Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 201, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 August 1915 — CHAPTER XXI—Continued. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

CHAPTER XXI—Continued.

Pitchoune ran with his nose to the ground. There were several trails for a dog to follow on that apparently untrodden page of desert history. Which one would he choose? Without a •cent a dog does nothing. His nostrils are his Instinct. His devotion, his faithfulness, his intelligence, his heart—all come through hia nose, if man’s heart they say. Is In hia stomach—or in his pocket. A dog’s is in his nostrilß. If Pitchoune had chosen the wrong direction, this story would never have been written. Michette did not give birth to the sixth flippy, In the atables of the garrison, for nothing. Nor had Sabron saved him on the night of the memorable dinner for nothing. With his nose flat to the sands Pitchoune smelt to east and to west, to north and south, took a scent to the east, decided on It —for what reason will never -be told —and followed It. Fatigue and hunger were forgotten as hour after hour Pitchoune ran across the Sahara. Mercifully, the sun had been clouded by the precursor of a windstorm. The air’was almost cool. Mercifully, the wind did not arise until the little terrier had pursued his course to the end.

There are occasions when an animal's Intelligence surpasses the human. When, toward evening of the twelve hours that It had taken him to reach a certain point, he came to a settlement of mud huts on the borders of an oasis, he was pretty nearly at the end of hia strength. The oaaia was the only sign of life in five hundred miles. There was very little left In hls small body. He Jay down, panting, but hls bright spirit was unwilling just then to leave his form and hovered near him. In the religion of Tatman dogs alone have souls. Pitchoune panted and dragged himself to a pool of water around which the green palms grew, and he drank and drank. Then the little desert wayfarer hid himself In the bushes and slept till morning. All night he was racked with convulsive twitches, but he slept and In his dreams he killed a young chicken and ate it. In the morning he took a bath in the pool, and the sun rose while he swam In the water.

have seen him he would have seem-1 the epitome of heartless egoism. He was the epitome of wisdom. Instinct and wisdom sometimes go closely together. Solomon was only instinctive when he asked for wisdom. The epicurean Lucullus, when dying, asked for a certain Nile fish cooked in wine. v ‘ % Pitchoune shook out his short hairy body and came out of the oasis pool Into the sunlight and trotted into the Arabian village. • •••••• Patou Ann! parched corn in' a brazier before her house. Her house was a mud hut with yellow walls. It had no roof and was open to the sky. Patou Anni was ninety years old, a lance—straight as one of the lances the men of the village carried when they went to dispute with white people. These lances with which the young men had fought, had won them the last battle. They had been victorious on the field. Patou Anni was the grandmother of many men. She had been the mother of many men. Now she parched corn tranquilly, prayerfully. “Allah! that the corn should not burn; Allah! that it should be sweet; Allah! that her men should be always successful.” She was the fetish of the settlement. In a single blue garment, her black scrawny breast uncovered, the thin veil that the Fellaheen wear pushed back from her fhce, her fine eyes were revealed and she might have been a priestess as she bent over her corn! “Allah! Allah Akbar!“ Bather than anything should happen to Patou Anni, the settlement would have roasted Its enemies alive, torn them in shreds. Some of them said that she was two hundred years old. There was a charmed ring drawn around her house. People supposed that if any creature crossed it uninvited, it would fall dead The sun had risen for an hour and the air was still cooL Overhead, tbs

sky, unstained by a single cloud, was blue as a turquoise floor, and against it, black and portentous, flew the vultures. Here and there the sun-touched pools gave life and reason to the oa6is. Fatou Annl parched her corn. Her barbaric chant was interrupted by a sharp bark and a low pleading whine. She had never heard sounds Just like that The dogs of the village were great wolflike creatures. Pitchoun.e’s bark was angelic compared with theirs. He crossed the charmed circle drawn around her house, and did not fall dead, and stood before her, whining. Fatou Annl left her corn, stood upright and looked at Pitchoune. To her the Irish terrier was an apparition. The fact that he had not fallen dead proved that he was beloved of Allah. He waa, perhaps, a genie, an afrit. Pitchoune fawned at her feet. She murmured a line of the Koran. It did not seem to afTect his demonstrative affection. The woman bent down to him after making a pass against the Evil Eye, and touched him, and Pitchoune licked her hand. Fatou Annl screamed, dropped him, went into the house and made her ablutions. When she came out Pitchoune sat patiently before the parched corn, and he again came crawling to her. The Arabian woman lived in the last hut of the village. She could satisfy her curiosity without shocking her neighbors. She bent down to scrutinize Pitchoune’s collar. There was a sacred medal on It with sacred inscriptions which she could not read. But as soon as she had freed him this time, Pitchoune tore himself away from her, flew out of the sacred ring and disappeared. The he ran back, barking appealingly; he took the hem of her dress In hia mouth and pulled her. He repeatedly did this and the superstitious Arabian believed herself to be called divinely. She cautiously left the doorstep, her veil falling before her face, came out of the sacred ring, followed to the edge of the berry field. From there Pitchoune sped over the desert; when he stopped and looked back at her. Fatou Annl did not follow, and he returned to renew his entreaties. When she tried to touch him he escaped, keeping at a safe distance. The village began to

stir. Blue and yellow garments fluttered in the streets. “Allah Akbar," Fatou Anni murmured. “these are days of victory, of recompense.” She gathered her robe around her and, statelily and impressively, started toward the huts of her grandsons. When she returned, eight young warriors, fully armed, accompanied her. Pitchoune sat beside the parched corn, watching the brazier and her meal. Fatou Anni pointed to the desert. She said to the young men, “Go with this genie. There is something he wishes to show us. Allah is great. Go.” • • • • • • • When the Capitaine de Sabron opened his eyes in consciousness, they encountered a square of blazing blue heaven. He weakly put up his hand to shade his sight, and a cotton awning, supported by four bamboo poles, was swiftly raised over his head. He saw objects and took cognizance of them. On the floor in the low doorway of a mud hut sat three litttle naked children covered with flies and dirt. He was the guest of Fatou Anni. These were three of her hundred great-great-grandchildren. The babies were playing with a little dog. Sabron knew the dog but could not articulate hie name. By his side sat the woman to whom he owed his life. Her veil fell over her face. She was braiding straw. He looked at her intelligently. She brought him a drink of cool water In an earthen vessel, with tne drops oozing from its porous sides. The hut reeked with odors which met his nostrils at every

breath ne are*. .« ukM ha Arable: "Where am I? "In the hut of victory," said Fatou Annl. Pitchoune overheard the voice an«l came to Sabron's side. His master murmured: "Where are we, my friend?" Th* dog leaped on hia bed and licked hia face. Fatou Annl, with a whisk of straw, swept the fließ from him. ▲ great weakness spread its wings above him and he fell asleep. Days are all alike to those who lia in mortal sickness. The hours are Intensely colorless and they slip and slip and slip into painful wakefulness, into fever, Into drowsiness finally, and then into weakness. The Capitaine de Sabron, although he had no family to apeak of, did possess, unknown to the Marquise d’Es* clignac, an old aunt in the provinces, and a handful of heartless cousins who were Indifferent to him. Nevertheless he clung to life and In the hut of Fatou Annl fought for existence. Every time that he was ’conscious he struggled anew to hold to the thread of life. Whenever he grasped the thread he vanquished, and whenever he lost It, he went down, down. Fatou Anni cherished him. He was a soldier who had fallen in the battle against her sons and grandsons. He was a man and a strong one, and she despised women. He was her prey .and he was her reward and she cared for him; as she did so, she becams maternal. Hls eyes which, when he was conscious, thanked her; his thin hands that moved on the rough blue robe thrown over him, the devotion of the dog—found a responsive chord in the great-grandmother’s heart. Once he smiled at one of the naked, big-bellied great-great-grandchildren. Beni Hassan, three years old, came up to Sabron with his fingers in hls mouth and chattered like a bird. This proved to Fatou Anni that Sabron had not the Evil Eye. No one but the children were admitted to the hut, but the sun and the flies and the cries of the village came In without permission, and now and then, when the winds arose, he could hear the Btirring of the palm trees. Sabron was reduced to skin and bone. Hia nourishment was insufficient, and the absence of all decent care was Blowly taking him to death. It will never be known why he did not die. Pitchoune took to making long excursions. He would be absent for days, and In his clouded mind Sabron thought the dog was reconnoitering for him over the vast pink sea without there —which, if one could sail across as in a ship, one would sail to France, through the walls of mejlow old Tarascon, to the chateau of good King Rene; one would sail as the moon sails, and through an open window one might hear the sound of a woman’s voice singing. The song, ever illusive and irritating in its persistency, tantalized his sick ears.

Sabron did not know that he would have found the chateau Bhut had he sailed there in the moon. It was as well that he did not know, for his wandering thought would not have known where to follow, and there was repose in thinking of the Chateau d’Esclignac. It grew terribly hot. Fatou Anni, by his side, fanned him with a fan she had woven. The great-great-grand-children on the floor in the mud fought together. They quarreled over bits of colored glass, Sabron’s breath came panting. Without, he heard the cries of the warriors, the lance-bearers —he heard the cries of Fatou Anni’s sons who were going out to battle. The French soldiers were in a distant part of the Sahara and Fatou Ahni’s grandchildren were going out to pillage aDd destroy. The old woman by his side cried out and beat her breast. Now and then she looked at him curiously, as if she saw death on his pale face. Now that all her sons and grandsons had gone, he was the only man left in the village, as even boys of sixteen had joined the raid. She wiped his forehead and gave him a potion that had been pierced with arrow’s. It was all she could do for a captive. Toward sundown, for the first time Sabron felt a little better, and aftei twenty-four hours’ absence, Pitchoune w hined at the hut door, but would not come in. Fatou Anni called on Allah, left her patient and went out to see what was the matter with the dog. At the door, in the shade of a palm, stood two Bedouins. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Hour After Hour Pitchoune Ran Across the Sahara.