,” he thought, excitedly; - “she, in those jewels, is rich as a princess. El Señor Vega, alone, - would give fifty thousand <i>pesos</i> for them!”</p> - <p>Others, noting the new finery of the homely girl, said smilingly: “What - pretty playthings of glass has our good Bendita found?”</p> - <p>A week’s time saw the feckless Amado off with the old love and on with - the new. Quick work, it is true, but—consider the extenuating - circumstances. To do him justice, he had a plan for securing the jewels - (with Bendita, if it had to be), and later, making matters up with his - own pretty first love. Two things prevented this, however: first, - Bendita rarely wore, touched, or mentioned the jewels, and he was - fearful of exciting her suspicions; second, the jilted Ponciana had - vanished from the ken of even her own family. No one seemed to know - where she was. Old Madre Piedad, in San Geronimo town near by, knew. The - latter dame, thought to be a witch, was the girl’s near relative. To her - Ponciana had stated merely that some one had injured her; and asked if - Madre Maria would keep her quietly hidden, and teach her how to avenge - herself. Madre Piedad promised, and the two, with the aid of an ugly, - squat, herb-stuffed doll, a brazero of hot coals, and some long pins, - set the ball of vengeance in motion.</p> - <p>Meanwhile, instead of preparing for marriage, Bendita fell grievously - ill. She lost flesh rapidly, could not eat, drink, or rest, and - complained of agonizing pains that shot through her body. A doctor was - consulted, but could not relieve her. Then various old women congregated - and muttered together—they could do nothing! Of a truth, it could - be nothing less than the <i>mal del ojo</i> (evil eye), and with that - only old Madre Piedad, of San Geronimo, could cope. Wherefore Madre - Piedad was sent for, and entreated. </p> - <p>At dusk she arrived—a bundled-up old dame, her halting steps - aided by crutches, and her face shrouded in many <i>tapalos</i>. A large - bundle came with her—“medicines,” she gruffly explained. The other - women, secretly in deadly terror of her, gladly withdrew at her - commands. “If you wish me to make a cure, you must get out and leave me - alone with the patient,” she ordered. And not until the premises were - clear did she begin operations.</p> - <p>“Arise!” she commanded the suffering Bendita, “arise, and search out - the glass trinkets which spirits tell me you have hidden away! Place the - trinkets, <i>all</i> of them, in this earthen bowl of water, and let - them remain so for eight hours. In the morning drink the water, after - removing the glass jewels. You will then be entirely cured, I promise - you.”</p> - <p>Dazed and sick, poor Bendita arose from her bed and stumbled about, - obeying the old woman’s mandates. All of the jewels were deposited in an - earthen bowl, which, half filled with holy water, was placed in the - exact centre of the room. Then, swallowing a colorless liquid that Madre - Piedad gave her, Bendita was soon fast asleep. The old witch smiled to - herself as she listened to the sick girl’s deep, regular breathing. - “Well may she sleep,” she muttered, who had shamelessly given a nostrum - that would induce eight hours’ sleep. </p> - <p>And now the old body set busily to work. First she deftly manufactured, - out of her mysterious bundle, a dummy figure that exactly resembled her - own. This she seated prominently before the doorway, so that chance - visitors seeing it would, in their fear of her, retire without entering. - Quickly she slipped out of her many <i>tapalos</i> and other disguises, - and stood forth, straight, young, and lovely—no less a being than - the jilted Ponciana! Hastily she removed the jewels from their watery - resting-place, transferring them to a stout bag, which she tied about - her waist, under a <i>reboso</i>. The bowl she left in its original - position, save that into it she cast a small, ragged, rudely made doll, - into which had been plunged many pins. This done, she was ready for - flight. “<i>Adios</i>, Bendita,” she chuckled, with a wicked smile on - her pretty face. “You can have my lover—for I have your rich - jewels!” </p> - <p>Various neighbors came next morning to inquire for the sick girl, but - were frightened away by the supposed figure of the witch. Bendita - herself, waking up entirely cured after ten hours’ sleep, first - discovered the trick, and cast forth the dummy figure, with much wailing - and gnashing of teeth. But all was not lost, even if the jewels were - gone for aye. Because, drolly enough, Amado was so sorry for the bereft - one that he married her, and they have been happy ever after.</p> - <p>And Ponciana? Did you ever happen to see the exquisite Señora de la - Villa y Garcia, “of Mexico and Paris,” with her wrinkled old husband, - and her beautiful toilettes and jewels? Well, <i>that</i> is Ponciana. - </p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s18' title='The Man-Dog'> - THE MAN-DOG</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Nathan C. Kouns</div> - <p>My first knowledge of the singular being called “Du Chien, the - Man-Dog,” began when we were on duty down in the Peché country, a short - time after General Taylor’s celebrated “Run on the Banks,” in the - vicinity of Mansfield. The cavalry had really very little to do except - “to feed,” and await orders. As a result of this idleness many of the - officers and men formed pleasant acquaintances with the hospitable - planters in whose neighborhood we were located.</p> - <p>One of the planters whom I found to be most congenial was Captain - Martas, a French creole, whose father had come from Languedoc. He was - himself native-born. He was a man of forty-eight or fifty years of age, - and had two sons by his first marriage, who were in the army of - Virginia, and a boy two years of age, by his second wife, who was a - young and beautiful lady. The housekeeper was a mulatto girl, who was in - every physical development almost a perfect being—even her small - hands looking like consummate wax-work. She had been taught, petted, and - indulged as much, perhaps, or more than any slave should have been, - especially by Captain Martas, who uniformly spoke to her more in the - tone of a father addressing his daughter, than in that of a master - commanding a slave. She was always gentle and obedient. The family - seemed to prize her very greatly, and the little boy especially - preferred her to his own beautiful mother. I suppose it would be hard - for the later generation, who remember little or nothing of the - “domestic institution,” to understand how such a pleasant and beautiful - confidence and friendship could exist between a slave and her owners, - but it was no uncommon thing in the South before the war.</p> - <p>The family was so attractive that I visited it often; but one evening, - on my arrival at the house, I found that its peace and quiet had been - disturbed by one of those painful occurrences which so often marred the - happiness of Southern families, and which really constituted the curse - of “the peculiar institution.”</p> - <p>The day before, the beautiful and accomplished wife of Captain Martas - had, for some unexplained reason, got into a frenzy of rage with Celia, - the mulattress, and had ordered the overseer to give her a severe - whipping. The girl had run off into the Black Swamp during the night, - and Captain Martas, who imparted this information to me, was in a state - of terrible distress by reason of her absence. He did not seem to - understand the cause of the trouble, but he could not justify his slave - without condemning his wife, whom he seemed to regard with a most tender - and dutiful devotion. The only emotion which seemed to master him was a - heart-breaking and hopeless grief. I volunteered to hunt for the - runaway, and while asking for such information as I thought to be - necessary about the neighboring plantations, and of the almost boundless - and impracticable wilderness known as the Black Swamp, I saw Celia - slowly and quietly coming up the broad walk which led from the portico - to the big gate. </p> - <p>She carried in her hand a branch of the magnolia tree, from which - depended a splendid blossom of that most glorious of all flowers. She - bowed slightly as she came near the portico, and, passing around the - corner of the house, entered it by a side door. Mrs. Martas was most - passionately devoted to the magnolia, and, from her exclamations of - delight, which were soon heard in the hall, we knew that Celia had - brought the beautiful flower as a peace-offering to her mistress, and - that it had been accepted as such. Very soon the two women came nearer, - and from our seats on the veranda we could hear their conversation. A - terrible weight seemed to have been lifted from the heart of Captain - Martas by the girl’s return, and by the apparent renewal of friendly - relations between his beautiful wife and his even more beautiful - slave—a relief which showed itself in his face and form, but not - in his speech.</p> - <p>“Yes,” said Celia to Mrs. Martas, “it is an old, wide-spreading tree on - the very edge of the water, and is glorious with just such splendid - blossoms as these. There must be more than three hundred clusters, some - that I could not reach being much larger and finer than this one.”</p> - <p>“And you say,” answered Mrs. Martas, “that the air is still, and that - the perfume broods all around the tree? Oh, how sweet!”</p> - <p>“Yes,” said Celia, “it is so strong that you can taste as well as smell - the wonderful perfume. Few people could bear to stand immediately - beneath the shade; it is so sweet as to be almost overpowering.”</p> - <p>“Oh, how I wish I could see it! How far is it, Celia?”</p> - <p>“Only four miles. You can go. It is deep in the swamp: but the pony can - follow the ridge all the way. You can go, and get home before dusk. I - would like you to see it before a rain makes the road too bad, or the - winds come and scatter the delicious perfume that now hangs as heavy as - dew all around the glorious tree for yards and yards away.”</p> - <p>“I will go,” she cried. “Tell Toby to bring out Selim, and you can take - a horse. Let us go at once. It is getting late.”</p> - <p>“I would rather walk,” said Celia, “so as to be sure that I will not - miss the route in going back, although I watched so carefully that I - know I can find it on foot.”</p> - <p>Very soon a boy led up Mrs. Martas’s pony, and she went out to the - steps and mounted, followed by Celia on foot. The girl held the stirrup - for her mistress, and as she did so looked back at Captain Martas with - eyes in which shone strange love, pity, and tenderness; but the voice of - her mistress called her away, and, even in turning her black and - lustrous eyes toward Captain Martas, their expression totally changed, - and showed for a fleeting instant the murderous glitter that gleamed - from the eyes of a panther when ready for a fatal spring.</p> - <p>I was startled and troubled, and half moved forward to tell the lady - not to go; but a moment’s reflection showed me how foolish such an - unnecessary and silly interference would seem. A strange mistrust - flitted across my mind, but there was nothing on which to base it. I - could not give a reason for it, except to say that I had seen the light - of a gladiator’s eye, the twitch and spasm of an assassin’s lip, in the - eye and mouth of that now smiling and dutiful young slave girl. The - thing was too foolish to think of, and I held my peace.</p> - <p>The women passed out of the gate, and went on quietly in the direction - of the Black Swamp. Martas and I resumed our conversation. Hour after - hour passed away, and the sun grew large and low in the West; still Mrs. - Martas did not return. The sun was setting—set; but she had not - come. Then Captain Martas called Toby and had him ride to the edge of - the wood and see if he could learn anything of his mistress; but Toby - soon came back, saying that he saw nothing except the pony’s tracks - leading into the swamp, and the pony himself leisurely coming home - without a rider. Then Captain Martas mounted, and I followed him. He - took the plantation conch-shell, and we rode on into the dark forest as - long as we could trace any footsteps of the pony, or find any open way, - and again and again Captain Martas blew resonant blasts upon his shell - that rolled far away over the swamp, seeking to apprise his wife that we - were there, and waiting for her; but nothing came of it.</p> - <p>“They could hear the shell,” he said, “upon a still night like this - three or four miles,” and it seemed to him impossible that they could - have gone beyond the reach of the sound. But no answer came, and the - moonless night came down over the great Black Swamp, and the darkness - grew almost visible, so thoroughly did it shut off all vision like a - vast black wall.</p> - <p>Then Martas sent Toby back to the plantation for fire and blankets, and - more men, and soon a roaring blaze mounted skyward, and every few - minutes the conch-shell was blown. Nothing more could be done. I - remained with the now sorely troubled husband through the night. At the - first peep of dawn he had breakfast brought from the plantation, and as - soon as it became light enough to see in the great forest, we searched - for and found the pony’s track, and we carefully followed the traces - left in the soft soil. The chase led, with marvelous turns and twists, - right along the little ridge of firmer land which led irregularly on - between the boundless morasses stretched on either side, trending now - this way, now that, but always penetrating deeper and deeper into the - almost unknown bosom of the swamp. The pony had followed his own trail - in coming out of the swamp, and this made it easier for us to trace his - way. At last we came to the dark, sluggish, sullen water. It was a point - of solid ground, of less than an acre in extent, a foot or two above the - water, almost circular in outline, and nearly surrounded by the lagoon. - It was comparatively clear of timber, and near the centre rose a grand - magnolia tree, such as Celia had described to Mrs. Martas on the evening - before. At the root of this tree, bathed with the rich, overpowering - perfume of the wonderful bloom above her, lay the dead body of the - beautiful woman, her clothes disordered, her hair disheveled, a coarse, - dirty handkerchief stuffed into her mouth, and all the surroundings - giving evidence of a despairing struggle and a desperate crime. Captain - Martas was overcome with anguish, and after one agonized look around, as - if to assure himself that Celia was not also somewhere in sight, he sat - down beside the body and gazed upon his murdered wife in silent, - helpless agony of spirit.</p> - <p>I desired all the men to remain where they were, except Toby, whom I - ordered to follow me; and then, beginning at the little ridge of land - between the waters by which we had reached the circular space before - described, we followed the edge of the ground completely round to the - starting point, seeking in the soft mud along the shore for a footprint, - or the mark made by a canoe or skiff, for some evidence of the route by - which the murderer had reached the little peninsula, or by which Celia - had left it.</p> - <p>We found perfect tracks of all animal life existing in the swamps, even - to the minute lines left by the feet of the smallest birds, but no trace - of a human foot, although a snail could not have passed into or out of - the water without leaving his mark upon the yielding mud, much less a - footstep or a canoe.</p> - <p>The thing was inexplicable. Where was Celia? How had she gone without - leaving a trace of her departure? Had she been there at all? Who had - murdered Mrs. Martas? Surely some man or devil had perpetrated that - crime. How had the villain escaped from the scene of his crime, leaving - not the slightest clew by which it was possible to tell which way he had - gone?</p> - <p>I reported to Captain Martas the exact condition of the affair, and - told him I knew not what to do, unless we could get bloodhounds and put - them on the trail. He said there were no hounds within sixty miles; that - all of the planters he knew preferred to lose a runaway rather than to - follow them with the dogs. Rumors of the loss of Mrs. Martas had spread - from plantation to camp, and two or three soldiers had immediately - ridden out to the plantation, and then had followed us to the scene of - the crime. One of them said: “If there are no hounds, send to camp for - old Du Chien. He is better than any dog.” </p> - <p>The remark was so singular that I asked: “What do you mean by saying - ‘He is better than any dog’?”</p> - <p>“I mean that he can follow the trail by the scent better than any hound - I ever saw, and I have seen hundreds of them.”</p> - <p>“Is that a mere camp story,” said I, “or do you know it of your own - knowledge?”</p> - <p>“I know it myself, sir,” said the soldier. “I have seen him smell a man - or his clothes, and then go blindfold into a whole regiment and pick out - that man by his scent. I have seen him pull a lock of wool off a sheep, - smell it good, and then go blindfold into the pen and pick out that - identical sheep from fifty others. I have known him to smell the blanket - a nigger slept in, and follow that darky four or five miles by the scent - of him through cotton, corn, and woods. He is better than a dog.”</p> - <p>The man looked to be honest and intelligent; and while I could hardly - credit such an astounding and abnormal development of the nasal power in - a human being, there was nothing else to do; so I told him to take my - horse and his own, ride as quickly as possible to camp, and bring old Du - Chien with him.</p> - <p>Then we made a litter, and slowly and reverently we bore the corpse of - the murdered lady along the difficult road until we reached a point to - which it was possible to bring a carriage, in which we placed her in - charge of the horrified neighbors, who had by this time collected at the - plantation.</p> - <p>Captain Martas insisted on remaining with me and awaiting the coming of - Du Chien.</p> - <p>More than two hours elapsed before the soldier whom I had sent for Du - Chien, the Man-Dog, returned with that strange creature. He surely - deserved his name. He must have been six feet high, but was so lank, - loose, flabby, and jumbled-up that it was hard to even guess at his - stature. His legs were long and lank, and his hands hung down to his - knees. A bristly shock of red hair grew nearly down to his eyebrows, and - his head slanted back to a point, sugar-loaf fashion. His chin seemed to - have slid back into his lank, flabby neck, and his face looked as if it - stopped at the round, red, slobbering mouth. His nose was not remarkably - large, but the sloping away of all the facial lines from it, as from a - central point, gave his nasal organ an expression of peculiar prominence - and significance. When he walked, every bone and muscle about him - drooped forward, as if he were about to fall face foremost and travel - with his hands and feet.</p> - <p>Briefly I explained what had happened, and thereupon Du Chien, who - seemed to be a man of few words, said: “Stay where you are, all of you, - for a minute.” Then he started off at his singular dog-trot pace, and - followed the edge of the water all the way around, just as I had done, - lightly, but with wonderful celerity. Then he came back to us, looking - much puzzled. I handed him the coarse, dirty handkerchief which I had - taken from the dead woman’s mouth, and Du Chien immediately buried that - wonderful nose of his in it, and snuffed at it long and vigorously. - Having apparently satisfied himself, he removed the dirty rag from his - face and said: “Nigger.” </p> - <p>“No,” said I, thinking of Celia, and looking Du Chien in his little, - round, deep-set eyes; “a mulatto.”</p> - <p>“No,” he answered, with quiet assurance; “not mulatto; nigger; black, - wool-headed, and old—a buck nigger.”</p> - <p>“What can you do?” said I.</p> - <p>“Wait a minute,” said Du Chien. Then he started off again to make the - circuit of the peninsula, but more slowly and deliberately than at - first. He threw his head from side to side, like a hound, and smelled at - every tree and shrub. He had got about half way around when he reached a - mighty tree that grew on the edge of the swamp, leaning out over the - water where it was narrowest and deepest, and seemed to mingle its - branches with the branches of another tree of a similar gigantic growth - that grew upon the other side. He walked up to this tree, saying: - “Nigger went up here!” and at once began to climb. The inclination of - the great trunk and the lowness of the branches made the task an easy - one. Almost instantly, Captain Martas, I, and two or three soldiers - followed Du Chien up the tree. Du Chien had gone up some thirty feet - into the dense foliage, when all at once he left the body of the tree, - and began to slide along a great limb that extended out over the water, - holding to the branches around and above him until he got into the - lateral branches of the tree on the opposite side, and thence to the - trunk of that tree, down which he glided, and stood upon the opposite - bank waiting for us to follow. We did so as speedily as possible, and as - soon as we were safely landed by his side, Du Chien said: “Single file, - all!” and started off, smelling the trees and bushes as he went.</p> - <p>The spot at which we had descended seemed to be a hummock similar to - that on the other side, but less regular in its outline; and soon the - way by which Du Chien led us became more and more difficult and - impassable. Often it seemed that the next step would take us right into - the dark and sluggish water, but Du Chien, almost without pausing at - all, would smell at the leaves and branches and hurry on, now planting - his foot upon a clod just rising out of the water, now stepping upon a - fallen and half-rotted log, now treading a fringe of more solid ground - skirting the dreary lagoon, but going every moment deeper and deeper - into the most pathless and inaccessible portions of the swamp.</p> - <p>For nearly two hours this strange man followed the trail, and we - followed him. At last we came to a considerable elevation of ground - under which opened a little V-shaped valley made by the water of a - branch which drained the high land into the swamp. This valley was - rather more than two acres in extent, and seemed to be a clearing. But - there was a thick-set growth of sweet gum, holly, and magnolia across - the opening toward the swamp, beyond which we could not see. </p> - <p>With quickened steps, and with many of the same signs of excitement - manifested by a hound when the trail grows hot, Du Chien followed along - this hedge-like line of underbrush, and at its farther end stopped. - There, within three feet of where the steep bank ran into the water, - which seemed to be of great depth, was an opening in the hedge. He - slipped cautiously through it, and we followed him in silence. It was a - little garden in the heart of the swamp, lying between the hills and the - water. At the apex of the V-shaped valley was a miserable cabin with - some fruit trees growing round about it. We gazed upon the scene with - profound astonishment.</p> - <p>“Do you know anything of this place, Captain Martas?” said I, in a low - tone.</p> - <p>“No,” said he; “several years ago one of my fieldhands, a gigantic - Abyssinian, was whipped and ran away to the swamp; I never followed him, - and have never seen him since, although every now and then I heard of - him by the report of the negroes on the plantation; I suppose he has - been living somewhere in the swamp ever since, and, unless this is his - home, I can not imagine how such a place came to be here.”</p> - <p>“The nigger is there,” said Du Chien. “If there are a dozen of them I - can tell the right one by the smell,” and again he put the old - handkerchief to his nose.</p> - <p>“If it is old Todo,” said Captain Martas, “he is a powerful and - desperate man, and we had better be cautious.”</p> - <p>We formed a line, and slowly and cautiously approached. We had got - within ten or twelve feet of his door, when we saw a gigantic, half-clad - negro spring from the floor, gaze out at us an instant with fierce, - startled eyes, and then, with a yell like that of some wild beast roused - up in its lair, he seized an axe which stood just at the door, and, - whirling it around his head with savage fury, darted straight at Captain - Martas. It seemed to me that the huge, black form was actually in the - air, springing toward the object of its hatred and fear, when one of the - soldiers sent a ball from his revolver crushing through old Todo’s - skull. With a savage, beastly cry, the huge bulk fell headlong to the - earth.</p> - <p>“It is a pity,” said Martas; “I wished to burn the black devil alive.” - </p> - <p>At that instant Du Chien cried out: “Look there!” And extending his arm - toward the top of the ridge, he started off at full speed. We all looked - up and saw Celia flying for dear life toward the forest of the high - ground behind the cabin, and we joined in the chase. It was perhaps - forty yards up the slope to the highest part, and about the same - distance down the other side to the water’s edge. Just as we got to the - crest, Celia, who had already reached the water’s edge, leaped lightly - into a small canoe and began to ply the paddle vigorously, and with a - stroke or two sent the frail bark gliding swiftly away from the shore, - while she looked back at us with a wicked smile. In a moment more she - would be beyond our reach, and the soldier who had shot Todo leveled his - fatal revolver at her head. But Captain Martas knocked the weapon up, - saying, in a voice choked with emotion: “No, no! let the girl go! She is - my daughter.” </p> - <p>Swiftly and silently the slight canoe swept away over the dark waters - of the great, black swamp, now hidden in the shadow, now a moment - glancing through some little patch of sunlight, always receding farther - and farther, seen less often, seen less distinctly every moment, and - then seen no more. </p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s19' - title='The Amateur Revolutionist'>THE AMATEUR REVOLUTIONIST</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By John Fleming Wilson</div> - <p>If you should see bronzed men or men with soldierly bearing frequenting - a certain office in a small street in San Francisco, and if you knew who - the men were or what they represented, you could predict to a nicety the - next Central American revolution, its leaders, and its outcome. That is - because San Francisco is the place where everything commences, and many - have their end in the way of troubles in the “sister republics.”</p> - <p>Three years ago the present government of Guatemala missed overthrow by - just a hair. As the man who had been financing the insurrection said - bitterly when the bottom fell out: “If it weren’t for women there’d be - no revolutions, and if it weren’t for a woman every revolution would be - successful.” He said this to the man who knows more about troubles - political where there’s money and fighting than any other man in the - world. This man nodded his head with a smile not often seen on his spare - face. The financier didn’t like the look, and he growled some more: - “They might at least have let me hold the government up for my expenses - before calling the whole business off. I could have got everything back - and interest on my venture.” </p> - <p>The other man kept on smiling. “That’s the way you fellows look at it. - If you can’t win, sell out at a good price. But that don’t win in the - long run. One woman can spoil the scheme.”</p> - <p>Two years before this a young woman landed from the Pacific Mail - steamer <i>City of Para</i>, and registered at the Palace as from - Mazatlan. She had a little maid who giggled and talked Mexican, some - luggage with Vienna and Paris hotel labels over it, and the manner of a - deposed queen. She signed herself as “Srta Maria Rivas.”</p> - <p>In due time Señorita Rivas left the hotel for quiet lodgings on Vallejo - Street. But before she disappeared from the court, a gentle-mannered old - man, with knotty hands, called and introduced a companion. “This is the - young man I spoke to your excellency about. I present Señor Thomas - Vincent.” Then the gray-haired man slipped away, and Thomas Vincent was - left looking down into the dark face of Maria Rivas. He did not know why - he was there, nor who she was, nor even the name of the man who had - introduced him. But he was not sorry.</p> - <p>She let him stand while she glanced him over. Vincent drew himself up - at her somewhat insolent manner, and was rewarded by a smile.</p> - <p>“Will you accept an invitation to supper to-night if I press you very - hard?” she asked him in smooth English.</p> - <p>Vincent turned his eyes about the court. Then he looked down at her - again, and nodded curtly. “Certainly, madam.” He flushed, and went on, - “But I failed to catch your name. I am awfully embarrassed.”</p> - <p>She got to her feet, and held out a slender hand. “I am Miss Mary - Rivas,” she said, quietly. “My father was formerly the president of - Honduras. I went to school at Bryn Mawr, and I met your sister there. - That’s why, when I found you were in San Francisco, I asked to have you - brought and introduced.”</p> - <p>Vincent looked at her very soberly, almost pityingly. Then he offered - her his arm, and they went into the supper-room, where everybody turned - to watch their progress, knowing neither of them. </p> - <p>When she removed to the flat on Vallejo Street, Miss Mary Rivas told - Vincent to come and take the first dinner with her. “We’ll christen the - new place,” she said gayly, “and, besides, I hope you’ll find that I’m - really American and can cook.”</p> - <p>That night at nine o’clock when the Mexican maid had departed giggling - to the kitchen, Vincent’s hostess leaned forward over the table at which - they sat, and rested her elbows on it. Her bare arms framed her face in - a sudden way that took Vincent’s heart out of its regular beat. He - leaped to his feet when Maria Rivas, dropping her head, burst into a - torrent of sobs, her white shoulders heaving as her agony got the better - of her.</p> - <p>As he stood there biting his lips she threw back her head and darted up - and to the window. He heard her moan, as if she saw and heard something - too awful to comprehend. He walked over and stood back of her till she - swung round, and he saw the tear-stained face relax and the swimming - eyes close. He carried her to the table, and laid her down across it, - and rubbed her hands. Then the maid came in, still giggling - hysterically, and together they revived her until she sat up between - Vincent’s arms and slid from the big table to the floor. Vincent sent - the astonished maid out by a gesture of command. </p> - <p>“Now, what’s the matter?” he demanded, hoarsely. “If you’re in trouble - tell me.”</p> - <p>She panted before him. “It was what I remembered,” she replied. “How - can I forget?”</p> - <p>“After I had been five years in the States papa sent for me to meet him - in Colon. I got off the steamer, and he was waiting on the wharf. I knew - he would do it just that way. He put on his glasses with both hands and - looked at me as if he were very glad, and oh! I loved it, for it was - just like it was when I was a little girl and ran into the big room.</p> - <p>“But trouble came in Panama, and papa thought we’d better come up to - San Francisco. ‘I’ve been so busy down here one way and another,’ he - said, ‘that I’m always suspected of conspiracy. Your mother is dead, and - the fun of life is out of it. We will live peaceably as befits an old - man and his daughter.’”</p> - <p>Vincent’s voice broke in on her story. “When was this?”</p> - <p>“Five years ago. And everything went all right till we got to Amapala. - There a friend of papa’s came on board and showed me a paper. It said - papa was not to be allowed to land in Honduras, as he was plotting an - insurrection. He put on his glasses to read it. When he looked up at me, - he said: ‘We shan’t see where your mother is buried, nor the place where - you were born.’ He shook hands with the friend, and said nothing more. - </p> - <p>“On the day we were at Ocos, in the afternoon, I saw the - <i>comandante</i> come on the steamer with some soldiers. He said he - wanted to arrest papa, but that if papa came along willingly he would - not use force.</p> - <p>“‘I am under the American flag,’ papa said. ‘I know who has done this. - It would mean my death if I went with you.’ Suddenly I heard a shot and - then another. I hurried to papa’s room. Outside there were two soldiers - aiming into it. I saw papa sitting on his camp-stool and his two - revolvers were in his lap. He was hunting for his glasses, but the chain - had slipped down. He could not see to shoot. One of the soldiers, after - a long time, fired his gun again, and father suddenly picked up his - revolvers, and I cried out again. He didn’t shoot, and I know now that - he was afraid of hitting me. Then he fell. The soldiers fired again and - ran away, panting and yelling to each other. I went in to papa, and he - asked for his glasses, sitting up on the floor very weakly. When I found - them and gave them to him, the blood was running very fast down his - breast. He put on his glasses with both hands, wrinkling up his forehead - in the old way, and looked at me very——He looked.... He - said, ‘I am glad I could see you, little one ... before I go.’ That was - all.” </p> - <p>She went to the window and stayed there, immobile, while Vincent walked - up and down behind her. At last she turned around. “That was five years - ago. No one has done anything to punish them.”</p> - <p>Vincent, because she was suddenly to him the woman, did what every man - once in his life will do for one woman: he sacrificed his sense of - humor. With all seriousness he stiffened up. “It was under my flag he - was shot down. I’ve served under it. Give me another flag for Guatemala - and I’ll go down there and those murderers shall die against a wall, - with your flag flying over their heads, its shadow wavering at their - feet on the yellow sand.”</p> - <p>Maria Rivas, because she was the Woman in this case, understood - perfectly. “A revolution?” she said, very quietly. He bent over her hand - gravely and youthfully. His manner was confident, as if he saw very - clearly what was to be done and knew how to do it, not as if he had - promised a girl with tear stains on her cheeks to overturn a government - because of a murder one afternoon on a steamer in a foreign port.</p> - <p>This was the beginning of the affair. Its continuation was in a little - town on the Guatemalan coast, where Vincent landed with a ton of - munitions of war, marked “Manufactures of Metal,” and thirty ragged - soldiers. A month later he had a thousand insurgents and twenty tons of - munitions, and his blood had drunk in the fever that burns up the years - in hours. The first thing Vincent did under its spell was to march on - Ocos and take it. When the town was his and the <i>comandante</i> in - irons, the young man took out of his pocketbook a little list of names, - made out in Maria Rivas’s hand. He compared this list with the list of - prisoners, and ordered out a firing squad. Half an hour later the shadow - of the flag made by the Woman in the Vallejo Street flat wavered over - the sand on which lay six men in a tangle. Generalissimo Thomas Vincent - went out into the sun and looked at the last postures of the six, and - then out across the brimming waters of the Pacific. A mail steamer lay - out there in the midst of a cluster of canoes, the American flag - drooping from her staff. </p> - <p>An Irishman in a major’s uniform came out of the cool of the barracks - and stopped beside Vincent. “Another week ought to see us in the - capital,” he said slowly. “But I don’t like this business, general. - These beggars don’t amount to anything. Why did you order them shot?” - </p> - <p>A barefoot girl of some ten years crept around the corner of the - sunbaked wall. She picked her way over the sand, darting hot glances - fearfully at the two officers. Suddenly she stooped over the crooked - body of one of the motionless ones. She tugged at the sleeve of a shirt, - and as the face turned slightly upward to her effort, she fell to - beating on the ground with both hands, and sobbed in the heat, dry-eyed. - </p> - <p>Vincent strode over to her, and gently picked her up. Her quick sobs - did not cease as he carried her into the shade, his own face drawn and - white. He looked over at the major, who stood gnawing on his stubby - mustache. He did not reply to the question until the major repeated it - angrily. “It was because ... they deserved it....” Vincent stopped, and - then went on, almost inaudibly, “God knows why I did it, and then - there’s ... the——” He stopped once more, for the girl’s hard - sobs had ceased, and her lithe hand had darted from the folds of her - scanty gown to the young general’s throat, and the major saw him set the - burden softly down, and then fall forward, the blood pouring around the - blade of a knife deep in his throat. </p> - <p>With an oath the major leaped over to him and lifted his head. - Vincent’s eyes looked clearly into his. Then the wounded man looked over - at the little girl, poised for flight, a dozen feet away. He nodded at - her with an air of absolute comprehension, and then died. </p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s20' - title='The Blood of a Comrade'>THE BLOOD OF A COMRADE</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Neil Gillespie</div> - <p>“A short, severe war is less cruel than a long drawn-out fight,” said - the captain, easily. “Of course it is! Everybody knows it! So why do the - people at home criticise us, and libel and court-martial us because we - use every means in our power to prevent further rebellion?”</p> - <p>“They ought to be thankful we don’t use Spanish methods,” said Wilcox, - the junior member of the mess. He was only six weeks out of his cadet - gray, and a new arrival at Camp Chicobang.</p> - <p>The captain smiled, pleasantly. “No?” he said. “Haven’t we a - <i>reconcentrado</i> system similar to theirs? Haven’t we a blockade? - We’re merely taking up affairs where they left them, and following - Spanish methods in our own way. When this rebellion began, we tried to - treat the natives as civilized creatures, but, thank heaven, we’re - learning sense at last.”</p> - <p>The subaltern flushed to the roots of his close-cropped hair. “Do you - mean to say that any measure, however cruel, is justifiable in war?”</p> - <p>“About that,” said the captain, amused at the boy’s interest in a - subject which was a stale one to the rest of the mess. “This business - has got to be straightened out, and that’s exactly what you and I are - here for. War is wrong; therefore it is cruel and brutalizing. - ‘Benevolent assimilation’ talk is all rot, and as for civilized warfare, - there’s no such thing. The measures used are adopted as circumstances - arise, and must be cruel or barbarous, as the necessity calls for.” </p> - <p>Wilcox was staring at him, half in horror, half in fascination. “And - men can talk that way in the twentieth century,” he murmured. </p> - <p>The captain smiled again. “The only way to carry on war with this - people is to do to them as they first did to us. As long as we spare - them, they’re going to think we’re weaklings, and grow bolder by result. - They haven’t any honor; you can’t treat them as white men. Their own - methods are what they expect, and their own methods are the only means - by which this fighting will ever be stopped. It may involve an awful lot - of suffering for non-combatants, but we can’t help that. When the people - cry out ‘Enough!’ then the insurgents will lose their support and the - rebellion will be at an end—for a while.”</p> - <p>Wilcox was playing nervously with his fork, and biting his lips as if - to keep back words he would not speak. He was young, and his high ideals - of the calling he had chosen had made him blind to the hard facts with - which he was now brought face to face. It was impossible to believe that - his own countrymen—officers of the United States army—could - be so cruel, so barbarous. He did not care what the captain said; bloody - treatment must serve only to alienate this struggling people. If the - rebellion had once been handled differently, what was the cause of this - reversion to the savage? Had the lust of blood so crazed the white men - that they forgot their race, their civilization, their upbringing? - Wilcox pitied the Filipinos; they, at least, were fighting for their - liberty.</p> - <p>“By the way,” said the captain, “did any of you fellows hear that the - general expects to catch Luiz Maha, who killed our policeman down at - Binaran, and tried to murder the port commander?”</p> - <p>“Been wounded?” asked some one.</p> - <p>“No, but his wife had a baby recently, so he probably won’t move his - quarters so easily. They’ll shoot him on sight.”</p> - <p>“Well, I hope they see him soon,” said the medico. “He’s made more - trouble for us than any other <i>insurrecto</i> in that part of the - island.”</p> - <p>A sudden sound of running feet was heard through the din of the rain - outside. The door of the mess-hall rasped open, and a dripping figure - appeared on the threshold.</p> - <p>“The colonel’s compliments to the commanders of K and O Troops, and - will they please report to him immediately? Outpost No. 2 has been cut - up by <i>insurrectos</i>, and Lieutenant Ellard and men at No. 4 have - been captured.”</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>In the blackness of the night before dawn, a long line of men, lying - flat on the soggy earth, wormed their way through the tall, rank grass. - On the crest of a steep ascent the leading figures halted cautiously, - and one by one the men came to a standstill, each with a hand on the - foot of the man ahead. A light was beginning to streak the east when the - captain consulted the native guide in a soundless colloquy.</p> - <p>“What does he say?” asked Wilcox, the subaltern. He was wallowing in - the mud like a carabao, and his clothes were coated with dirt. </p> - <p>“The <i>hacienda</i> of the <i>insurrecto comandante</i> is just below - us,” returned the captain. “They’ll be perfectly unsuspecting, and - unless they’ve had time to move on, it’s likely we’ll find our men - hidden there.”</p> - <p>In the gray dawn the Americans drew their lines about the little - plantation, and lay in an unseen circle a stone’s throw from the brown - nipa-hut. The subaltern saw a frowsy woman with two naked children go - into the shack. A tall man in ragged white was putting out the wash to - dry.</p> - <p>“By the eternal,” whispered the captain, excitedly, “if it isn’t a - Spaniard! We’ve had rumors that the Gugus were keeping some prisoners up - here as slaves.”</p> - <p>The tall man glanced toward the jungle and saw a line of blue and - khaki-clad figures spring into view. His eyes bulged from his head, and - he stood motionless with amazement. Suddenly, with a shout of “Vivan los - Americanos! Viva la Libertad!” he dashed forward, open-armed. A burly - sergeant met him with a knock-out blow on the chin, and the Spaniard - staggered back, rubbing his face without resentment. He understood that - silence was demanded.</p> - <p>“Over the hill!” he cried, dancing about with pain and excitement. - “They’ve just left here with three <i>Americano</i> prisoners. Hurry and - you will catch them! Hurry, hurry, but take me with you.” </p> - <p>Once more they dashed into the forest. The subaltern, running beside - the rescued man, noticed that his shirt was stained with blood, and the - fluttering rags gave glimpses of the raw, flayed skin beneath.</p> - <p>“What does that mean?” he asked in his school-boy Spanish.</p> - <p>The man smiled. Past sorrows were nothing to him now.</p> - <p>“I have been two years a prisoner,” he said. “One receives many - beatings.” </p> - <p>“Have you never tried to escape?”</p> - <p>“What was the use? My friend tried, but they caught him and cut off his - head—after roasting his legs.”</p> - <p>Wilcox said nothing, but there was a strained look about his eyes. To - him the last twenty-four hours had been horribly unreal. Stopping only - for food and drink, the troop had followed the track of the - <i>insurrectos</i> deeper and deeper into the hills. He had seen his men - surprise and shoot down a native in sight of his wife, and as excuse the - captain had said that the man was a war traitor, a leader of insurgents, - and a persecutor of <i>Americanistas</i>. But Wilcox felt sickened. The - captain and the men became repulsive to him. They were like a lower - order of beings to which he refused to be degraded. The army was his - only outlook, but could he ever be in sympathy with such things as he - was experiencing every day?</p> - <p>Suddenly a man in the ranks cried out, and the column came to a jolting - halt. The subaltern looked, and turned pale. By the trunk of a - moss-grown tree, his arms bound above his head, a rope about his - half-naked body, stood an American soldier. Across his mouth from corner - to corner a <i>bolo</i> had slashed, and the bleeding flesh hung loosely - over the jaw. His head was sunk forward, but he was not dead as his - captors had intended he should be after a few days’ lingering. </p> - <p>His “bunkie,” who had first seen the pitiful figure, cut the heavy hemp - with his bayonet, but the column waited only a moment. A hospital corps - man was left behind with a detail, and the troop took up its march the - more cautiously for knowing that it was hot on the trail.</p> - <p>The subaltern felt that his nerves were strained to the breaking point. - Through the throbbing whirl of his brain came a sickening thought. If - the natives were capable of such a deed as this, how would they treat - the other two prisoners? Surely they would not dare to harm an American - officer. His mind refused to comprehend the thought of Ellard cold and - lifeless. The image of his classmate and chum was too fresh, too vividly - active to be rendered null. No, the natives could not be so cruel, they - could not be so inhuman. And yet that bound figure by the tree! How - slowly the men moved! Why did they linger when every minute might mean - life or death to the prisoners?</p> - <p>The men passed over another spur and dropped into the valley below. - With every step they moved more cautiously. Tense and alert, the - subaltern crept onward, braced for he knew not what. He saw the captain, - crawling on all fours, become entangled in a trailing vine, and felt an - uncontrollable desire to laugh. It was broad day now, and the heat grew - stifling in the breathless woods.</p> - <p>A shout and distant laughter echoed across the valley, and the captain - halted abruptly. After a moment’s consultation, the troop divided, and - at the head of his creeping file, the subaltern turned to the right. - Nearer and nearer sounded the native voices, and the men knew that they - were close to the insurgent camp. For ten heartbreaking minutes they - wormed their way over the damp, brown loam, now and again catching a - glimpse of the little clearing, until they had made a complete half - circle.</p> - <p>Slowly they drew near the edge of the trees, and the subaltern heard - the sound of hasty digging. A strange look appeared on the set faces of - the men, but Wilcox did not notice. He wondered what the natives were - doing, fearing to look for dread of what he might have to see, and yet - impatient to know if Ellard was alive. He moved his body until, - dirt-color himself, he could watch unseen.</p> - <p>Thank God! At the opposite end of the clearing stood Ellard, upright - and unharmed. Before him, in the centre of the field, was a rectangular - hole like a grave, and the natives were throwing the earth clods into - it. Evidently they were burying some one who had died, but why did they - seem amused? Brady was nowhere in sight. Was it his body they were - burying?</p> - <p>Yelling like an army of blue fiends, the captain’s detachment burst - into the clearing. Surprised and confused, the <i>insurrectos</i> turned - to flee, and met the fixed bayonets of the subaltern’s men. </p> - <p>As soon as he could break away, Wilcox ran to one side. Ellard was - standing as before, still bound hand and foot. His face was half - averted, but on it the subaltern saw a look of the most intense horror - and dread. With a cry of dismay, he dashed forward, but a naked, brown - figure was before him. Twice the shining <i>kris</i> flashed in the air - as the defenseless prisoner toppled backward. Then, dodging the - subaltern’s bullet, the native turned and fled. Two privates cornered - and disarmed him, but before they could put in a finishing blow, Wilcox - had shouted: “Hold on there! Wait till I come!” </p> - <p>“As you have mercy, put me out of this life!” moaned Ellard.</p> - <p>The tall, strong, young athlete of a moment before lay helpless on the - ground, a bleeding, legless trunk. Sobbing, the subaltern dropped to his - knees beside his friend, and beat passionately at the earth with - clenched fists.</p> - <p>“Don’t, don’t!” almost shrieked the wounded man. “I stood here - powerless to move while they first cut up and then buried Brady alive, - but I didn’t cry! Kill me, shoot me, have mercy on me for Christ’s sake, - but don’t cry!”</p> - <p>A hospital sergeant came running, the captain, white with horror, at - his heels. The fight was over, and a group of men were working at the - grave.</p> - <p>Wilcox staggered to his feet, a strange curse on his lips. The beads of - sweat plowed deep courses through the grime on his cheeks. Slowly, with - infinite deliberation, he reloaded his revolver and strode to where the - troopers held the <i>insurrecto</i> on the ground. As he went, he - muttered, like a man searching for some forgotten thought, “The measures - used are adopted as circumstances arise, and must be cruel or barbarous - as the necessity calls for ... as the necessity calls for....”</p> - <p>Three times he fired into the prostrate body. “One for Brady, one for - Wright, and one for Ellard!” and then he began to laugh.</p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s21' - title='Under Flying Hoofs'>UNDER FLYING HOOFS</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Bertrand W. Sinclair.</div> - <p>“Mormon Jack” stretched his generous length in the shade of the - bed-wagon, thereby disturbing the sonorous slumbers of Johnny Layton, - who muttered imprecations as he rolled over to make room. </p> - <p>“You blasted Mormon renegade,” he growled.</p> - <p>“Why don’t you go and lie down where you won’t be disturbin’ a fellow - that has to stand guard to-night?”</p> - <p>“You’re a cantankerous cuss,” Mormon Jack calmly returned. “If I wasn’t - a stranger in a hostile camp I’d climb your carcass for them insultin’ - observations. Besides, it aint good for a kid to sleep too much. I don’t - see how you got the heart to lay here snorin’ like a cayuse chokin’ - down, when you could be sittin’ up enjoyin’ this here beautiful scenery - that’s bein’ desecrated with bawlin’ cows and buckin’ bronks and greasy, - old round-up wagons. You aint got no sense of nacheral beauty, Kid. - You’re just about as ornery a varmint as old man Hartley, what once - inhabited this same flat.” </p> - <p>“I’ve heard of him,” answered the now thoroughly awakened Layton. “He - happened before my time, though. Were you in the country when they - cleaned him out?”</p> - <p>“You bet I was!” Mormon Jack replied. “I knew him before he came over - here, and I was here and saw his finish. There was high old jinks on - this little green bottom that day.”</p> - <p>“So I’ve heard. He wanted to make a sheep-feedin’ ground of the east - bench, didn’t he? How was it?” Layton propped himself up on his elbow to - listen. </p> - <p>Mormon Jack settled his head comfortably against a rolled-up bed. He - rolled a cigarette daintily and inhaled many breaths of smoke before - replying.</p> - <p>“Old man Hartley was a bone-headed cuss,” he began, at length, “that - wouldn’t learn better—even by experience. He was like a fool - buck-sheep that persists in buttin’ everything that gets in his way, no - matter how much he hurts his head. It aint the sheep’s fault; it’s the - breed of him, and the way he was raised—and I guess that was the - trouble with old Hartley.</p> - <p>“I come across him, first time, over in the Hash-Knife country, a - little while after they quit drivin’ herds up the Long Trail. The - railway come in, and you could bring a bunch of cattle from the - Panhandle up there in a week—it took five months on the trail. - Likewise, the railway brought farmers and pilgrims and woolly-backs by - the train-load, and turned ’em loose promiscus on the country, where - they made more trouble with their homestead rights and barb-wire fences - than all the Injuns that ever run buffalo or lifted hair.</p> - <p>“It wasn’t long till there was heaps of trouble on the range. A - tenderfoot would file on a claim, prove up, and as soon as he got his - papers a big sheep outfit would own the land—you know how they do. - Pretty soon the big sheepmen began to fence the water-holes, claim or no - claim, and hell broke loose. After considerable killin' and burnin' and - layin' for each other, they patched up a peace; the sheepmen that didn't - get killed off stayed on the creeks where they was settled, and the cow - outfits held what was left of the open range.</p> - <p>“That was where old Hartley got in his work. He had a bunch of sheep, - and stay where he belonged he wouldn't. He'd slip out on good grass and - fence up a spring or little lake that might be waterin' a thousand head - of cattle. If a bunch of cows come in to water, he'd sic his dogs on 'em - till they'd quit the earth. If a round-up swung his way he'd knock down - his fence and move out. It was a big country and hard to watch, but they - caught him once or twice, and drove him back where he belonged. They - give him all the show in the world to be on the square, but he - wouldn't—he wasn't built that way. He swore 'by God' that he had - as much right to drive his blatin', stinkin' woolly-backs all over the - range as the cowmen had to turn their longhorns loose on the country. He - was a big, burly, noisy-mouthed cuss, with the muscle of a pack-mule and - the soul of a prairie-dog. He was game, for all his low-down ways, but - he went up against the cowmen once too often; a round-up headed him - north one day with his sheep and a camp-wagon, and sent a couple of - riders along to see that he kept a-goin'. Then they swung around to his - home ranch and made a bonfire of it, to show the rest of the ca-na-na's - that there'd be no monkey business on the Hash-Knife range.</p> - <p>“I didn't see nor hear of him no more till that fall. Then the layout I - was workin' for bought a bunch of cattle over here and sent me to rep - for 'em—same as I’m doin’ now. I was huntin’ for the Big Four - wagon, which was supposed to be workin’ on the upper part of the White - Mud, when I struck his trail. Comin’ north along the creek one day I - turned a bend and come on a fellow talkin’ to a girl. It was Stella - Hartley. I met her once at a dance on Powder River, and I knowed her the - minute I laid eyes on her. She was about as nice a little girl as ever - struck Custer County.</p> - <p>“I rode up and says ‘Howdy’ to her, and then I see it was Bobby Collins - she was talkin’ to. I knew him, too—one of the whitest boys on - earth, and the swiftest woddy that ever turned a cow. ‘Hash-Knife Bob’ - they called him, over in Custer. </p> - <p>“‘M’ son,’ says I, ‘I’m sure glad to see you. But how’d you come to - stray off into this wilderness?’</p> - <p>“He told me, then, the whole deal, Stella sittin’ on her horse tryin’ - to smile, though she was nearer cryin’ than anything else; she’d been - sheddin’ tears pretty considerable, as it was. Away along in the winter - Stella ’d promised to marry him, but when the old man got to hear of it - he just tore up the earth and swore he’d rather see her dead than - married to a cowpuncher. Hash-Knife was for tellin’ him to go to the - devil and gettin’ married anyway, but Stella wouldn’t have it that way. - His wife bein’ dead, she was the only womankind the old man had, and she - couldn’t bear to leave him like that. She said to wait awhile and the - old man would come around. So in the spring Bob goes to the head of - Powder River, and while he was gone the cow outfits put the run on the - old man. When Hash-Knife comes back, Stella and the whole Hartley outfit - had vanished plum off the earth.</p> - <p>“But Hash-Knife Bob was no quitter. He followed ’em up and located ’em - on Milk River. Then he got a job with the Big Four, so’s to be near the - girl. He had it figured out that when round-up was over that fall he’d - take up a ranch on Milk River, marry Stella, and settle down. But he - hadn’t more’n made his plan when old man Hartley breaks out in a fresh - place.</p> - <p>“As I said before, old Hartley was a bull-headed old bucko. He was - worse’n that; he was pig-headed and sheep-headed; he had the contrary - stubbornness of all the no-account animals on God’s green earth. You’d - ’a’ thought he’d ’a’ taken a tumble to himself after livin’ so long in a - sagebrush country, and ’specially after bein’ run out of one part of it. - But, no, sir! his way was <i>the</i> way. He wasn’t content on Milk - River—he wanted a whole blamed county to graze over. So he went - pokin’ around on the north side, and stumbled onto the Crossin’ here. It - looked good to him, and without sayin’ a word to anybody but his - herder—who was a knot-head like himself and crazy after - Stella—he picks up his traps and sashays in here.</p> - <p>“There was probably seven or eight big cow outfits rangin’ east of the - White Mud then, and they’d just got through havin’ a scrap with the - sheep-wranglers, alongside of which the fuss in Custer County was about - knee-high. Both of ’em had lots of men and money, but the advantage was - on the cowmen’s side, for their boys was fightin’ for their livin’, for - outfits they’d been raised with, and the sheepherders was in it for coin - and because they didn’t know any better. Anyway, the sheepmen backed off - after awhile and made peace—said they’d be good, they’d had - enough. The cowmen made the White Mud the dead line; there was to be no - sheep-camps on the creek or east of it. And the cowpunchers rode the - high pinnacles to see that no sheep crossed the line.</p> - <p>“This here, Hash-Knife explained to me, was the way things stood: - Hartley was located on the Crossin’ with a bunch of sheep—about - twenty-five hundred head. He’d built him a cabin, and had likewise - strung a four-strand barb-wire fence across the coulée that led down to - the flat. And he was goin’ to stay there, he said. He had a squatter’s - right, and if he wanted to live there and fence his place he’d do it. It - was government land, and to hell with the cow outfits! He was from - Missouri, he was! And up on the bench, about six or seven miles back, - the Big Four and the Ragged H was swingin’ up to the Crossin’ with a - beef herd apiece, and the wagon-bosses was mad, for they’d heard of old - man Hartley.</p> - <p>“‘Old “Peek-a-Boo” Johnson’s runnin’ the Big Four,’ Hash-Knife told me. - ‘I got him to let me ride ahead and see if I couldn’t talk some sense - into the old man. But it’s no go. He’s got his neck bowed, and he’s fool - ’nough to try and run a whizzer on Peek-a-Boo’s riders; they’ll clean - him out if he does. I saw Stella ride off as I was comin’ down to the - ranch, and when I got through with him I rambled down this way and found - her. I want her to stay away from the flat for two or three hours, till - the thing is settled one way or the other, but she’s bound to go home. - So I guess we’d better be goin’. The wagons ought to hit the Crossin’ - pretty soon.’</p> - <p>“We went up on the bench. Stella and Hash-Knife and me, and loped along - toward the Crossin’. Pretty soon we could see the two sets of wagons and - a bunch of riders headin’ for the creek, the two herds—big - ones—trailin’ along behind, about a mile apart. At the head of the - coulée I turned my string loose for the horse-wrangler to pick up. With - Stella cryin’ and Hash-Knife tryin’ to comfort her, we swung down the - coulée to the shack.</p> - <p>“When we got there we found the herder had brought the sheep in to - water. They’d moved back off water and was bedded down, bunched close, - about half-way between the cabin and the creek. There was three of ’em - at the cabin; old Hartley, the herder, and a pilgrim that’d come out to - work on the ranch.</p> - <p>“Old Hartley looked pretty black at us as we rode up, but he didn’t - have time to say much before the wagons come rollin’ out the mouth of - the coulée. They was almost at the house before he knowed it. Then he - ducked into the cabin and come out with a Winchester across his arm. The - outfit went past without battin’ an eye at him. They went round the - sheep and started to pitch camp on the creek-bank. Then Peek-a-Boo and - Tom Jordan, the Ragged H boss, come a-ridin’ up to the cabin. </p> - <p>“They was nice and polite about it. They told old Hartley that seein’ - he was a stranger they thought he’d probably made a mistake and got over - on the wrong side of the ridge. They didn’t want to make any trouble for - him, but he’d have to take his sheep off the creek. Sorry to bother him, - but it was range law.</p> - <p>“‘You can’t bluff <i>me</i>,’ says Hartley. ‘This here’s government - land. I got as much right here as anybody. You dassent run me out.’ </p> - <p>“Then old Tom Jordan tells him about the big scrap they’d had with the - sheepmen, and how they’d agreed to stay the other side of the ridge, but - the old bonehead kept a-shootin’ off about his rights, and how they - couldn’t bluff <i>him</i>, till Tom got mad and rode off, sayin’ that - he’d see his blasted sheep was across the ridge by sundown.</p> - <p>“Peek-a-Boo stayed talkin’ to him, tryin’ to persuade him to be - reasonable, and showin’ him how foolish he was to run up against the - cowmen after they’d fought a dozen big sheep outfits to a standstill and - whacked up the range fair and square. They talked and talked, old - Hartley gettin’ more and more on the peck. Neither of ’em noticed that - the lead of the first herd had strung down the coulée—the - cowpunchers had done business with the fence. There was probably a - thousand head of big, rollicky steers bunched on the flat, and the rest - of the herd was pourin’ out the mouth of the draw. Two point-riders was - holdin’ ’em up so they wouldn’t scatter. </p> - <p>“Old Hartley saw ’em first. The sight of that big bunch of longhorns on - what he called his land made him see red, I reckon. He shoved the lever - of his gun forward and back, clickity-click, and started on a run for - the bunch, hollerin’ as he went: ‘You can’t drive them cattle across my - flat! I’ll kill you, by God, if you do!’ </p> - <p>“Peek-a-Boo stuck the spurs in his horse, and started after him, - callin’ to him to keep away from the herd. Hartley kept a-goin’ till - Peek was about twenty feet from him, then he whirled with his gun to his - shoulder, and cut loose, bang—bang! and Peek-a-Boo tumbled off his - horse.</p> - <p>“Things happened then. Stella had started after the old man, but - Hash-Knife grabbed her and made her stop. When old Hartley dropped - Peek-a-Boo, Bob says to me: ‘Mormon, take Stella over to camp. I got to - get Peek out of there. Maybe he aint killed, and them steers’ll be - a-runnin’ over him in about ten seconds.’</p> - <p>“Hash-Knife had the situation sized up correct. I helped Stella onto - her horse and started for the wagons. A lot of riders come like hell - across the flat toward the herd, but they was too late to do any good. - Just as Hash-Knife picked old Peek-a-Boo up and flopped him across his - horse, Hartley begin to smoke up the two riders that was holdin’ the - herd—which was bunched tight, ready to run. But he missed first - shot, and when he fired the second time they was scuddin’ for the - tail-end of the herd, layin’ low along the backs of their horses. As - they run they jerked the slickers off the backs of their saddles, - swingin’ ’em round their heads, and, yellin’ like Gros Ventre braves - strikin’ the war-post, they rode into the herd. </p> - <p>“When them cattle surged first one way and then the other, and then - swept across the flat, tramplin’ old Hartley down like he was a lone - stalk of bunch-grass stickin’ up out of the prairie, Stella screeched - and hid her face in her hands. But I watched; it was horrible and - fascinatin’. You’ve seen the ice gorge in the Big Muddy, when it breaks - up in the spring; it jams at some narrow place and piles up and piles up - till the river below is bone dry. Then the weight of the water’ll bust - the jam and there’ll be a grindin’, smashin’ uproar for a minute, and - all of a sudden the river is flowin’ peaceful again.</p> - <p>“That was the way them cattle did. They passed over old Hartley like he - was nothin’, and struck that bunch of slumberin’ sheep like a breakin’ - ice jam. Two thousand strong they was, runnin’ like scared antelope, - packed shoulder to shoulder, with horns and hoofs clatterin’ like a - Spanish dancer’s castanets, and the gallopin’ weight of ’em made the - flat tremble. This wise they passed over the band of sheep, wipin’ ’em - out like the spring floods wipe out the snow in the low places, and - thunderin’ by the round-up camp hit the creek with a rush that knocked - it dry for a hundred yards. The lead of ’em had hardly got to the level - before the riders was turnin’ ’em. In fifteen minutes them cattle was - standin’ bunched on the flat, puffin’ and blowin’, the big steers - starin’ round as if they were wonderin’ what had scared ’em. But they’d - done the trick. There was no sheep left to quarrel over—nary one. - It was an Alamo for the woolly-backs!</p> - <p>“After we’d found and buried what was left of old man Hartley, we moved - up the creek to camp. The herder and the pilgrim hit the trail for Milk - River. Poor little Stella sure felt bad on account of the old man, and - the boys was all sorry for her. But she had Hash-Knife, and - Peek-a-Boo—who wasn’t hurt bad enough to make him cash - in—said he’d brand a hundred calves for her on the spring - round-up. So I guess she was winner on the deal.</p> - <p>“That’s been eleven years,” Mormon Jack concluded, reminiscently, “and - I aint been here since. I didn’t make no protracted visit the first - time, but I want to tell you, m’ son, it was sure excitin’.” </p> - </section> - <section class='chapter'> - <h2 class='nobreak' style='font-size:1.2em' id='s22' - title='The Colonel and “The Lady”'>THE COLONEL AND “THE LADY”</h2> - <div class='ce sc mb05'>By Kathleen Thompson</div> - <p>About an hour before sunset, Colonel Jerry rode furiously into the - post. Her sweating pony was streaked with dust, and the colonel was - covered with it from head to foot. Except for the rumpled and brief - little corduroy skirt and bloomers, her clothing was an exact, if - miniature, copy of her father’s. Her wide felt hat had its regulation - cord and tassels, there were gauntlets on her small hands, and gaiters - on her small legs. The sleeve of her boyish skirt carried its device, - and she wore a cartridge belt, a little pistol, and a sword.</p> - <p>She drew her dancing pony sharply up before the group on the porch, and - saluted severely.</p> - <p>“And just in time, too!” said the major, who was also the colonel’s - father. He looked at her reproachfully. “We were about to send a company - out after you! Leave Baby at the side door and go straight upstairs. - When you’re presentable come down, and I’ll introduce you to your Boston - uncle and aunt. We’ve been watching for you all afternoon. What kept - you, you vagabond?”</p> - <p>The colonel, trying to quiet her nervous horse, wheeled about in a - manner that made her aunt dizzy. She answered, jerkily: “Trouble, - sir—on the reservation! Whoa, there, pretty! Quiet, girl! It seems - that—it seems that some of those hogs of Indians got - hold—steady, old girl!—got hold of a keg of - whisky—somewhere—and—Peters said—hold still, you - fool! You’ll have your oats in a minute!—Peters said—that - last night—there wasn’t a man in the camp that wasn’t drunk! You - will have to excuse me, sir! She’s pulling my arms out!” And she gave - her horse its head.</p> - <p>When the two had flashed around the corner of the house, the major - smiled, proudly. “What d’ye think of her?” he said, turning to his - brother-in-law. </p> - <p>“Well, for a nine-year-old,” said Dr. Eyre, slowly, “she is certainly a - wonder!”</p> - <p>The doctor’s wife, a pretty, precise little woman, looked at her own - neat little girl, and sighed, profoundly.</p> - <p>“And <i>this—this</i>!” she said, plaintively, “is poor Amy’s - child!” </p> - <p>The major looked a trifle uncomfortable, but his young aid spoke, - eagerly: “Every one on the post is proud of the colonel! You see, we’ve - brought her up here among us, Mrs. Eyre—taught her everything she - knows! You can’t take in her good points at a glance—but she’s as - square as any man!” </p> - <p>When the little girl presently joined them, her dark hair had been - smoothly brushed, her white frock and buckled slippers were - irreproachable. She gave a cool and impassive little cheek to her aunt’s - kisses, and then, from her father’s knee, soberly studied her - kinspeople.</p> - <p>“How like Amy!” said Mrs. Eyre. “You don’t remember poor dear mamma, do - you, Geraldine?”</p> - <p>“I was two,” said the colonel. The aid choked.</p> - <p>“Yes—yes—of course!” said Mrs. Eyre. “And she has had no - training, has she, Jim? Do you know, darling, that where aunty and - cousin Rose live they would think you were a very funny little girl if - they heard you talk that way?”</p> - <p>“What way, dad?” said the colonel, quickly.</p> - <p>“And to hear you say what you said this afternoon,” pursued her aunt, - calmly.</p> - <p>“To your horse, she means,” supplemented her father, smiling down at - her. </p> - <p>“But that horse can act like the Old Harry,” said the colonel, - musingly. </p> - <p>“Speaking of horses,” her uncle said, a little hurriedly, “you’ve never - seen mine, have you?”</p> - <p>She gave him an eager smile. “No, sir. You know I’ve never been East. - But I’ve read about her. I’m very much interested in that horse.”</p> - <p>“Well, after dinner, suppose you and I have a look at her?”</p> - <p>“<i>What!</i>” The colonel was on her feet; “she’s not <i>here</i>!” - </p> - <p>“Yes. Came with us to-day. She’s entered for the Towerton Cup.”</p> - <p>The colonel’s pale little face was flushed with excitement.</p> - <p>“You don’t mean The Lady, Uncle Bob? Not the horse that has taken all - those prizes? Here on <i>this post</i>?”</p> - <p>“That’s the very one, colonel,” said the major; “we put her in the - Ralston stable.”</p> - <p>“The Lady!” said the colonel, dazedly. “The Lady! To think I shall see - that horse!”</p> - <p>“Aunts and uncles are nothing to horses,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald.</p> - <p>“Well,” said the colonel, “you know every one has aunts and uncles.” - The aid grew crimson again. “But this is the only racer that I know. And - you’ve put her in the Ralston stable?”</p> - <p>“For quiet,” her uncle said. “It excites her to be in a stable with - other horses.”</p> - <p>“And one thing more, colonel,” said her father, firmly; “which you may - as well understand right <i>now</i>. You’re not ever, under any - circumstances, to mount that horse.”</p> - <p>“All right, sir,” said the colonel, regretfully. “If you say so, that - goes. But I’d like to try her.”</p> - <p>Her father gave her a sidelong look.</p> - <p>“Now see here, Jerry. The minute I catch you on top of that horse, you - can go to bed without rations, and you needn’t wear your colors for a - week after. Understand?”</p> - <p>The colonel nodded. Her face was crimson.</p> - <p>“Hang it, you’re not <i>my</i> superior officer, Jim,” said his - brother, smiling, “and if I choose to give my niece a ride or so on my - own horse it strikes me——”</p> - <p>“Ah! that’s a different matter,” agreed the major, “only I didn’t want - the colonel here to think The Lady was an ordinary riding horse.”</p> - <p>The colonel said nothing. She was, at times, an oddly silent child. But - she smiled at her uncle, and loved him at once.</p> - <p>It was almost sunset. Long, clear-cut shadows fell across the - clean-swept parade. The watering-cart rumbled to and fro, leaving a - sweet odor of fresh, wet earth. Lawn-sprinklers began to whirr in the - gardens of Officers’ Row. Chattering groups went by, the level red light - flashing on white parasols and brass buttons. All of these strollers - shouted greetings to the major and the little colonel. Some came up, and - were duly presented to the major’s guests. Jerry sat on the steps, her - little dark head against the rail, and exchanged banter with a degree of - equality that astonished her aunt. The child’s heart was full. She was - to be, for several days, privileged by the sight of the great - horse—a week would bring the Fourth of July, with its bands and - picnic and evening of unclouded joys, fireworks, ice-cream, bonfires. - Besides this, the old general, her especial crony, would arrive in a few - days for the holiday.</p> - <p>Dinner was late and long. And the after-dinner cigars were interrupted - by many reminiscences. By the time the men reached the porch again, the - colonel’s patience was sorely strained. She sat waiting for a long - half-hour.</p> - <p>“Uncle Bob,” she began at last, when there was a pause, “are you going - to see The Lady to-night?”</p> - <p>“By George, that is so,” said her uncle, rousing. “We must have a look - at the old girl. Come, kids.”</p> - <p>Just then the breeze brought them the bugle notes.</p> - <p>“Too bad!” said the aid.</p> - <p>“Oh, confound it, there’s taps!” said the colonel, tears of vexation in - her eyes. “You’ll have to go without me.”</p> - <p>And before they realized it, she had said her good-nights and gone - upstairs.</p> - <p>“H’m!” said her uncle, reflectively.</p> - <p>“She was probably tired and sleepy,” said Mrs. Eyre, gently.</p> - <p>“She'll be out at that stable at five to-morrow,” said the aid.</p> - <p>And, sure enough, Colonel Jerry appeared at the nine-o'clock breakfast - the next day radiant from three hours spent in the great horse's stable. - </p> - <p>“Well, colonel,” said her uncle, coming in late, “what do you think of - The Lady?”</p> - <p>The plain little face was transformed by a wide smile.</p> - <p>“Oh, Uncle Bob! I never saw such a horse! Baron let me lead her down to - water! She's the most beautiful horse I ever saw!”</p> - <p>“You'll be disobeying your father,” he said, smiling, “and running off - some day on The Lady's back.” She glanced down at her little sleeve, - where the device of a colonel was exquisitely embroidered.</p> - <p>“We'd do a good deal not to have that taken off our sleeve, wouldn't - we?” said her father.</p> - <p>“Most anything,” she answered, with her flashing smile.</p> - <p>Her own little horse was sick, but she and Rose rode the big carriage - horses every day, and Jerry did her best to entertain this rather - difficult guest. The two children found enough in common to spend the - days pleasantly. Rose developed a profound respect for her wild little - cousin, and Jerry grew to enjoy Rose's company—even though Rose - could not obey orders, and held bugle-calls in contempt. Both children, - as well as all the others on the post, were planning for the Fourth of - July. All their money went for fireworks, they shouted the national - songs, they cheered the band that practiced nightly before the house. - </p> - <p>The third of July broke hot and cloudless. By nine o’clock, the piazza - rail burned one’s fingers, and as the hours went by the heat shut down - over the earth like a blanket. A heavy haze hung over the meadows, and - lines of heat dazzled up from the far, blue mountains. Jerry, coming out - from an hour’s enforced practice on her violin, stretched luxuriously in - the heat. The post seemed deserted. The heat beat steadily down; there - seemed to be no shadow anywhere. Locusts hummed loudly. Jerry knew that - her father and uncle had gone to Hayestown to meet the general. They - would be back to a late lunch at three. She strolled around to the - stable.</p> - <p>Henry, polishing harness, beamed upon her, and wiped his forehead. </p> - <p>“Git me a fur coat an’ build up the fire,” said he, grinning.</p> - <p>“Shame on you!” said the colonel, plunging her bared arms deep into the - trough. “Say, Henry, do you know if my aunt and cousin went with dad and - Uncle Bob?”</p> - <p>“Why,” said Henry, with a troubled look, “your aunt and cousin went - riding! Full an hour ago! Yes, sir, they left about eleven o’clock. They - says they was going to get back about half-past two.”</p> - <p>“Idiots!” said the colonel, contemptuously. “Riding! A day like this! - Where’d they go?”</p> - <p>“They says they’d go as far as Holly Hill, colonel, and then have their - meal at the spring, an’ then go right over Baldy, and home!” </p> - <p>“Crazy! Climbin’ the hill in this heat!” She looked about the clean, - wide stable. “What horses did you give ’em?”</p> - <p>Henry looked very uncomfortable.</p> - <p>“I thought you knew, colonel. I give your aunt Sixpence—he’s up - to her weight. But Miss Rose says she was to ride <i>your</i> horse.” - </p> - <p>The colonel whirled about, her eyes flashing. “Rose - said—<i>my</i> horse! You don’t mean <span - class='sc'>Baby</span>?”</p> - <p>“That’s what she <i>says</i>.”</p> - <p>Jerry turned white.</p> - <p>“But—my goodness! Baby’s <i>sick</i>! The vet said she wasn’t to - be ridden!”</p> - <p>“I told Miss Rose I didn’t think the horse was up to it,” said Henry, - aggrievedly. “I <i>says</i> to ask you.”</p> - <p>“You fool—you!” said the colonel, blazing. She reached for an old - cap, and snatched a whip.</p> - <p>“Give me any horse!” she commanded, pulling down her own saddle. “I’ll - follow them! They’ll be at the spring. I’ll bring them home through the - woods.”</p> - <p>“Why, there you are, colonel! There aint a horse on this place. It was - so hot yesterday that we turned them all out. They’re two miles away, in - long meadow. You can’t get a horse on this post.”</p> - <p>Baffled, the child dropped the saddle. She leaned against the - door-post, her swimming eyes looking across the baking earth. “It’ll - kill Baby, Henry,” she whispered, with trembling lips.</p> - <p>No one was about. Above the Ralston stable some little boys had made a - fire in the shade. Jerry clinched her hands in agony above her heart. - Then she picked up her saddle, and went resolutely along the path.</p> - <p>“Where are you going, colonel, dear?” called Henry.</p> - <p>She did not answer.</p> - <p>“Oh—Baby! Baby!” she was sobbing as she ran; “I can’t let them - kill you! I’ve <i>got</i> to disobey orders!”</p> - <p>The carriage, with the three men in it, was met by the news. A mile - from the post a little boy shouted that the Ralston stable, with the - wonderful mare inside, was burned to the ground. The old general, - bouncing out uncomfortably, kept up a running fire of sympathetic - ejaculation. The major, urging on the big grays, freely used his - strongest language. But his brother did not speak.</p> - <p>Sweating, dust-covered, panting, the horses tore past Officers’ Row, - and stopped at the ruins of what had been the stable. A few fallen beams - still smoked sullenly, the sickening odor of wet wood filled the air. A - group of men and boys in their shirt-sleeves stood near. At the sound of - the wheels, Baron, his face streaked with soot and perspiration, came - toward them. “I was off duty, sir!” he said, hoarsely. “I was getting my - dinner. We done all we could! We had the hose here in ten minutes, but - the fire was too big.” </p> - <p>His master nodded. After a moment he asked: “She was loose?”</p> - <p>“Yes, sir. She must have suffocated. She didn’t struggle——” - </p> - <p>“No? Well, I’m glad—of that.” Her owner walked about the ruins. - The other men were silent. Finally the major said: “I can’t tell you, - old man, how sorry I am!”</p> - <p>“Well, no help for it, Jim. I know you are! Go clean up, Baron, then - come talk to me. Shall we go up to the house?”</p> - <p>On the way, he said, sombrely: “I wouldn’t have taken any money for - that mare!”</p> - <p>Just at this moment the mare came into the yard, with the weary little - colonel astride her. The Lady was tired, her satin flanks were flecked - with white, but she knew her master, and whinnied as she came up to him. - At the sound, he turned as if shot, and a moment later a shout from both - men cut short the colonel’s stammered remarks. Her father lifted her - down.</p> - <p>“It takes the colonel, every time!” said he. “What lucky star made - you—this particular afternoon!—well, she’s saved your horse - for you, Bob.”</p> - <p>“We’ll have to promote you,” said the general, to whom the tired child - was clinging.</p> - <p>Her uncle, turning for the first time from the horse, spoke, solemnly: - “You saved her, didn’t you? I won’t forget this! You’ll have the finest - Spanish saddle that can be made, for this!”</p> - <p>“You can go right on breaking rules at this rate!” said her father, his - arm about her. “And now run up and get dressed. You can tell us about it - later.” </p> - <p>“I’ll go up, too,” said the general.</p> - <p>“Go right ahead, sir. We’ll go to the stable for a few minutes and make - fresh arrangements for The Lady.”</p> - <hr class='tb' /> - <p>When they at last went out to the long-delayed dinner, the high back - chair at the foot of the table found no occupant.</p> - <p>“Late, as usual,” said the major. “Lena,” he added, “go and tell the - colonel that dinner is ready.”</p> - <p>“Oh, if you please, major, she’s gone to bed. She come upstairs more - than an hour ago. She took her bath, sir, and went right to bed. I ast - her did she feel sick, and she says no, but that them was your orders. - She wouldn’t let Nora bring her up no tea.” Lena looked reproachful.</p> - <p>“And she cried awfully,” said Rose.</p> - <p>“She never let a tear out of her until I shut the door, Miss Rose,” - said Lena, firmly; “and she ast me to put out a dress with a plain - sleeve for to-morrow. She shut the windows down so’s she shouldn’t hear - the band, but she never cried none.”</p> - <p>The aid winced. The general cleared his throat.</p> - <p>“Well, she’s your child, Fitzgerald. But I think I’ll issue a few - orders in this matter myself.”</p> - <p>“You’re my superior officer, sir,” said the major, eagerly.</p> - </section> - <div class='section'> - <div class='tac' style='font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:0.8em;'>NOTES - </div> - <p>Some weeks after the story, “Ten Thousand Years in Ice,” on page 127, - was printed in the <i>Argonaut</i>, there arrived at the editorial rooms - one morning quite a large bundle of letters bearing Hungarian - postage-stamps. On opening them, we found them to be in various - languages. One of them was in very queer English; this we reproduce - verbatim:</p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Original.</i>]</p> - <div class='sc'> Aradi Szechenyi-Gozmalomarader - Szechenyi-Dampfmuhl-Reszveny-Tarsasag Actien-Gesellschaft. </div> - <div style='text-align:right'> - <span class='sc'>Arad</span> (Hungary), feb. 25. - </div> - <p> - <span class='sc'>To the Editor of the Argonaut, San Francisko</span>: - Before a short time I red an article from Dr. Milne translating in the - <i>Pester Lloyd</i> newspaper which was very interesting. - </p> - <p>The editor of this newspaper told me that this essay was formerly - edited by you, an I am so free to ask you:</p> - <p>Is it very what Dr. Millene wrote from the “Men which is frozen 10,000 - years ago in the ice,” and beg to accept my salutations. I am thankful. - </p> - <p class='tar'>Yours very truly, <span class='sc'>J. Kleinsson.</span> - </p> - <p class='mb07'><span class='sc'>Arad</span> (Hungary), Minorite palace, - II etage, door 17.</p> - <p>The next letter contained an inclosure, and was couched as follows: - </p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Original.</i>]</p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>Reviewer, office of the “Argonaut,” San - Francisco</span>—<i>Dear Sir</i>: I take the liberty to beg you, - will you be so kind to deliver the enclosed letter to the autor of the - article: “Ten thousand years in the ice” (published in your newpaper of - the 14 january) Sir Robert Dunkan Milne. - </p> - <p>I thank you, sir, for your kindness and I shall be happy to render you - a reciprocal service.</p> - <p class='tar'>Yours, <span class='sc'>Sigmonde Barany</span>.</p> - <p class='mb07'> - <span class='sc'>Zombor</span> (Hungary) the 23 february. - </p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Inclosure.</i>]</p> - <p class='tar'><span class='sc'>Zombor</span> (Hungary), 23 february. </p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>Sir Robert Dunkan Milne, Esqr., San - Francisco</span>—<i>Dear Sir</i>: I read your article: “Ten - thousand years in the ice” in the <i>Argonaut</i> of the 14 january, and - while it has made the greatest sensation in our country I take the - liberty to beg you, will you be so kind, to answer me, what is the truth - of this matter? - </p> - <p>I shall be happy, sir, when you will honor me with an answer, and - thanking for your kindness, I’m your very obliged</p> - <p class='tar mb07'><span class='sc'>Sigmonde Barany.</span></p> - <p>The next letter showed that his Austro-Hungarian majesty’s officers - have literary taste. It read thus:</p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Original.</i>]</p> - <p class='tar'> - <span class='sc'>Kronstadt</span> (Transylvania, Austria), 20th - February. - </p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>To the Argonaut, belletrist. newspaper, San Francisco, - California</span>: I should feel very much obliged to you, if you were - kind enough to give me some accounts about the <i>truth and fact</i> of - the most interesting tale, which contained the last number of your - excellent paper (dated from the 14th of January)—“<i>ten thousand - years in ice</i>,” by Sir Robert Dunkan Milne. Looking forward to your - kind answer, - </p> - <p>I am yours thankfully,</p> - <p class='tar mb07'> - <span class='sc'>A. Kyd</span>, lieutenant in the 2d regmt of the - Hussars. - </p> - <p>The next letter is signed by one of a family whose name is famous in - Austria:</p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Original.</i>]</p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>To the Editor of the “Argonaute,” periodical, San - Francisco, California, U. S. (Esrakamerika)</span>—<i>Sir</i>: I - had the pleasure to read the article: “Ten thousand years in the ice,” - by Sir Robert Duncan Milne (which appeared in the <i>Argonaut</i> of - January 14th), in the <i>Pester Lloyd</i>, and in answer to a question - regarding this article, the editor of the <i>Pester Lloyd</i> advised me - to write to you, sir, as you would be surely able to answer the - following question: - </p> - <p>Is the article: “Ten thousand years in the ice,” based on mere fiction, - or is he partially true? I am rather inclined to think that there is - some truth in the article, because Sir Robert Duncan Milne in speaking - of himself and his friend calls him by his real name. </p> - <p>You would very much oblige me, by being so good as to answer my - question, or in case that you should neither be able to do this, by - forwarding my letter to Sir Robert Duncan Milne.</p> - <p>Apologizing for the trouble I may give you by this request, I am sir, - </p> - <p>Yours very obediently,</p> - <p class='tar'> - <span class='sc'>Richard Lichtenstein.</span> - </p> - <p class='mb07'> - <span class='sc'>February</span> 24th. 26, Andrassy street, Budapest - (Hungary). - </p> - <p>The next letter was in German. It bore a lithographed heading showing - that the writer dated it from a large foundry. The letter ran:</p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Translation.</i>]</p> - <p class='tac'> - <span class='sc'>Maschinenfabrik, Eisen-und Metallgiesseri.</span> - </p> - <p class='tar'> - <span class='sc'>Fuenfkirchen</span>, <span class='sc'>Hungary</span>, - 23 Feb. - </p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>To the Esteemed Editorial Department of the Journal of - Polite Literature, “Argonaut,” at San Francisco</span>: In your valued - paper, and namely in the number of the fourteenth of last month, you - published an article by Sir Robert Duncan Milne, “Ten thousand years in - ice.” - </p> - <p>If the honored editorial department does not consider it troublesome, I - would allow myself a question, the kind answer to which I beg, what - portion is true in this most interesting story? </p> - <p class='mb07'>Hoping you will appreciate the respect in which I sign - myself, Your most humble, <span class='sc'>P. Haberenyi.</span> - </p> - <p>Another German letter was as follows:</p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Translation.</i>]</p> - <p class='tar'><span class='sc'>Budapesth</span>, 23 Feb.</p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>Esteemed Editorial Department of the “Argonaut,” - Journal of Polite Literature, San Francisco, Cal.</span>: In the - <i>Pester Lloyd</i> of this city was published a story “Ten thousand - years in ice.” Since I have not the pleasure of knowing the author of - the English original, “Sir Robert Duncan Milne,” he who alone could give - a definite answer as to what is true in this story; and since the - original of this most interesting story has been published in the - journal <i>Argonaut</i>, therefore, I hope that the honored Editorial - Department will certainly be willing to send to Sir Milne the - above-mentioned inquiry, so that, if possible, something more about the - particulars of it may be learned. - </p> - <p>Rendering you herewith my best thanks for your trouble, I sign Most - humbly, <span class='sc'>M. Fisher.</span> - </p> - <p class='mb07'>Address: <span class='sc'>Dolf Harsanyi</span>, Budapest. - </p> - <p>The next letter, also in German, came from a lawyer. It read thus: </p> - <p class='tac mt07'>[<i>Translation.</i>]</p> - <p class='tar'> - <span class='sc'>Ugyved Dr. Rusznyak Samu, Advocat,</span><br /> - <span class='sc'>Budapest, V, Nagy Korona-Utcza, 5.</span><br /> 22nd of - February. - </p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>An die lobliche Redaction des Argonaut</span>: - </p> - <p> - <span class='sc'>Esteemed Editorial Department</span>—In the - <i>Pester Lloyd</i>, a paper appearing in Budapest, was reproduced under - the title “Ten Thousand Years in Ice,” a highly interesting story, which - was published in your very valued paper <i>in the number of the 14th of - January</i>. - </p> - <p>The author of the English original published in the <i>Argonaut</i> is - <i>Sir Robert Duncan Milne</i>.</p> - <p>The above-mentioned story stirred up a great and general interest here, - so that very many readers turned to the editorial department of the - <i>Pester Lloyd</i> with the question, how much of the story was true? - Said editorial department not being able to answer the question, - referred the inquiries to the esteemed editorial department of the - <i>Argonaut</i>.</p> - <p>I permit myself, therefore, to make to your esteemed editorial - department the humble request, and indeed in my own, as well as in the - name of several friends, to be so kind as to state what was true in the - above-mentioned story?</p> - <p>At the same time I request that you may make known to me the - subscription price of your valued paper.</p> - <p>Since I can not furnish myself with postage stamps of the United States - in Budapest, I request that you send me your kind answer without - prepaying same.</p> - <p>Recommending my request to your favor, I sign</p> - <p class='tar mb07'>Most respectfully, <span class='sc'>Dr. Samuel - Rusznyak</span>.</p> - <p>After a lapse of a few days we received another batch of letters, two - of which explained the epistolary avalanche. One of them was from the - editor of the <i>Pester Lloyd</i>, stating that he had printed a - translation of the story in his journal and had been overwhelmed with - inquiries as to whether it was fact or fiction. Another letter was from - Mme. Fanny Steinitz, a literary lady living in Buda-Pesth, who confessed - that she was the cause of the outburst, as she had translated the story. - In order to heighten the interest she had elevated the writer, Mr. - Milne, to the order of knighthood by giving him an accolade with her - pen. </p> - <p>How naïve and ingenuous must be the Hungarian nature! Fancy a number of - serious American business men writing to an American journal concerning - an exciting story like that of Mr. Milne.</p> - </div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARGONAUT STORIES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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