Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 190, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 August 1916 — The Red Mirage [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Red Mirage

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers

By I. A. R. WYLIE

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

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-

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.

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

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

“Ready, Present, Fire!”