Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 309, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 December 1915 — Page 2

NEAL of the NAVY

By William Hamilton Osborne,

AUTHOR Of "REDnOUSC “RUNNING FIGHT, *tATSPAW f ““N.O£ OOCKLE." ETC. NOVELIZED FROM THE PHOTO PLAY or THE •SAME NAME PRODUCED BY FATHE EXCHANGE. INC. „ CO/nV?AW7T k¥£.L/Arf A/A/1/LrCXrt ChS3o#rte

BYNOPBIB. Ob tbs £tr of tb« eruption of Mount Mm CapCJohn Hardin of the stmmsr Prince— r—cuca flvs-yesr-old Annette Ilington front an open boat, but to forced to teavs behind her father and hto comIlington to assaulted by Hernandos and Pon to In a vain attempt to ■et papers which Ilington has managed fa send aboard the prince— with me of Cinnabar. lUngton's Injury causae hto mind to become a blank. Thirteen years elapse. Hemendes, now an opium smuggler. with Ponto, ines. a female accomplice, sod the mtndle— brute that once was uington, come to Seaport, where the widow of Captain Hardin to living with her aon Neal and Annette Ilington, and rto steal the papers left to Annette her father. Neal tries for admission to the Naval academy, but through the treachery of Joey Welcher is defeated by Joey and disgraced, Neal enlists in the ■avy. In— eets a trap for Joey and the conspirators get him in their power. He sgisss to steal the papers for them but accidentally sets fire to the Hardin home Bad the brnte-msn rescum Annette with the papers from the flames Annette discovers that heat applied to the map reveals the location of the loat island. Sub—qweatty la a struggle for its poesesslon the s—p is torn in throe parts. HernanAnnette and Neal each securing a FIFTH INSTALLMENT A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST CHAPTER XXI. Ora pa Juice. Of course the unexpected naval-se-cret service raid on the Crooked Crag hotel created some sensation —as well as did the rescue of two beautiful young women. Min Irene Courtier and her friend Miss Ilington. But Newport Is a place of many happenings—sensational and otherwise —and after all the Crooked Crag had been raided many times before. In Its balmy days It had been cleverly constructed and maintained as a secluded gambling place for New York millionaires, a place full of cubby holes and uncanny get-aways. For the thirteenth time in Its. history It was closed up and its proprietor Jailed. But the three weird characters who had been the cause of all the violence still remained In hiding—Hernandos, the Portuguese adventurer; Ponto, his Mexican side partner, and their strange and unusual companion, the brute. Annette, for her part, gave full descriptions of these three to the authorities and accompanied secret-serv-ice men on many fruitless trips. “At any rate,” she said to her friend, Irene Courtier, ”1 know now where I stand. I was warned to look oat for a nun with a saber cut across his face." Her face grew wistful. “I thought—feared,” she went on, “at first, that Jh&t man might be my labut my father would never treat a girl as this scar-face treated me." Annette touched her neck. A tiny little gold chain fell Into the bosom of her waist. “He has laid bare his teeth, this scar-face,” said Annette. “He knows ——i—iiing of my father —I’m sure of that —and Fm sure of something else. Bo is seeking my lost Isle of Ctnna-

Doing Unusually Queer Things With His Face.

bar —he wants it for his own. Well. I, too, bare my teeth. Let him come “Too are so strong,” murmured Irene Courtier, “so strong." ▲ Japanese servant stole into the room —the living room at Miss Courtier's summer villa at Newport She bad rented this villa for the season and had paid one month’s rent—no ■ura. She bad paid the Japaneee but ana month’s wages—no more. The Japanese presented a note upon a salver. Xnes Castro glanced at it and waved her hand. Mrs. Bardin was jast emtertng from the veranda. It is for you, Grandam/* said Inez, "and from some old sweetheart, eh?” Mrs. Hardin opened the missive— T 5 at Bea> *T*y dear Mrs. Hardin," ha wrote la

his note, “hoping that you and your charges can add one more evening to your round of gayety In Newport society, I beg to inclose an Invitation which may give you a few hours of pleasure. Wish I could go myself. Anything on a battleship suits me.”

Inclosed in the missive was a heavy white card engraved in script: The officers of the U. 8. 8. Alabama request the honor of your pretence with friends at the dance on shipboard Tuesday evening, June —. The words “with friends” were interlined in ink. Annette read the invitation and then handed it to Ines. “Good,” exclaimed Ines. "These are worth while—these shipboard dances.” Five minutes later the called up a private number on the wire In her boudoir, waiting impatiently until she heard a voice she knew. Then she talked rapidly, almost In a whisper. “It’s worth taking a chance, is It not?” she queried. “Ah,” returned the vo|fe at the other end of the wire, "we do nothing without chances. We shall take a chance. Farewell.” It must be understood that an able seamgn like Neal Hardin, while his good behavior, his natural aptitude and his general llkability gave him many privileges—yet he was still the victim of caste —naval caste. As a civilian he might travel with ladles of dignity, such as his mother, and young women of style and beauty, such as Annette Ilington and her friend, Irene Courtier; but as a chief petty officer remarked to Neal —“A ball on board the Alabama is not for able seamen, not so you could notice it, my boy. Still,” he added, clapping Neal upon the shoulder, “11l try and get you a place on the back stairs where you can look on and see the swells.” Figuratively speaking, he got him a place on the back stairs without much difficulty, and after Neal had spent a day in assisting his fellow able seamen In polishing up everything aboard the Alabama that could be polished, and in swabbing everything aboard her that could be swabbed, and in setting to rights everything that could be set to rights, Neal, clad in an immaculate white duck suit, found himself stationed, stiff as a ramrod, and for the first, time scared to death, by the side of a large punch bowl under the canvas covering of the dancing deck.

CHAPTER XXII. Incognito. In a dingy little hotel room in Providence, Rhode Island, there sat a man at a dressing table gazing into a mirror and doing unusually queer things with his face. Hernandez was pastmaster at a certain art—disguise. Ten minutes later a stranger stood erect within that room —a full-bearded stranger, clad in an evening coat of foreign cut, with well padded paunch and shoulders, eyeing himself still critically in the looking glass. He raised his high hat and bowed pompously to Ponto. “In reality, friend Poton,” he remarked, “I am M. Romanosf —a Russian nobleman.” “My friends and I are invited to the dance on board the Alabama,” he said. “My friends and I shall go. Call in that beast. Now for the final test.” Ponto disappeared and a moment later the brute crept into the room. He glanced fearfully toward the chair where Hernandez had been sitting; then he glanced about the room. A puzzled expression overspread his countenance and then with a deep guttural cry he sprang for the apparition’s throat. Hernandez twitched himself to one side Just in time and then tapped the brute smartly on the arm. “I am satisfied,” he said, in tones that the brute immediately recognized. “Even he did not know me — he, with all the instincts of a savage but faithful dog. Let us be off.” An hour later he was standing expectantly in front of the huge punch bowl on the dancing deck of the Alabama. Clustered around this punch bowl were a group of officers and pretty women —and among them Inez Castro and her friend Annette Rington.

Romanoff stared boldly at them both, then he turned to Neal Hardin. “A glass of punch, if you please," he said in foreign accents. Neal Hardin did not answer. He was otherwise engaged. Annette Qington waa standing at the table with a’ young ensign at her side. They were both* drinking from the punch bowL The ensign drank with his Tight hand; so did Annette, but Annette’s left hand was firmly clutched in the hand of Nekl Hardin of the punch bowL It was the only chance the evening could afford them. "A gl-ss of punch,” reiterated the unknown Russian nobleman. Neal Jumped as though shot. Hastily he ladled out a glass and presented it to the Russian The Russian took one alp of it and sat down his glass.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

be exclaimed, as he walked away in disgust. There was a genteel titter from the picturesque little group around the punch bowl. Ines touched Romanoff upon the arm. "It Is perfect,” she whispered, “no one could ever tell.” The pseudo Romanoff glanced at her significantly, paced across the dancing deck and passed out upon the moonlit deck beyond. Ines, flirting with an officer, excused herself, beckoned to Joe Welcher, * who came swiftly at her beck and call, and with her hand upon his arm she followed In the wake of Romanoff. As they reached the bow Romanoff turned suddenly and confronted them. He seized Welcher by the arm. “Friend Welcher,” he said, his grip tightening, “on the canvas curtains aft, on the port side, you will find one black cross mark upon the curtain and one black cross mark upon the deck. They are my marks. You will dance with Annette Ilington—"

Welcher hurried off and Romanoff with the beautiful Miss Irene Courtier upon his arm, strode slowly toward the lights. With her escort she stood glancing out between the curtains at the moonlight upon the sea. Her escort, however, was not watching the moonlight —hii eyes were fixed upon a motor boat that sported itself like some huge shark in the waters Just beyond. He drew forth a white handkerchief. He stepped into the aperture between the canvas curtains, grasped the rail with one hand and shook the handkerchief. Inez noted that a small black cross had been placed upon the canvas curtain. She looked at her feet. There was another cross upon the deck. Then she turned and faced the crowd watching with keen eyes. Joe Welcher from far across the deck caught the glint of those same eyes—he had been watching for them. He bent over Annette. “Look at the freak,” he said, “that’s tied up to Inez —I mean Irons Courier. I always call her Inez somehow. Let’s go and see the freak.” “The freak,” said Annette, “has disappeared.” She was not the only person on the deck who noticed that. Some half dozen naval officers in spick and span uniforms noted it also and started double quick toward Inez Castro.

Half way they stopped, for her escort, M. Romanoff, had reappeared. He smiled as Joe came up with Annette and waved his hand. “I*ve been looking at the moon,” he said. Annette, already bored —chiefly by the close proximity of Joe Welcher — glanced off toward Neal. “Let’s go and get some grape Juice,” she said. Joe drew her out to the railing through the same aperture from which Romanoff had watched the circling motor boat "I’ll get the grape Juice,” said Joe aloud. “Wait here until I return.” Annette started after him, but the aperture was closed now by the broad back of Romanoff, who talked vivaciously with Irene Courtier. Annette was not averse to looking at the moon, and she looked. But —all she saw was the moon itself. She did not see and could not know that a motor launch, silent as the night, had fetched up alongside of the anchor chain. She did not know and could not see a black shadow that stole along the railing behind the canvas curtains that hid the dancing deck. Suddenly she gave a choking cry. The black shadow like some black panther had sprung upon her frem the night and clutched her in Its grasp. She cried out once more, or tried to. She fqund she could not A strong wiry hand dosed across her mouth and a wiry form forced her back across the rail. With a superhuman twist of her lithe young body—and she was strong, was Annette Rington—for one instant she wrenched herself away and gave vent to a piercing scream. Neal Hardin at the punch bowl heard it Forgetting all discipline—and all grape Juice —he bounded across' the dancing deck and with one sweep of his arm brushed the nonplussed Romanoff and his charming escort to one side. His eyes were blinded by the deck lights and as he rushed through the curtains he coaid only

see that some terrific struggle vu at hand. In another Instant It was all over. Two figures clutching at each ether frantically darted suddenly over the rail. There was a splash below. . "Man overboard," yelled NeaL He sprang to the rail and dove into the moonlit water —taking good care not to foul the other two. Two minutes later it was all over. Annette was on deck half tainting In Neal's arm —but with a smile upon her face. "Don’t worry,” she said to the crowd about her, "I haven’t swallowed a drop of water, I assure you. I'm a regular little water rat —Neal knows that, don’t you Neal?" Half an hour later In the Courtier ▼llla In Newport, Annette nestled In a huge arm chair ih a kimono before a blazing fire. Bhe laughed triumphantly. She seized a dripping little chamois bag and took from it a very damp old piece of paper parchment. “This is what he was after—you can’t tell me." she said. She spread it out and exhibited it to Inez Castro. “Why, it is a blank piece of paper," said Inez Castro. “Look at it closely," said Annette. "Oh, yes,” said Irene, “it has one word upon it —longitude.” "It has more than that upon It,” said Annette. “Watch and see.” She spread it out upon the hearth to dry. "It is a piece of the map—of my map, Irene," she went on, “the map of the lost Isle of Cinnabar. Scar-face got a portion of it —don’t you remember, at Crooked Crag—but a harmless portion. I got a part and so did Neal. Wait. Look. The piece is dry—see what the heat has done.'? Inez Castro bent oyer her. “'Where did the writing come from?” she demanded. “The heat brought the writing out,” said Annette. “See. Look now at the longitude. What does it say?” Inez looked eagerly. "One hundred and twenty-three degrees,” she exclaimed slowly, "and forty minutes west.” ' “That isn’t all," went on Annette. “There’s a message—a message from the past upon our pieces, Neal’s and mine—a message that I’ve got by heart.” "What," queried Inez, yawning, “is the message from the past?” Annette nodded proudly. "This is the message," she returned. “‘Granted

Annette Sent Out the “S. O. S.”

to Bington, Spanish-American explor. er, for distinguished services, by Joseph Bonaparte, king of Spain, in the year eighteen hundred and nine, the original grant, being in the possession of the fathers —” She stopped. “What was the rest of that?” she mused. *1 can’t remember.” "Think,” persisted Inez, with curious insistence. Annette laughed. “It has escaped me. I will have to ask Neal about that the next time I see him.” > “Part of the message is on his portion, too?” said Inez. “And what about the latitude?" Annette shook her head. "That I can’t remember either,” she returned, “stupid that I am. Tes, the latitude is on his piece too.” CHAPTER XXIII. Unbooked Passengers. *T think it’s risky,” said Neal Hardin. “Let me see that ad again.” Annette handed him the Providence, Rhode Island, morning paper. Under the head of ship notices appeared this item: Fruit Bteamer Coronado sails 15th this month. Bound for Bahamas, Colon, Panama, Lower California ports and San Francisco. Open for limited booking of passengers. Pier 1010 Providence, R. I. PETER HANDY, Master. Neal read the advertisement over and shook his head again. "Risky, I tell you,” he repeated. Annette’s eyes flashed. “But what am Ito do,” she protested. "You don’t—you cant understand." Her lips Quivered for a moment "I have got to And my tether, Neal, and ter his sake. If not for my own, I have got to find my fortune. I’ve got to go some time. Why not now? The message was , plain enough—the Fathers of the Santa Marla mission In Lower California—l must see them. This Is the easy way.” Neal folded up the paper and thrust It In his pocket "At any rate," he said, “PH look thte captain up. If

tht Coronado la a likely ship and It yon are bound to go, God speed.” He looked the Coronado up and (Onnd her quite a likely ship. He saw her captain utd found him satisfactory. The nest day Annette and her friends, including WelchOT. booked for the cheap trip on the Coronado. “You’re my only passengers so far,*t said Captain Handy, "and I don’t care if I don't hare any more.” Capt Peter Handy sauntered down the wharf. A big. swaggering individual was looking the Coronado over. "Bill,” said Capt. Peter Handy, ’Til tell you how it is. I picked you out as a cheap bargain and took a chance on you, not knowing you before. This is a cheap trip down, Bill; I’ll leave it to you to pick your crew. Pick them cheap, Bill; -coming back I can make it up to you. Get the best for the money, Bill, and get ’em cheap.” "I got ’em already,” returned Bill, “and I got ’em cheap. Leave that to me.” On the evening of the fourteenth, the four booked passengers boarded the Coronado and were assigned to staterooms. Bill left the captain snoring in his bunk and stole across the deck and down the gangplank to the wharf beyond. Once upon the river front he turned east and strode on rapidly for a quarter of a mile. He darted into a narrow alleyway, reached a dimly lighted window in an old board house on the shore and rapped sharply on the window pane. A door was opened stealthily and he shambled in. J Huddled at tables and flung carelessly in corners were the forms of Bailors, supine, drunk, drugged. Bill took an electric flash light from his pocket and examined carefully each of these slumbering objects of humanity. “I’ll take him,” said Bill, “and him there with the broken face; and him —and that chap over there.” Ten minutes later he nodded in a self-satisfied way and jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward another door. Is he inside?” he queried. “Oh,” said the proprietor, “the three of ’em is there.” There were three men in that small room, a strangely assorted trio. One was a huge individual, bigger and stronger than Bill himself; another was an uncanny, fat, little Mexican with dangerous eyes; the third was a Portuguese with a saber cut cross his face. Bill grinned. “Huh,” he said, “we’re all here, mates. Outside I picked up enough men to fill up the Coronado’s crew and here I run against three of her passengers.” Hernandez smiled and showed his teeth. “Three unbooked passengers,” he said. CHAPTER XXIV. The Trickle of White Powder.. Hernandez motioned toward the door. Ponto, the Mexican, closed it noiselessly and swiftly and shot the bolt. “You understand the terms,” Hernandez said. “This stuff has Just come in to us tonight. We have it loaded in our launch outside.” .“You understand then,” said Hernandez, “that when this cargo of cocaine is sold, your share -will be many hundred dollars —a thousand — over a thousand.” Two mornings later, a sailor lying in his bunk against a bulkhead in the hold—kept wakeful by his battered face a gift from Bill. On this particular morning, however, the unusual thing that attracted his attention was a quantity of fine white powder that sifted through the knot jiole. "Holy smoke,” he exclaimed joyfully within himself, “this ain’t no fat thing, ain’t it? This here’s cocaine.” BY noon the whole forecastle knew about the rat hole and what is more had sampled it —or rather the strange white powder that came trickling through. Next day something happened. Bill, the mate, gave Snooks an order that Snooks declined to fill. Bill was accustomed to being disobeyed, and for every ill he had a. remedy. He seized a capstan bar and aimed it at Snooks’ head; but there was a glitter in Snooks’ eye that Bill did not understand. Snooks leaped for him and wrestled with him like a wildcat. He forced Bill, panting, up against the rail, bellowing meanwhile like a mad bull. Bill felt for a belaying pin, found it, clutched it, raised it high in the air and brought it crashing down upon Snooks’ shoulder. It broke a collarbone, but it might have been a feather for all Snooks cared. “Mates,” cried* Snooks, “you ain’t going to see me licked. Come one and all.” They came. Some sprang down from the shrouds; some appeared from companion ways; some came hurrying along the decks. They were men battered and broken —but all had one uncanny characteristic —their eyes glittered, glittered fearfully and fearlessly. Bill sprang away from the clutching grasp of Snooks and drew his gun. “Captain Peter Handy,” he roared. “Mutiny” And mutiny there was—a mutiny based not so much upon the ill treatment of Bill the mate as upon the effect of the trickling white powder. The captain responded to the call; so did one or two others of the undrugged crew. The four booked passengers heard the riot—it could have been heard half a mile away. They rushed on deck and watched. Annette, who had inherited quickness of mind, saw what

was happening and turned to Mra. Hardin. “You and Irene." she said, “go into the wireless room. Let as all go—even Joe.” Just as she said it a mutineer rushed past her, stopped, leered into her face and grasped her by the hand. With a sudden -wrench he closed the door of the wireless, shutting the three. people inside —Welcher and the two other women —and then with a glare into Annette’s eyes, he drew her toward him and crushed her struggling form against his breast Below there were other passenger* who watched the fight—Hemandea and his two companipns. The brute watched stupidly—Ponto and Her-

“This Is What He Was After!"

nandez with polite interest But suddenly the brute looked up toward tho deck. He growled deep in his throat “Hold him,” said Hernandez to Ponto. But it was too late. With one bound the brute dashed up the companionway and reached the deck. With another bound he was upon the sailor who had caught Annette. In an Instant Annette found herself released, hardly knowing how it had happened. She wrenched open the wireless door, sprang in, slammed it shut and shot the bolt. “Where is the operator?" she inquired. There was no answer. The operator was not there. Annette seized the wireless apparatus, donned the headgear and sent out the S. O. S. —that long wail of terror that is heard far out across tha sea. On the deck of the destroyer Jackson, a naval vessel which had left Newport a day or two before on a practice cruise, the wireless operator reported to his lieutenant. He saluted. * “Sir,” he said, “I have an S. O. S. from a steamer Coronado, five mileq south. Mutiny on board.” A seaman standing near started forward. “Godfrey," he exclaimed under his breath, “the Coronado —Annette’s ship.” The lieutenant gave an order. “Put her about,” he said. Forced draft ahead.” When the destroyer reached the Coronado, the Coronado was in dire straits. The mutineers, maddened and emboldened, and strengthened with renewed doses of the white powder, were in possession of the ship. The mate and Capt. Peter Handy layunconscious on the deck. Every sailor had a bottle in his hand —a bottle full of strong drink. In less than a quarter of an hour the Jackson was upon them —she had launched a boat and her boat had reached the Coronado’s side. With the agility of perfect training the Jackson’s men swarmed over the rail, boarded the Coronado and without an instant’s hesitation attacked the mutineers, their lieutenant at their head. Neal drew a deep breath and nudged the man next to him. “This is war,” he said, "it Is what we’re looking for. Come on.” There was a fight—no arms’-length fight at that. It was man to man. It was a melee —It was a riot —it was pandemonium. In the midit of it there was a resouding crack. Neal’s lieutenant, off his guard for once, received a well-aimed blow upon his head—a blow from a capstan bar. He fell like a log and three brutes leaped for his head —seeking to batter him into a shapeless mass. Neal saw his peril and sprang Into the midst. Never In his life had he fought as then he fought. The blood rushed Into his brain; unwonted strength flowed into muscles! his eyes were everywhere—hie voice strong and fearless. “All together now,” he shouted. One —two —three." There was a mighty superhuman rush, a ringing shout—then it was ail over. The mutiny was quelled. Neal leaped upon a bridge and waved a cutless. He said the first thing that occurred to him—the thing he felt he had to say. **l am In command,” he shouted. “The first man who disobeys me will be shot." There was a clutch upon his arm. He looked down. He found that his right arm was bleeding from a cut, but he found something else. A small hand was grasping it quite tenderly. He turned. Annette laughed hysterically. “What about any woman who fie obeys?" she said. CTO BX OOHTmMPd