Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 166, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 July 1916 — The Red Mirage [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Red Mirage

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers -

By I. A R. WYLIE

SYNOPSIS. When Sylvia Omney, a beautiful English girl, returns from a search in Algiers for her missing brother, her lover, Richard Farquhar, finds she hag fallen-in tave •with Captain Arnaud of the Foreign Legion. In Captain Sower's room Farquhar gets deliberately drunk, but when young Preston loses all his money to Lowe, a shady character, Farquhar forces Sower to have Preston's I. O. U’s returned to him. Farquhar is helped to his rooms by Gabrielle Smith. Sower demands an apology. Refused, he forces Farquhar to resign-his commission in return for possession of Farquhar's father’s written confession that he had murdered Sower's father. Gabrielle saves Farquhar from suicide. Farquhar tells his mother that he Is going to find his father if the latter is alive. To shield Arnaud, Sylvia a fiance, he professes to have stolen war plans and tells the real culprit why he did so. As Richard Nameless he joins the Foreign Legion and sees (Sylvia, now Mme. Arnaud, meet Colonel Destinn.

A military officer commits a serious offense In his own country and flees to Africa, where he Joins the French Foreign Legion. His ability eventually puts bim in high position. There he distinguishes himself by cruelty to his men. How will the lives of Colonel Destinn and Richard Nameless cross one another?

CHAPTER V. t Colonel Destinn of the Legion. 'A thin-voiced chime from some tower in Sidi-bel-Abbes announced the hour —four o’clock. Colonel Destinn looked up. From where he sat he could see the barrackyard, and, ’beyond, the great stretch of ocher plain rolling to the horizon. A little to the right an Arab mosque lifted its white minarets against the sky, which hung oppressively over the panting, lifeless country. In the narrow, meanly furnished room the atmosphere was stifling. Colonel Destlnn’s guest drew back into the thin patch of ’ shadow. Colonel •Destinn himself smiled, and the thin lips under the iron-gray mustache became Indescribably ruthless. “Yes, you are quite right, Mr. Lowe,” he was saying in his suave French. “I have something to sell—something quite valuable, in fact. But I do not choose to sell it to you, that Is all.” Stephen Lowe glanced up. His deformity was very obvious at that moment. He looked old, and physical exhaustion had stamped out the last trace of beauty from his thin features. “Why not?” he asked. “Is not that my affair?” Colonel Destinn brushed a speck of dust from his dolman. His slate-gray eyes flashed. He rose, and Lowe had no choice but to rise also. “I have made you an indefinite offer. Colonel Destinn,” he said. “One day L may come with something different end perhaps then you will reconsider what you have said. No life can be bound up definitely anywhere, not even in a desert, Colonel Destinn.” The officer did not answer, appeared even to have forgotten his guest’s existence. Stephen Lowe went out, closing the door softly behind him. Someone tapped at Colonel Destlnn’s door.

“If you please, my colonel, yesterday’s batch from Oran.” Colonel Destlnn lifted his head. “It is well. You will accompany me, corporal. How many?” “Fifty.” “We shall need them." He picked up his kepi and led the way down the passage, the corporal following close beside him, his features composed in military indifference. In the center of the yard a line of men had been drawn up. Neither the violent abuse of the sergeant nor the comments of a pale-faced lieutenant, much less the uniforms, had been able to transform them into soldiers. Only one thing was common to them all — misfortune. It was written In every haggard face In every language of despair, from reckless defiance to sullen resentment and stoic resignation. Colonel Destlnn read the language with the rapidity of custom. Before each recruit be stopped an instant, his hard eyes picking out the broken refinement of the prodigal from the brutality of fugitive crime. And at each he jerked ©nt an imperative question. “Your name?”. “Johann Harding, my colonel.” “Profession?” . “Doctor.”

"Sergeant, keep an eye on him. He will sham like the devil, or poison you. And this man?” There -was a slight, scarcely perceptible change in the Inflection of his voice, a note of something that might have been surprise or even more than that —uneasiness. The man whom he confronted held himself with a cool, undisturbed dignity. “Richard.” “Have you no surname?” "No.” Destinn glanced at the lieutenant, who, after a hurried glance to his notebook, shrugged his shoulders. “No. 4005—calls himself Richard Nameless, my colonel.” "A nom Ae guerre, I presums. Your last profession?”

“Traitor.” “You are English?" “I am nothing.” There was a troubled pause. The man had answered fluently in French, without hesitation and without insolence. And yet his easy self-confidence jarred in that atmosphere of cowed and broken humanity, and was by contrast almost a challenge. The momentary Interest died out of Colonel Destlnn’s eyes, leaving a cold anger. “That fellow is dangerous,” he jerked back over his shoulder, and passed on. Corporal Goetz hesitated an instant before the man thus summarized. He measured him, and the recruit answered the keen, deliberate gaze with the same steadfastness. A mutual recognition had been acknowledged; steel had rung against steel. Then suddenly the recruit’s fiery blue eyes focused themselves on something beyond, and their expression—that of a man started into an instant’s self-betrayal—-caused the corporal to turn sharply. A rare vision had appeared in jibe dull, colorless square. The iron gates had been opened, and against the background of the green avenue beyond there stood a woman—a slender, beautiful woman, such as but few of the lost, degraded inhabitants of those white walls had ever seen. She came slowly toward them, the lace sunshade framing the lovely golden head, her soft muslin dress revealing each movement as something exquisitely balanced, absolutely free and confident in its youthful grace and health. “Colonel Destinn,” she said, “I hope you are not angry with me. I have come to find my husband.” He lifted his hand reluctantly but instinctively to his kepi. “I heard that Captain Arnaud’s wife had arrived,” he said roughly;—“Permit me to inform you that Captain Arnaud left the barracks half an hour ago, also that you have no business here and are interfering with my business. The sentry should not have let you pass.” “He did not want to,” she explained, "but I told him that I knew you and that you would be furious if he refused.” “Whereby, madame, you overstepped the limits of truth.” “Pardon me, I do know you. But since I intrude, I will make good my retreat. Good evening, my colonel.” She turned her back on him and began to walk with untroubled dignity toward the gate. For an instant he hesitated, then overtook her. “I have a word to say to the sentry,” he said significantly. “I will accompany you. You say you know me. I have not seen you before.” “That is quite possible; but I have seen you.” They had reached the gate and she stopped and looked up at him. “Do you want to know when?” “I am interested, I confess.” “It was about a year ago at nighttime. I was sitting under the trees in the Cercle des Offlciers, listening to the band. I remember it was rather dark, except for the lanterns, and the faces of the natives had made me nervous. Then came a bugle call and I was really frightened. I thought it w-as an Arab uprising or something; Instead you rode past—at the head of your regiment.” “I remember,” he said, his face full of hard triumoh. “It was the night I

won my wager—one hundred and fifty kilometers in three days.” -- • He was silent a moment, driving his spurred heel into the sandy gravel. Then he looked up at her. "Why did you come to Algiers?” he

said abruptly. ‘ “Why, above all, did you come to Sidl-bel-Abbes? What is there for a tourist to see here? Band and vineyards, and then sand again.” “I was a tourist I came on a mission—to find my brother.” ‘Your brother?” ‘He was lost” she said almost in a whisper. “He had done wrong—and my father is a stern man —he ran away—and we were afraid. We followed him to Algiers, and then we lost trace. We never found him.” The tears had gathered in her dark eyes. “Colonel Destinn —I do not know why I tell you this. It Is silly of me. I loved him more than anything else in the world. You won’t understand—” He laughed roughly. “Oh, madame, even I understand loss,” “You? I thought—” She stopped with her eyes on his blanched face. “Oh, colonel, lam so sorry. Somehow I didn’t think of you like that—” His curt gesture interrupted her. “Madame, we have grown too serious. A poet of yours said that loss is common to the race. I can only hope that your loss may be mended.” “And yours, colonel,” she said softly. “Mine can never be ipended, madame. lam too old. Permit me.” He passed through the gate with her and helped her into the waiting carriage. “Do you know it is twenty years since l-4ast spoke to an Englishwoman?” "And was she —as nice as I am?” “She was a little like you—and very beautiful.” “You could have expressed yourself more prettily. Never mind. By the way, you. do not speak English, colonel ?” “No,” ire answered absently, “I do not speak English.” “I must give you lessons. ’Coachman—home. Au revolr, colonel!” “Aii revolr, madame.” He stood at the salute until he had lost sight of the small, sweet face under the parasol. A couple of Chasseurs d’Afrique gave him the careless military greeting of French soldiers as they swaggered past, but he did not see them. A young Arab with a sprig of jasmine tucked gracefully behind his ear drew his burnoose closer around him with the aristocratic contempt of his race. Colonel Destinn remained sightless and indifferent.

CHAPTER VI. Richard Nameless. "There is no god but one God. The Lord is great. I extol the sanctity of Allah.” There was silence. The man bending over the low uneven mound straightened himself and listened, his face turned westward to the red ball of the sun. Beyond the crumbled cemetery walls a line of Arabs stood facing the eastern desert, their hands crossed upon their breasts, silent and \notlonlesß in the awed suspense of their worship. The man who called himself Richard Nameless returned to his task. Gently and reverently he drew aside the clinging overgrowth and freed a bent and molderlng cross from its burden. “What is our faith compared to theirs?” he said with bitter scorn. “We plant the symbol of our belief over the bodies of men we called brothers, and then leave both—to rot.”

Corporal Goetz’ lean, white hand dropped on to his knee. He was staring thoughtfully at the cross in front of him. In the fading light the letters stood out with a new distinctness. “Philip Grey—No. 3112 —Foreign Legion.” “I have seen ten men ‘done to death,’ as you call it,” he said quietly. “One of them lies here. He was a young Englishman, and I had taken a fancy to him —heaven knows why, for our races do not love each other nowadays. There was a forced march —a freak of our good colonel’s —and he collapsed out In the desert. We left him there without food or ammunition. You understand —I was his friend. Three days later I got permission to look for his bones. I found them and a few rags of his uniform. There are hyenas on the desert, you know, and they make short work of things. Well, I brought what was left —here.” Richard Nameless took a step nearer, as though to look closer into the German’s scarred features. “Who are you?” he asked significantly. “My name is Goetz von Berlicfiengen,” was the mock pompous answer. “If you knew anything about Goethe, which, being an Englishman, you don’t, you would know that Goetz von Berlichingen was a robber-knight. I led men. It was my birthright. Then one day I killed—justly, as I believe, but neither according to the law of my country nor my caste. And then I lost my birthright—forever.” Richard Nameless drew a step nearer. The fine features turned to the fading light in stern, implacable self-judgment, had awakened awe and pity and a vague, shapeless recollection. He passed on. Instinctively Richard Nameless drew himself up to a salute. It was answered with grave courtesy. For a moinenj the manti? of ruin had slipped from their shoulders, "hnd man faced man in honoraole recognition of what had been. Then the slight, soldierly figure lost itself among the shadowy crosses.

The paths of Corpora! Goetz and Richard will cross very soon, perhaps. Do you think they will quarrel over a woman or that they will help a woman to keep a guilty secret which they have discovered by accident? (TO BE CONTINUED.).

“I Have Something to Sell, but Not to You.”