Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 161, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 July 1915 — THROUGH THE LINES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THROUGH THE LINES

By WALTER JACOBS MORSE.

“Whisper!" Jan Voorst, burgomaster, leaned •ver, seized my ear—for he was pudgy and short —palled himself up and myself down and murmured an ominous word. I thrilled. I started, too, and ten feet distant the beautiful lady who was perforce my prospective companion far a long and dangerous journey, regarded us both with close attention, almost suspiciously. What Jan Voorst had told me answered a Question I had asked. It related to a patient, plodding pack horse, standing beside the one where -Lady Disdain" sat, superb and statuesque, in the saddle of a more mettled steed. Why I called her so was, first, because I did not know her real name; next, because when she was not secretly weeping over the great anxiety and surprise that filled her mind she was cold as ice in her manner. She suggested the lofty disdain of a person forced into an unpleasant and disturbing situation and submissive only because circumstances compelled it This much only I knew concerning her —she was a lady of high breeding and the daughter of an affluent American family. Separated, they had been caught in the battle zone. It might be that her parents were dead, for she had not heard from them. Stranded in the city where I myself had been halted in my art labors by the progress of the war, an acquaintance, a native college professor, had become interested in getting her past the disputed frontier. I. too, was anxious to leave the war center of peril. I had a good friend in Beirne —the burgomaster, Voorst. In fact, he was a relative by marriage of my brother-in-law. Few and selected were those who were allowed to leave Beirne, and they practically smuggled out Honest, helpful Jan came to me one day. “My friend," he said, “I have secured a passport, or rather a safe conduct through the Belgian home lines for yourself and your wife.” "But I have no wife!” I exclaimed. “You must imagine that you have, then,” he returned.. “A friend is interested in getting a charming and deserving young lady through the lines. I have a limited Influence. I have suc-

ceeded in securing a pass for ‘Walworth Doty and wife.* It is your last chance. Within forty-eight hours access to the whole frontier will be impossible. The lady and yourself must go on horseback. You will lead a pack horse with a heavy* load. It's to be delivered at the end of your journey. The fact that you are to thus act for ns is the excuse for your safe conduct. You will follow to the letter the route marked out.** "But the young lady—has she a knowledge of this awkward arrangement?** “I will confess that she has reluctantly agreed to it,” replied Voorst “She is proud, angered at the treatment she has received in the war seme and half distracted with the fear that her parents have perished. I need not ask you to be courteous. Be more—indulgent She seems never to have before experienced the rigors of deprivation, nor the horrors of the scenes through which she has been forced to go." The restriction that I should deliver the pack horse and the heavy burden the animal carried had something mysterious about it. Now that the nature of that burden was made clear to me in one ominous, almost terrifying word, I shrank and thrilled. For a moment it dazed me. Then I said: "Very well. I will carry out your instructions to the letter.” It was dusk when we started. As Voorst bade the lady good-by. she took his hand and expressed her gratitude tearfully but with warmth. As he waved his hand towards me with the words: “This is your guide and my friend. He is brave and a genlleman,” she drew up haughtily and gave me simply a cold, formal bow. It rather nettled me, but I said simply: “I will lead the pack horse. You had better follow at, say, twenty feet** S She viewed me with a challenging atare as though wondering at the ar- >. .• < t,

"Yea, it is best," spoke the burg* master, and the approving look in his eye told that he appreciated my desire to run all the risk —for risk it was. There was a clear half-moon, and the road was broad and even the first part of the journey. I noticed my companion shiver as we diverged into more obscure bridle paths. Twice she urged up her horse and kept close to mine. I saw that the weird loneliness of our environment affrighted. “You must fall back.” I spoke definitely, but pleasantly. “But—but I fear—l am afraid!” she demurred. “It must be as I say,” I insisted. "It is necebsary to your safety. You will appreciate what I say when the journey is completed.” She did not understand, and bridled. She fell back, but with an offended look upon her face. Twice up to midnight we came upon friendly encampments. My credentials passed us on. At the last place the commandant read the safe conduct: “One Walworth Doty and wife. Madam, I salute you." She directed a flashing glance at me, as if arraigning me for an affront I met her glance steadily. That beautiful face enchanted me, but I tried to act the guide under strict discipline. It must have been three o'clock in the morning when we reached the most difficult part of the route. Here the road ran along the edge of a cliff. I had been advised by Voorst that the enemy were likely to be prowling about. I thought of that —and of the load the pack horse carried. I increased the space between myself and my convoy. Her angry, yet anxious face resented this. I had to speak sharply to have her maintain the distance. She received it with a pout and a toss of her head. Suddenly, turning a cuiye in the rock-lined road, there came a quick word: "Halt!” I made out an armed officer. He was of the enemy. Beyond him, 50 feet in a ravine, was a temporary camp. He kept a revolver and leveled at me as he grabbed out to seize the bridle of the pack horse. The animal swerved, threw up its head, curvetted past him and broke into quite a trot. The officer turned and leveled his weapon, intent on halting the flight with a shot. "Stop! Stop!” I shouted. Too late! The well-aimed bullet struck one of the packages on the back of the horse, bored into it and there was a frightful detonation. I saw the officer, struck by a huge fragment of rock, fall prone and lifeless. I saw the pack horse, blown to atoms, go over the ledge into the midst of the camp below. I heard a shriek and ran back to my charge. "You are hurt?” I cried solicitously. "No! No! But you—” and I felt the warm blood trickling from my forehead, where a flying piece of rock nad struck me. Then I hurried on ner horse and my own past the motionless officer, away from the camp. "What was it?” she shuddered, as we deviated to a broader road. "Dynamite." She started and paled. Then she insisted on binding up my wound with a lace scarf. She kept close beside me. “And it was to shield me that you took all the risk!” she murmured. Within the hour we were safe in friendly hands. All Her disdain and coldness was gone now. She seemed to look to me for help. I placed her in kindly hands. Within two days I located her father and mother. She insisted on my taking her to them. Then that I become their guest. And thus it was that out of a great war I won a bride —no longer, however, my dear Lady Disdain! (Copyright. 1915, by W. G. Chapman.)

"I Have Succeeded in Securing a Paas.”