Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 71, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1915 — Page 2

The Land of Broken Promises

A Stirring Story of the Mexican

CHAPTER XXll—Continued. -Let the Mexicans fight It out” he •eld. -They might resect it if you took eldee, and that would make It bad for os. Just wait a while—you never can tall what will happen. Perhaps the rankles and federate will stand them “What, thdt Uttls benchr* demanded Bad. H" H "1 scornfully at the handful of defenders who were cowering behind their rock piles. “Why half of them palonee don’t know what a gun was made for, and the rerales —” -Well, the rebels an the same,” suggested the superintendent pacifically. -Let them fight It out—we need every American we oan get, so Just forget about being a Mexican." -AH right,- agreed Bud, as he yielded reluctantly to reason. “It ain't because rm s Mexican citizen —I just want to atpp that rush." Hs walked back to the house, Juggttßg his useless gun and keeping his eye on the distant ridges. And then. Me a chorus of defiant yells, the men In the federal trenches began to shoot. In an airline the distance was something over a mile, but at the first scattering volley the rebels halted and fired a volley in return. With a vicious apang a few stray bullets smashed -if-*"-* the reverberating steel tank, but no ono was hurt, and the defenders, drank with valor, began to shoot and yell like mad. Hie bullets of the rebels, fired at random, struck up dust-jets In every direction, and from the lower part of the town came the shouting of the noncombatant Mexicans as they ran here and there for shelter. But by the trenches, and In the rear of the black tank, the great crowd of onlookers gysrrtfted, ducking as each successive bullet hit the t—fc and shouting encouragement as the defenders emptied their rifles end reloaded with* clip after dip. i The rifles rattled a continuous volley; spent bullets leaped like locusts Across the flat; men ran to and fro, now crouching behind the tank, now stepping boldly Into the open; and the defiant shouts of the defenders, almost drowned the walls of the women.* Except tor cue «M»g It was a battle — there was nobody hurt For the first half-hour the Americans stayed prudently under oover. busying themselves at the suggestion of a few AmoHnen women In providing a first-aid hospital on the sheltered jbHi Then, as no wounded cams to fill it end the rebels delayed their charge, one mas after another climbed up to the trenches, ostensibly to bring deem the Injured. As soldiers end bystanders reported no oo* hit. and the bullets flew harm--1 Italy past, their solicitude turned rapidly to disgust and then to scorn. Strange us it may seem, they were disappointed at the results, and their remarks war* derogatory as they commented on the bravery of pelones and Mexicans In general. From a dread of Imminent attack, of charging rebels and retreating defenders, end a fight to the death by the •house, they came suddenly to a desire iter Mood and battle, for dead men and •the cries of the wounded; end all fear •of the tnsurrsetos left them. -Gome away, boys,- grunted the •tally roedmaster, who up to then bed led In tee work; -we wasted our time «n hospital—there'll be no wounded. Latte take oursslvss back to the bonne end have e quiet smoke." -Bight yon era M," agreed tee master mechanic, as he turned upon his jheel In d*«g«* "This ain’t war— Khans Mexicans think they’re working Iter a moving-picture chow!" -I bet you I can go up on that nidge,- announced Hooker, -and dean cot the whole bunch with my six■hooter before yon could bet yoer But the superintendent was not so -Never mind, baya," he said. "We're •worth a lot of ransom money to those iiuhete and they won’t give up so quick: a«w< look at this now—my miners coming beck! Those are the boys that will fight! Wait tHI Chtoo end Ramon tefsndnts get alter them!" He pointed as he spoke to a straggling band of Sonorans, ted by the msch-vauntsd Mendooa toothers, as they hurried to save the town, and a cheer went up from the trenches as the federate beheld reinforcements. But a change had aoane over tee fire--1 sating miners, and they brought other -metals In their wake. As -they trudged wearily Into town and sought teettar among tee houses a great body of man appeared on the opposite ridge, firing down at them as tear retreated. The battle rapidly tensed Into a loagdJetenoe shooting ft&ftlfr, i, th, fia.j oft ud , than-

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took In the real catastrophe of the battle. Seventeen thousand rounds of the precious thirty-thirties had been delivered to the excited miners end now, exoept for what few the Americans had saved, there was not a cartridge in camp. Very soberly the superintendent assured the leaders that he had no more; they pointed at the full belts of the American guard and demanded them as their right; and when, the Americans refused to yield they flew Into s rage and threatened. All In all, It was s pitiful exhibition of hot-headedness and imbecility, and only the firmness of the superintendent prevented a real spilling of blood. The Mexicans retired In a huff and broke Into the cantina, and as the night camo on the valley re-echoed to their drunken shoutings. Such was war as the Sonorans conceived It When Hooker, standing his guard In the corredor, encountered Oracle Aragon on her evening walk, be oould scarcely conceal a grin. "What are you laughing at, Senor Hooker?” she demanded with asperity. "Is it so pleasant, with a houseful of frightened women and screaming children, that you should make fun of our plight?” “No, Indeed,” apologised Bud; “nothing like that. Sure must be bad In there —I stay outside myself. But I reckon It'll soon be over with. The Mexicans here In town have shot off all their ammunition and I reckon the rebels have done the same. Like as not they'll all be gone tomorrow, and then you can go back home.” “Oh, thank you for thinking about me!” she returned with a scornful curl of the lip. “But If all men were as open as you, Mr. Hooker, we women would never need to ask a question. This morning you told me I did not know what I was talking about —now 1 presume you are thinking what cowards the Mexicans are! “Oh, I know! Ton need not deny it! You are nothing but a great big—TeJano! Yes, I was going to say 'brute,’ but you are a friend of dear Phil’s, and ao I will bold my tongue. If It wasn’t for that, I’d —- She paused, leaving him to guess. “Oh, I do wish hs were here,” she breathed, leaning wearily against the white pillar of an arch and gazing down through tee long arcade. -It was ao close in there,” she continued. "I could not stand It a minute longer. These Indian women, you know —they weep and moan all the time. And tee children—l am so sorry for them. I cannot go now, because they heed me; hut tomorrow—ls Phil were here—l Would leave and ride for the line.

-Have you seen Del Rey today? No? Then all the better —he must be policing the town. It Is only of him lam afraid. These rebels are nothing—l agree with you! No! lam not angry with you at all now! But tomorrow, just at dusk, when all to still as It to at this time, then. If Phil were here I would mount my brave horse and ride out by the western pees.” She ended rather Inconclusively, letting her voice trail off wistfully aa ahe waited for him to apeak, but something within moved Hooker to hold his peace, end he looked out over the town without commenting on her plana. It was evident to him that tee was determined to enliet Ms sympathy and involve Mn» in her wild plot, and each time the conversation veered In that direction he took refuge In a stubborn sllenceu -What are you thinking of, Mr. Hooker?" she asked at last, hs gassd Into the dusk. -Sometimes I scold you end sometimes I try to ptonae you. but I never know what you think! I did not mean that when I said I oould read your thoughts—you are ao different tram poor, dear Phil!” "M-m-m,” mumbled Bud, shifting his test, and his face turned a little grim. “Aha!” she cried with iH-eonoealed satisfaction, "you do not like me to oeU him like that, do you? 'Poor, dear Phil,’ —like that! But do you know why I do it? It Is to punish you for never coming near me —when I signed to you—when I waited for you—long ago! Ah, you were so cruel! I wanted to know you—you were a cowboy, and I thought you were brave enough to defend me—but you always rode right by. Yes, that was it—but Phil wsa different! He came when I sent for him; he sang songs to me at night; hs took my part against Manuel del Rey; and npw-r* "Yes!” commented Bud bruskly, with hia mind on "dear Phil’s” finish, and she turned to peer into bid face. “So that la it!” she said. “You do not toast me. Yon think thaf your friend —that I will serve yon ss he wee served. Is that what you are thinking?” “Something Uke that,” admitted Hooker, leaning lazily against the mud walL "Only I reckon I don’t think Just the way you do.” -Why? How do 1 think?" tee demanded eagerly. “Well, you think awful fast.” answered Hooker slowly. “And you don’t always think the samA eeeme like. I’m kind of quiet myself, and I don’t like—well, I wouldn’t eay that, but yen

By DANS COOLIDGE

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

-Oh!** breathed Gracia, and then, after a pause, tee came nearer and leaned against the low wall beside hint"lf I would speak from my heart,** tee asked, "If I would talk plain, aa you Americans do, would you like me better then? Would you talk to me Instead of standing silent? Listen, Bud —for that is your name—-I want you to be my friend the way you were a friend to Phil. 1 know what you did for him, and how you bore with hia love-madness—and that was my fault, too. But partly It was also your fault, for you made me angry by not coming. -Yes. I will be honest now—lt was you that I wanted to know at first, but you would not come, and now I am promised to PhiL He was brave when you were careful, and my heart went out to him. You know how It la with us Mexicans—we do not love by rear son. We love like ohlldren —suddenly —from the heart! And now all I wish in life Is to run away to Phil. But every time I speak of It you shut your jaws or tell me I am a fool.” “Ump-um," protested Bud, turning stubborn again. ”1 tell yon you don’t know what yon’re talking about. These rebels don't amount to nothing around the town, but on a trail they’re awfnl. They shoot from behind rocks and all that, and a woman ain’t noways safe. You must know what they’re like — theee old women don’t think about nothing else—so what’s the use of talking! And besides,” he added grimly, "I’ve had some trouble with your old mnn and don’t want to have any more.*’ “What trouble have you had?” she demanded promptly, but Hooker would not answer in words. He only shrugged his shoulders and turned

I’d Fight, Too!" Spoke Up Gracia.

away, crumpling hte hat In his hand. “But not” she cried as she sensed the meaning of hte concealment, “you must tell me! I want to know. Was It over your mine? Then you must not blame me, for he never has told me a word!” "No?” Inquired Bud, rousing suddenly at the memory of hte wrongs. “Then maybe you will tell me how he got this”—he fetched a worn pleee of ore from hte pocket—“when my pardner gave it to you! It was right there I lost my pardner—and he was a good kid, too—and all because of that rock. Here, take a look at It—l took that away from your father!” “Then he stole it from me!” flashed back Gracia as she gased at the specimen. .“Oh, have you thought all the time that I betrayed Phil? But didn’t I tell you—didn’t I tell you at the hotel, when you promised to he my friend? Ah, I see that you are a hard maw Mr. Hooker —quick to suspect, slow to forget—end yet I told you before! But listen, and I will tell you again. 1 remember well when dear Phil showed me this rock—he was so happy because he had found the gold! Ami just to make It lucky he let me hold tt while we were talking through a hole In the wall. Then my father saw me and started to come near—l oould not hand it back without betraying Phil —and In the night, when I was asleep, some one took it from under my pillow. That Is the truth; and I will ask you to believe me; and If you have other things against me you must say what they are and see if I cannot explain. “No!" tee tan on. her voice vibrant with the memory of peat quarrels, “I have nothing to do with my father! He does not love me, but tries to make me marry first one man and then another. But I am an American girt tkbw, at heart —I do not want to sell myself; I want to marry for love! Can you understand that? Yes? No? Then why do you lock away? Have you something that you hold against me? Ah you shake your head—but you will not apeak to me? When I was at school In Los Angeles I saw the cowboys in the west show, sad they were different— they were not afraid of any danger, hat they would talk. too. I have always wanted to know you. but you will not let me-rl thought you were brave —like those cowboys.” She paused to make him speak, but Hooker was tongue-tied. There was something about the way tee talked that pulled him over, that made him want to do what tee said, and yet some secret, hidden vodoe was always crying: “Beware!" Ha was convinced now that tefi had never been a party to treachery; no, nor even wished him in. She was very beaetttel. too, in the twilight, and when she draw nearer hs moved away, for he was afraid tea

would sway him from fits pnrpoMi But now she wan waiting (or some answer—some word from him, though the question had never been asked. And yet he knew what it was. She wanted .him to steal away with her in the evening and ride (or the border —and PhlL That was what she always wanted, no matter what she ueid, and now she was calling him a coward. - ','V.4 "Sure them bronco-riders are brave," he said In vague detense; "but there’s a difference between being brave and foolish. And a man might be brave tor hlmselt and yet be atr&ld (or other people." "How do you mean?" she asked. "Well," he said, "I might be willing to go out and fight a thousand ot them lnsurrectos with one hand, and at the same time be atrald to take you along. Or I might—" "Oh, then you will go, won’t you?" she cried, clasping him by the hand. "You will, won’t you? I’m not afraid!” “No,” answered Bud, drawing his hand away, "that’s just what I won’t do! And I’ll tell you why. That country up there is full of rebels —the lowest kind there are. It just takes one Bhot to lay me out or cripple one of our horses. Then I’d have to make a fight (or it—but what would happen to you?" "I’d fight, too!” spoke up Gracia resolutely. "I’m not afraid.” "No,” grumbled Bud, "yon don’t know them rebels. You’ve been shut up in a house all the time —if you’d been through what I have in the last six months you’d understand what I mean.” * "If Phil were here, he’d take me!" countered Gracia, and then Bud lost his head. “Yes," he buret out, "that’s jest what’s the matter with the crazy fool! That’s Jest why he’s up across the line now a hollering for me to eave his girl! He’s brave, is ho?. Well, why don’t he come down, then, and save you himßelf? Because he’s afraid to! He’s afraid of getting shot or going up against Manuel del Rey. By grab, it makes me tired the way you people talk! If he’d done what I told him to in the first place be wouldn’t have got into this Jack-pot!” "Oh my!” exclaimed Gracia, aghast "Why, what' is the matter with you? And what did you tell him to do?” "I told him to mind his own business,” answered Hooker bluntly. "And what did he say?” “He said he’d try anything—once!” Bud spat out the phrase vindictively, for his blood was up. and his heart was full of bitterness. * "Oh dear!” faltered Gracia. "And so you do not think that Phil is brave?" "He’s brave to start things,” sneered Bud. “but not to carry ’em through!" For a moment Gracia huddled up against a pillar, her hand against her face, as if to ward off a blow. Then she lowered it slowly and moved reluctantly away. "I must go now," she said, and Bud did not offer to stay her, for he saw what his unkindness had done. "I am sorry!" she added pitifully, but he did not answer. There was nothing that he could say now. (n a moment of resentment, driven to exasperation by her taunts, he had forgotten his pledge to his pardner and come between him and his girt. That which he thought wild horses could not draw from him had flashed out in a fit of anger—and the damage was beyond amendment, for what he had said was the truth.

CHAPTER XXIII.

There are two things, according to the-eaying, which cannot be recalled — the aped arrow and the spoken word. Whether spoken in anger or in jest, our winged thoughts will not come back to ns and, where there is no halm for the wound we hare caused, there is nothing to do but let It heaL Bud Hooker was a man of few words, and slow to speak ill of anyone, but some unfamiliar devil had loosened his tongue and he had told the worst about PhlL Certainly if a man were the bravest of the brave, certainly If he loved his girl more than life itself —he would not be content to hide above the line and pour out his eoul on note-paper. But to tell it to the girl—that was an unpardonable sin! Still, now that the damage was done, there was no use of vain repining, and after cursing himself whole-heartedly Bud turned in for the night. Other days were coming; there were favors he might do; and perhaps, as the yesterdays went by, Gracia would forgive him for his plain speaking. Even tomorrow, if the rebels came back for more, he might square himself in action and prove that he was not a coward. A coward! It had been a long time since anyone had used that word to him, but after the way he had knifed “dear Phil” he had to admit he was it But “dear Phil!" It was that which had set him off. 1? If she knew how many other girls—• but Bud put a sudden quietus on that particular line of thought As long as the world stood and Gracia was In his sight he swore never to speak 111 of pe Lancey again, and then he went to sleep. • The men who guarded the case grande slept uneasily on the porch, lying down like dogs on empty sugarsacks that the women might not lack bedding Inside. Even at that they were better off, for the house was close and feverish, with the crying of babies and the babbling of dreamers, and mothers, moving to and fro. It was a hectic night but Bud slept it out, and at dawn, after the custom of his kind, he arose and stamped on hie boots. The moist coolness of the morning brought the. odor of wet

nostrils am ha stepped amt to speak with the guards, and as he stood there waiting for the full daylight the mastee mechanic joined him. He was a full-blooded, round-headed little man with determined views on life, and he began the day. as usual, with his private opinion of Mexicans. They were the same uncomplimentary remarks to which he had given voice on the day before, for the rebels had captured one of his engines and. he knew it would come to some bafm. "A fine bunch of hombres, yes,” he ended, "and may the devil fly away with them! They took No. 9at the summit yesterday and I’ve been listening ever since. Her pans are all burned out and we’ve been feeding her bran like a cow to keep her from leaking steam. If some ignorant Max gets hold of her you'll hear a big noise —that’ll be the last of No. 9— her boiler will burst, like a wet bag. "If I was running this road there’d be no more bran —not since what I Baw over at Aguascalientes on the Central. One of those bum, renegade engine drivers had burned out No. 743, but the rebels had ditched four of our best and we had to send her out Day after day the boys had been feeding her bran until she smelled like a distillery. The mash was oozing out of her as Ben Tyrrell pulled up to the station, and a friend of his that had come down from the north took one sniff swung up into the cab. “Ben came down at the word he whispered—for they’d two of ’em blowed up in the north—-and they sent out another man. Hadn’t got up the hill when the engine exploded and blew the poor devil to hell! I asked Tyrrell what his friend had told him, but he kept it to himself until he could get his time. It’s the fumes, boy — they blow up like brandy—and old No. 9 is sour! “She'll likely blow up, too. But howcan we fix her with these ignorant Mexican mechanics? You should have been over at Aguas the day they fired the Americans. “‘No more Americanos,’ says Mar dero, ‘let ’em all out and hire Mexicans! The national railroads of Mexico must not ■be in the hands of tot" eignera.’ “So they fired us all in a day and put a Mexican wood-passer up in the cab of old No. 313. He started to pull a string of empties down the track, threw on the air by mistake, and stopped her on a dead-center. Pulled out the throttle and she wouldn’t go, so he gave it up and quit. "Called in the master mechanic then a Mexican. He tinkered with her for an hour, right there on the track, until she went dead on their hands. Then they ran down a switch engine and took back the care and called on the roadmaster—*a Mex. He cracked the nut—built a shoo-fly around No. 313 and they left her right there on the main track. Two days later an American hobo came by and set down and laughed at ’em. Then he throws off the brakes, gives No. 813 a boost past the center with a crowbar, and runs her to the roundhouse by gravity. When we left Aguas on a handcar that hobo was running the road. "Ignorantest hombres in the world—» these Mexicans. Shooting a gun or running an engine, it’s all the same—they’ve got nothing above the eyebrows.” “That’s right,” agreed Bud, who had been craning his neck; “but what’s that noise up the track?" The master mechanic listened, and when his ears, dulled by the clangor of the shops, caught the'distant roar ha turned and ran for the house. "Git up, Ed!” he called to the roadmaster, "they’re sending a wild car down the canyon—and she may be loaded with dynamite!" "Dynamite or not,” mumbled the grizzled roadmaster, as he roused up from his couch, “there’s a derailer I put in up at kilometer seventy the first thing yesterday morning. That’ll send her into the ditch!” Nevertheless he listened intently, cocking his head to guess by tha sound when it came to kilometer seventy. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

GATHER AT LINCOLN’S STATUE

Children Seem to Recognise Compaq ion and Friend In Bronze Representation of President In the city of Newark, N. J-, there stands on the plaza In front of the courthouse a bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln. The'figure of Lincoln is Bested on a bench on which rests the tall hat that the president was accustomed to wear. Frequently yon see men standing there, looking at this remarkable statue, and it seems as if they were in confidential chat with the figure of bronze, so natural is its pose. Every day the little children play about the statue. To them It is the figure of a companion and friend. It hr not unusual to-see a child nestled In the arm of the statne, or clambering over it. Recently, a passer-by saw three children there. One little girl sat on one of Lincoln’s knees; another little girl leaned with crossed arms on the other knee and looked up Into the greet benevolent face; and the third child, a little colored boy. stood on the same knee, wound his arm' lovingly about the neck of the statue, and laid his cheek against the great bronze nose. These spontaneous tributes of affection from the children must surely gratify tbs artist who designed the statne, tor they show how remarkably he has brought out the great love for humanity that was perhaps the most striking characteristic of

DEATH SAVED HIM

By OLIVIA MEREDITH.

(Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.) “Tired,” yawned Boyd Leslie, prescription clerk tor Davis & Co. “I’m dead for the want of sleep. % The end of a long day. Oh, my!” There was a tinge of relief in his first words, for a respite, relief seemed in view. He had put out most of the lights, he had just locked the street door, when the knob was turned and a small boy breathless and perspiring, shouted lustily: “I must get in, doctor says 1 must hurry,” and he waved a fragment of paper which Boyd recognized as a prescription. He let the boy in. Midnight weariness made him sway, the lights were poor, he almost nodded putting up the prescription. It was “For Mr. Lewis/’ a heart tonic, Boyd noted that. He was so done out, that as he gave the waiting boy the bottle he left the last phial he had used in filling the prescription upon the case counter. Then, without even undressing, he flung himself on the lounge just behind the case and was plunged in sudden slumber Immediately. Long hours, irregular meals, lack of air and exercise were fast undermining a splendid constitution. There was no nine-hour rule at the Davis establishment “U-um!.just about half slept out,” yawned Boyd at daylight, rousing up at the call of an alarm clqck, unrefreshed for another day of hard work. “Well, if I can stand it out I’ll soon have enough to start a course at the medical college.” Boyd cooked his sparse breakfast on a spirit stove. He tidied up and ventilated the store and set at putting the disordered prescription desk in order. As he picked up a phial lying upon it he raised it slowly. A shudder passed over his frame. He turned deadly white. He uttered a great gasp. His horror-stricken eyes were glued to the label on the bottle. "The last I used last night in making up that prescription,” he spoke breathlessly, “and—poison! ’’ How had he come to make the fatal error? His dazed, tired eyes had read “ascetina” for “arsenic.” He had unwittingly substituted for a harmless alterative enough of the deadliest poison known to materia medica to kill a dozen men. Sick at heart, Boyd Leslie dropped the fatal phial and sank to a chair, overcome. The deed was done, without any doubt! Oh, was there the merest vestige of a hope that the prescription had not been used? Shaking from head to foot with anxiety and dread the young drug clerk hurried on hat and coat and rushed from the store. He knew where the Lewis home was located. His heart beat like a trip hammer as he turned into the street upon which it fronted. It seemed to halt with a shock as he saw on the bell handle of the house—a streamer of crepe! How he lived through that day, Boyd Leslie could not realize. He heard that the physician attending Mr. Lewis had given a certificate of death from natural causes. First an impulse came to his mind to confess his mistake publicly. Then dread of consequences made of him a coward. The episode passed by. He was safe, in the general acceptation of that word. But his mind was in torment. As to restitutiop —ah, there he could act! He had robbed the Lewis family, of a protector. He would take his place. His motives were never suspected by Verona or her mother. As the weeks passed on, however, the interest he took in the. children, his kindness in loaning Mrs. Lewis a small amount that enabled her to renew a mortgage on the hdmestead. began to endear him to the lonely, lovable young girl. As to Boyd, an angel with a flaming syrord seemed to stand between him and the beautiful girl who had won his soul’s devotion.

“I dare stay here no longer,” he told himself one day. “I will' find, some way to give my little savings to Mrs. Lewis and forget Verona.” His heart smote him the evening he announced to the family the demands of a fictitious position in another state. * He saw no-other way out of his difficulty, however. They helped him pack his effects, and during the process Verona brought a small chest of odds and ends, to find so/ Boyd a blood thermometer he had loaned her mother when she had a touch of fever. It contained some papers of the dead, father, some phials of medicine, a sealed bottle.' As ‘his eyes fell,npon this, Boyd Leslie grasped it with a - sadden eagerness that fairly startled Verona. .r “This—this is a prescription you had filled the night before your father died?” he uttered hoarsely. “Yes. Poor, dear hither!” replied Verona, sadly. “He died before brother got from the drug store with it." 7 “Innocent —he never took it!” cried Boyd Leslie, and ,then he fell to his knees—and prayed, the tears of relief and joy pouring down his happy face. “I need not go now,” he told VetonA : a little later, “If you do not wish it-” Her little hand Btole into his shyly hut confiding, those dear sweet lips breathed one throbbing, thrilling word 1 ' 1 “stay. -