Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 190, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 August 1916 — Page 2

The Red Mirage

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers

SYNOPSIS. Sylvia Omney. her lover, Richard Farquhar, finds. has fallen in tove-wth- Captain Arnaud of the Foreign Legion., J arquhar forces Sower to have Preston si O IT’s returned to him. Sower forces r arquhar to resign his cothmlsslon. Gabrielle saves Farquhar from suicide. To shield Arnaud. Sylvia’s fiance. Farquhar professes to have stolen war plans. As Richard Nameless he joins the Foreign Legion. Farquhar meets Sylvia ana Gabrielle. Arnaud becomes a drunkard and opium smoker. Sylvia becomes friendly ■with Colonel Destinn. Arnaud becomes jealous of Farquhar and is shot down by him. Arnaud goes to a dancing girl who loves him for comfort Gabrielle meets Ix>we, for whom she had sacrificed position and reputation, and tells him she is free from him Sylvia meets Destinn behind the mosque. Arnaud becomes ill but Sylvia will not help him, nor interfere for Farquhar. Gabrldile, aiding Farquhar, who is under punishment, Is mistaken by him mln his delirium for Sylvia. Farquhar delivering a message to Destinn at night finds Sylvia with him. He learns that It was Gabrielle who aided him. Gabrielle leaves Sylvia and goes to Farquhar’s mother, who has come to Algiers tn an effort to save her son. V hue on a inarch Farquhar saves Destinn’s life.

The nearness of death has brought close together in the fellowship of misery two men who are sworn enemies. That is one of the tricks of death —to make men see that the general run. of quarrels and bickerings are all foolishness, a waste of time. Will these two see it and become friends?

CHAPTER XVI —Continued.

The peace was absolute. Golden clouds sank lazily through the quiet air, and beyond the haze a single fiery star blazed down from a dome of’emerald. He lifted himself painfully oil his elbow. Thia was not death, nor the world he had left. Where there had been hills there were now plains, and the gullies had become mountains. Where there had been men there were now nothing but smooth layers of untroubled sand. Something moved and touched Farquhar. He started and looked down at the man whose head still rested against his arm. Their eyes met. In the red twilight they recognized each other —and their eyes shifted instantly in shy horror of that which the other had become. Arnaud dragged himself up ffpbn his elbow and coughed the sand from his lungs. “My horse bolted and threw me,” he Jerked out gratingly. “I must have been half stunned. I did not know that it was —you.” There was a brief silence. They measured each other. Then Arnaud stretched out his hand. “I’m sorry—l wish to God I did not hate you, Farquhar.” They went on. Behind a great rock which towered out of the storm-driven sand they found Colonel Destinn. He stood with his back to them and counted the thin circle of men who remained. There were a hundred in all. They had fought the sirocco for ten hours. The sand clung to their uniforms, to their hair and beards. On every face was printed the same devastation, the same exhausted suffering, and something else that looked like the ravenous greed of wplves whose prey is within sight. Colonel Destinn turned. “To work —at once—all of you!” he commanded. But they did not move. They stood there, watching him. As he saw their purpose he sprang back. Six times his revolver'barked in the stillness —four’men rolled over. Then he waited for them, his arms folded — Indomitable, imperturbable, triumphant to the last. They flung themselves upon him. But for one swift moment Farquhar had met Destinn’s eyes. What passed in that lightning recog-

nltion he did not know. He broke through the raging circle of madmen, beating up their weapons, and flung himself recklessly between the lonely man and death. A bullet grazed his cheek, and he laughed, a cracked, highpitched laugh of good-humored mockery.

“You’re no good, comrades —no good. You can’t even shoot. You wanted me as a leader —now I’ll lead you. I’ll lead you against the Arabs, against all France, to Morocco, to freedom; but I claim this man as my prisoner, comrades; I claim his life.” They cursed somberly at him. “It won’t do!” the foremost legionary shouted. “They’re the only witnesses against us. Dead men don’t tell tales. If we're caught who’s to know they didn’t die in the storm with the rest?”

“If we’re caught I give you my word of honor that none of you shall suffer,” Farquhar Interrupted. “It’s my word against these two lives. Is It a bargain?” They answered with a frenzied, drythroated cheer. Harding seized Farquhar’s hand*and kissed it, and the next instant they were all around him, cobbing, laughing, shouting like children awakened from intolerable nightmare. They called their allegiance to him in a dozen half-forgotten tongues, they gripped his hands and kissed the hem of bls tattered coat in fantastic worship. “We’il follow you, Englishman; do With u« a» you like-—we trust you.” There were burning tears of grati-

By I. A. R. WYLIE

(All righU reserved. The Bobbs-Merrill Co.)

tude, of a deeply stirred pity, on his cheeks. He turned gravely to the two officers. “You are my prisoner, Colonel Destinn: Captain Arnaud, I must ask you for your sword. Have I your word of honor that neither of you will attempt escape?" ——- Arnaud bowed. Destinn was smiling. The men were silent. A strange, pitiable figure had crept out from the shadow of the rocks. It was Goetz — Goetz, scarcely recognizable save for the livid scar across his cheek. He staggered blindly, and his cracked and bloodless lips could make no sound. But he pointed westward. A low line of dust whirled against the scarlet horizon and came nearer. In the dying light flashes of silver broke through the rapidly moving cloud. They could almost hear the thud of galloping hoofs. “Arabs!” The word passed like a sigh from mouth to mouth.

CHAPTER XVII. “““ 4 Promises. With the frenzied energy of madmen, they cleared the ammunition wagons from the deep drifts of sand. The bodies of comrades, stiffened already In the agonized attitudes of their death, were flung ruthlessly aside; rifles were torn from cold, tenacious hands; friends with whom they had

marched and suffered were trampled under foot. There were seven hundred dead and a hundred living, and the seven hundred were forgotten. Fatigue, hunger and thirst were wiped out

They crouched, silent and motionless, in the sand, with the sullen patience of wolves, hunted to their lair. They did not look at Farquhar, but they heard him. He could feel with a thrill of power h®*v their nerves and muscles stiffened at his command. It was good to command again. He gave his orders mechanically in French, but his heart had spoken them In another, dearer tongue.

"Hold your fire till I give the signal. They haven’t seen us yet. Sight at five hundred yards, and when you let go pick out your men." The cavalcade advanced rapidly and unconsciously. At their head a horseman rode in majestic loneliness. A red streak from the dying sun, lighting up his burnished accoutrements, threw into relief the splendid- outline of his figure. A moment later the command rang out: “Ready—present—fire!” The answering volley broke like a crack of thunder on the stillness, and when the smoke cleared a dozen saddles in the foremost ranks of the enemy were empty. Taken utterly by surprise, the troop swung round in disorder and burst into a short, headlong retreat.

“Ready, Present, Fire!”

But it was the panic of a moment. Fanatic, splendid, they swept on into the teeth of a withering death which left no trace. They raced one another for the gates of paradise; they bore down upon an enemy fighting only instinctively for a life that was already worthless. Farquhar glanced anxiously along his little line of men. They were firing recklessly, hopelessly. H,e called to them, and they responded with patient, doglike obedience, but he knew that for them the fight was already over. This was the agony of death. Someone touched him. He turned. It was Destinn. They took aim together like men engaged in mimic warfare. Goetz dragged himself up alongside. He was smiling

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

pleasantly with a cartridge between bis teeth. “I Like dying in good company," ha shouted, as the Impediment was jammed into the smoking breech of bis rifle. “That’k the new prophet— All-Mahomed —in the front there. If we could bring him dowti It might break their backbone.” The Arabs were now within four hundred yards. Their pace had not slackened for an Instant Farquhar sprang to his feet. “Cease firing—fix bayonets!” He raced out alone to meet the enemy. The rain of bullets had been a spur to their fanatic daring—the sudden silence checked them. They wavered, suspecting a trap in this strange lull, seeing in the lonely figure the one thing they feared—the supernatural, the unknown. Not a shot was fired; For an infinitesimal second of indecision both sides waited. Goetz, with his rifle against his cheek, his finger on the trigger, kept up a soft flow of good-humored expletive. “Mad —mad as Englishmen, but oh. gods of my fathers, what sublime method!”

Farquhar had covered fifty yards before the enemy had grasped his purpose. Then with a sort of delirious triumph their leader burst through the ranks of his followers and thundered down upon the doomed man with the superb arrogance of his race, disdaining a peril that seemed contemptible. Those watching for the end saw the flash of a bayonet—heard the jarring rasp of steel against steel, and then Ali-Mahomed’s horse swept on riderless. Simultaneously flame burst from a hundred rifles. Destinn led the charge, and behind him raced a hundred cheering men who an hour before had clamored for his life. He ran like a bay, waving a smoking, useless rifle, shouting madly, while Goetz thundered at his side. It was two to one, exhausted Infantry against cavalry in full course. But the miracle had performed. The incalculable element in all battle, the superstition of men’s hearts, had fallen in the scale. The whirlwind died down. Within a few feet of their fallen leader the heroic Arab host faltered, broke and fled. They picked up Farquhar from beneath the dead body of his opponent and as his eyes opened they rested on Destinn’s face. The elder man^ knelt down and touched his hand almost tenderly. “That was a good fight,” he said in English. “We’ve won. Ali-Mahomed is dead. You’ve saved a lot of trouble for us all. lam proud of you.” “Thanks, sir. lam glad you’re satisfied.”

They looked at each other. Behind their ca re less, indifferent composure there had rung a note of emotion which even now was not wholly silent, though both men, lost for a brief space in recollection, had regained their hold upon the present Farquhar rose slowly to his feet. “Keep Colonel Destinn under guard,” he said. “Where Is Captain Arnaud?" Two men advanced and placed themselves on either side of their former leader. But they did not answer. Destinn frowned thoughtfully at the night gathering eastward. “Ben Azar lies thirty kilometers from here,” he said. “Even with a lame- foot Arnaud is a wonderful marcher. There is a squadron of chasseurs at Ben Azar besides artillery. They should be here befort morning.”

“Captain Arnaud gave his parole,” Farquhar observed dispassionately. “Might one ask why you did not accompany him?” , Destinn shrugged his shoulders, smiling. Farquhar lurched forward. He stood for a moment within arm’s length, swaying on his heels. When he spoke it was in an undertone and in English. “We are fellow countrymen, Colonel Destinn,” he said. “Whatever else has happened or may happen, we have fought together shoulder to shoulder. I ask a favor of you. Make it possible for me to keep my promise to these poor fellows.” “Is that in my power?” was the quiet return. “You cannot shoot a hundred men. You cannot send the last remnant of your regiment to the penal battalions. You need a ringleader and one exemplary punishment. I am the ringleader—” “It matters very little to me,” he said. “I consent to your conditions. D is for you to manage your men as best you can.” “Of that you need have no fear.” “You speak with authority. What vagabond gang did you lead in Whitechapel, my countryman?” Again the faint, irrepressible note of uneasiness quivered beneath the irony. Farquhar laughed. “The finest gang of daredevils in the world, my colonel,” he said. Then he motioned to the two men on Destinn’s either hand. “Colonel Destinn has given me his word,” he said briefly. “You have nothing more to fear. Bivouac as best you can. We shall remain here till the morning.” He turned from them and passed the hundred dim figures of men leaning weary and motionless on their rifles. They did not look at him or seem to notice him. He saw Goetz standing, a slender, delicate figure, outlined against an unearthly background of silvery hills. The German was smoking placidly, almost insolently.

After thia, will Colonel Destinn have the nerve to order Richard executed for leading a mutiny?

(TO BE

PROVERBS AND PHRASES

It is part of the cure to wish to bo cured.—Seneca. The more a man denies himself, the more he shall receive from heaven. — Hoirce. We have been born to associate with our fellowmen, and to join in community with the human race.— Cicero. It does not matter a feather whether a man be supported by patron or client, if he himself wants courage.— Plautus. In life it Is difficult to say who do the most mischief, enemies with the worst Intentions or friends with the best. —Bulwer Lytton. Hostess, clap to the doors; watch tonight, pray tomorrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?—Henry IV.

WORTH REMEMBERING

Few men are both rich and generous: fewer are both rich and humble. —Cardinal Manning. It is not the greatness of a man’s means that makes him Independent, so much as the smallness of his wants. —Cobbett. * / . , We see how much a man has, and therefore we envy him; did we see how little he enjoys, we should rather pity him. —Seed. Of all the riches that we hug, of all the pleasures we enjoy, we carry no more out of this world than out of a dream. —Bonnell. The greatest luxury of riches is that they enable you to escape so much good advice. The rich are always advising the poor, but the poor seldom venture to return the compliment.— Sir Arthur Helps.

SAYINGS OF A SAGE

A grocer may smile when a customer takes an apple, but it’s diplomacy; he doesn’t have his heart in it. It is an old saying that a man is as old as he feels. And you may depend upon it that a man feels as old as he is. People are very Inquisitive;_ stilly they manage to hide a good deal from each other. A fire breaks out in our community every few days from which I had not detected any smoke. Occasionally a man regarded as a fool is quite successful, and has a good business or a good job, and you wonder how he did it. Nothing is easier, however, than to be mistaken in men. —Ed Howe in the Sunday Magazine.

AND SO IT IS

Never make fun of a boy who wears curls unless he is proud of them. He who says misfortune drove him to drink has the cart before the horse. Of course matches are made in heaven; they’re not needed in the other place. Poverty isn’t the only thing coming In at the door that makes love fly out of the window. Just as a man boasts that he hasn’t a relative in the world his wife’s relatives all pile in on him.

STAGE SETTINGS

When it comes to drawing the porous plaster has it on the average actor. Many a young man who thinks he is stagestruck Is merely soubrette struck. The man who always occupies a front seat at a burlesque show nearly always takes a back seat at church —when he happens to wander into one by mistake.

ACTIVITIES OF WOMEN

The Grand Duchess Marie Adelaide of Luxemburg attends all functions in full state and also insists on a large escort at all times, though the army of her country numbers Only 200 men. The czar’s second daughter, the sev-enteen-year-old Grand Duchess Tar tiana, is one of the richest heiresses in the world. When she was one week old the czar placed $5,000,000 to her credit. 7

SAYINGS OF A SPINSTER

If marriage is a failure, old man Solomon's wisdom didn’t count for much. A man never realizes his true value until he is sued for breach of promise. The self-conceit of a grass widow reminds us of a squeaking shoe. Women are wingless angels and mea are hornless devfls,

WHEN SUN WAS WORSHIPED

Baalbec, Now in Ruins, Was the Center of Religion That Once Had Many Adherents. Baalbec Is the city of the sun. Here the sun god was worshiped thousands of years ago, here the ruins of his great temple still stand, monstrous and majestic, a wonder and a mystery to another age and another race. Here, too, the sun today still seems to smile with particular warmth and fervor, as though regarding his faithful capital now that his place In the hierarchy of deities is gone. In the ruins of Baalbec you can trace the rise and fall of almost every creed that the near East, rich in creeds, has known. The very stones still lie about that were raised by the worshipers of Baal, whom the Israelites overthrew. Then came the Greeks and the Romans, with temples to Apollo and Jupiter, Bacchus and Venus. The warlike Arabs left their mark in a circle of fortifications, temples to a religion of the sword. Today the Turk holds dominion, and his modern mosques raise their frail domed heads, like the transient structures of children, beside the mighty monuments of the past.’ ’ In plain terms of the guidebooks, Baalbec is a little Turkish village of 5,000 people situated near some of the most remarkable ruins on earth. So there are two Baalbecs —the city of yesterday and the city of today. Modern Baalbec has .its mosques and Its churches and Its schools, sends its re-

cruits to the sultan’s armies, and makes picnics to the temple of Bacchus, where its young men and maidens hold hands in the twilight. Ancient Baalbec is a confused colossus, a heap of mighty blocks of cunningly carved stone, earthquake tossed and time eaten, piled haphazard and buried in sand, with here and there some frieze, some wall, some shrine or altar still raising its head through the tide of destruction to hold aloft the symbol of the sun or the Roman eagle. The old stones have taken on a peculiarly rich and golden color with the years. Fragments that archeologists unearth from underground are pale and colorless, but the sunlight of centuries has touched what it could reach with its own sunset hues. Few sights are so beautiful as Baalbec on a clear spring evening. The live great columns of the sun rear their slender height heavenward like the trunks of giant palms. The tumbled temple stones glow golden In the level rays, while below stretches the tender green of young grain, the delicate bloom of wide orchards. The rock of the columns crumbles with the passing of ages, but the bloom of growing life that blights at a frosty breath returns ever fresh and new, spring after spring, eternally.

Sculptor's Prophecy.

Suddenly, in the midst of his work, Arnold Ronnebeck, who was designing the decorations for municipal bridges In Berlin, was overwhelmed by a strange and unaccountable feeling of sadness. It was not like a mood, but rather like a deep shadow cast over him and his w’ork. He was under contract to do the work, but he could not keep at it. Finally he yielded to what was for him a mysterious impulse, and let his feelings have their way with him. No one was more astonished than he when he had finished, roughly but with simple power, a figure of the crucified Christ and the mourning women. He could not explain it. He wrote to a friend: “I felt I had to do it. I could find no other symbol to express my sense of tragedy. But as soon as it was done I felt relief, and I am working again.” Did the war fling the shadow of the cross over the sensitive soul of the artist, and was his mood born of the inner knowledge that there was tol be another crucifixion, and that again throughout the world there would be women mourning at the foot of the cross upon w’hich humanity was.bleeding?—Christian Herald.

Great Names Die Out

It Is curious how rarely our military and naval supermen leave direct posterity in the male line. In the three cases of Lord Roberts, Lord Wolseley and Lord Kitchener the succession has passed out of the usual direct male line. Lord Nelson was succeeded by his brother, for whom in fact the earldom was created in recognition of the hero’s last and greatest exploit. Lord How’e, victor of “Glorious First of June,” left no son, and the barony of Howe descended to his daughter. The title conferred on Lord Strathnairn is extinct, and there is no longer a Lord Clyde. Lord Anson, the great sailor, who girdled the world, left no children, and the title was recreated for his great-nephew. —London Chronicle.

Sugar Cane in Arizona.

Sugar cane i« being raised in Arizona for the first tlmp to any extent. Some 1,200 acres of the Salt River valley are under cultivation, and next season this acreage will be increased to 5,000. This innovation is predicted to be the beginning of an extensive industry, as the valley lands of both Arizona and New Mexico are considered well suited for the growth of cane, and the higher lands can also be cultivated where irrigation may be had.

Deer-Hunting Accident

Figures of the United States bureau of biological survey for the period of 1908-1912, Inclusive, show that there were 62 deer-hunting accidents in states that had no buck law, and only 11 in those that had.

NEED OF SYMPATHY

MATTER THAT MAKES FOR HAPPINESS IN THE HOME. Wife Who Is Able to Make Her Husband Talk on Favorite Topic Can Always Be Sure of Holding , His Interest * One of the greatest causes of unhappiness in married life is the lack of Interest in each other's doings after the irrevocable step has been taken and the newness of being always together has worn off, remarks the Detroit News-Tribune.

Then It is that unless the wife makes the efforts to please that she did in the courting days the husband will go elsewhere for amusement. Yet he is only following the natural instinct of humanity in seeking for sympathetic companionship; the fault is partly hers. A man to be won and kept must first be attracted and then made to feel that he has a sympathy which draws him out and makes him talk about what interests him most. It Is not enough to make him listen w’hile he is being talked to. For a time that will hold him, but he will tire of always being a listener, of always giving his sympathy and receiving none. To hold a man, a woman must understand and study him, she must not: be exacting, for to expect too much only makes him feel that he wants to give less.

A man usually goes out into the world young; he leads a separate existence at an age when his sister is still surrounded by her home circle. When his work is done he has only to think, “What shall I do today that will give me the most pleasure?” Can anyone wonder that many years of Indulgence in this, coupled with a larger command of money than their sisters, should make men more selfish —should end by fixing the habit of thinking of their own pleasure so firmly in their minds that it is practically ineradicable? It may be overpowered for a time by a strong affection and all the counter influences of courtship and early 1 matrimony; but later, when these have ceased to be novelties and a m,an settles down to married life, the old habit reasserts itself. A woman, on the contrary, is trained in a different school. When her brother is out in the world earning his living, or, at any rate, living a separate existence, she is usually at home with other members of the household, when she has always to consider when any plans or engagements, however trivial, have to be made. Having thus to defer to the .wishes of her relations, she is duly trained In habits of yielding to others and of unselfishly giving up her will , and pleasure to them. So he In his bachelor days is duly trained to selfishness; she in her spinsterhood is equally brought up to unselfishness.

Monkey Ruled Steamboat.

This is the story of a monkey (Cercopithecidae, habitat Albany, N. Y.) that wanted to captain a ship—and did, for a little while, the New York World states. When the good ship Berkshire of the Hudson river night line, left Albany recently this particular anthropodean quadrumanous mammal passengers called him worse names than that —got loose from his keeper and started the merriest little party the Berkshire has seen in all her voyaging days. The first thing he did w r as to seize four umbrellas from passengers and do a wild dance on the deck. Then he —or she, as the case may be —went down to the engine room and threw coal at the engineer and firemen, who retreated. He was chased to the top deck, whence he jumped into the river. A disciple of Professor Garner might have translated the monkey’s last cry as “Death before surrender!” Passengers on the Berkshire told the story. H. F. Moss, general traffic manager of the line, said an animal dealer was bringing three or four monkeys to this city and one of them escaped.

Photography In Air Raids.

Photography, of course, is playing an ever-increasing part in the aerial reconnoissance. It is now one of the prime means of ascertaining the accuracy with which bomb dropping is attended. Contrary to the general idea, when a place is to be bombarded the process does not consist merely of a few plucky airmen piloting their machines to the neighborhood and taking big risks to try to get in a lucky shot before returning. The Are that follows the dropping of each bomb is photographed by aircraft from above, so that a permanent record is made concerning the places actually damaged. Nothing is left to guesswork.— H. Massac Buist in London Post.

Determined Gloom.

“You must admit that there has been little complaint about the summer climate.” “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Mr. Growche??® , "“t don’t think so much of a summer that keeps you thinking about coal bills and ice bills both at once.”

Not Complaining.

“So you have to wear your boy Josh’s old clothes?” “Yep,” replied Farmer Corntossel. “We can’t afford tp waste ’em. And there’s something tb be thankful for when I think of what mother would look like if Josh had been a daugta ter Instead of a son."