Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 194, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 August 1916 — Page 2

The Red Mirage

A Story of the French Legion in

SYNOPSIS. Sylvia Otnney, her lover, Richard Farquhar, finds, has fallen in love with Captain Arnaud of the Foreign Leglort. Farquhar forces Sower to have Preston s i O U'a returned to him. Sower forces Farquhar to resign his commission. 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 and 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 Lowe, 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. Gabrielle, aiding Farquhar, who is under punishment, is mistaken by him in 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 in an effort to save her son. While on a march Farquhar saves Destinn s life. Arnaud brings relief to the column attacked by Arabs. Farquhar is tried for mutiny..

Suppose that you had saved the life of another and that he realized his obligation, and suppose that he was given the opportunity of saving your life and refused to do so—could you die serenely, with faith in the Justice and goodness of God?

CHAPTER XlX—Continued. “Legionary, you are charged on your own confession. Do you still insist that you were the sole instigator and leader of the mutiny?” “Yes, my colonel.” “You have no statement to make, no explanation to offer?” “None.” Colonel Destinn leaned forward on his elbow. And suddenly it seemed to the man beside him that he had ceased to interrogate—that he was pleading with a smothered passionate energy. “Captain Arnaud, you were with me. You were the sole survivor of my staff. Have you anything to say for this man?*’ There was a brief silence. It seemed as though Arnaud had not heard He was still staring in front of him, and a full minute passed before he lifted his eyes slowly, reluctantly to Destinn’s face. “I?” And then suddenly he half arose, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I—l—have—” He stopped. His blank gaze bad passed on. It rested on the prisoner’s gaunt untroubled features and lit up with a flame of awakened recollection. He relapsed. “No, I have nothing to say,” he said slowly and distinctly. It seemed that the heat became denser, more stifling. There was no sound but the soft maddening buzz of the flies in the circle of sunshine. Colonel Destinn drew himself up stiffly. “Then I have no option but to pass the highest sentence on you. Legionary,” he said. “There is only one mitigation which lies in my power. I know that you are a brave man —you shall die as one. You will be shotunbound —at daybreak—by your comrades.”

“I thank you. Colonel Destinn.” The major looked up shyly. Throughout he had been conscious of something unseen passing between these two men; he saw now that they gazed at each other unflinchingly with that intensity which seeks below the surface for the inexplicable. The sergeant came forward and touched the condemned man on the shoulder. He turned at once with a little whimsical shrug of apology, bowed ceremoniously to the whole court, and to his own horror the major realized that he had returned the salute. He glanced anxiously around him, and recognized on the faces of his companions the same uncertainty and bewilderment Destinn looked at no one.

Richard Nameless was led out into the sunshine. With his passing the spirit of tension passed also; there returned the old torpor, touched with the petulant irritation of exhausted nerves that have been too highly strung. Colonel Destlnn picked up his kepi and, without greeting, strode out of the courthouse. The rest followed. But as they reached the door they hesitated. Someone had laughed. It was do usual sound; in the heavy stillness it rang shrill and unnatural. They turned and saw that Desire Arnaud had not moved. He sat at the table with his bands spread out before him and laughed. The major shrugged his shoulders. *1 have seen it coming,” he said regretfully. “I have seen it coming a long time. Ah, this terrible country—this terrible, beautiful country! It is pitiable—and his poor wife! Well, I shall give our friend, the doctor, a hint He will know better—” He too went out, but the laughter followed him. It drifted out on to the courtyard, and rose with the stifling waves of heat to the windows of the whitewashed room where Colonel Destlnn aat with his, forehead pressed eg* Ins*' his clenched hands, listening.

By I. A. R. WYLIE

lA4I rtehta roMrrttL—Tha M mrill CoA.

It stopped at last, abruptly, tragically, and Destinn lifted bls head as though released from a trance. A little group of men in white drill uniforms were crossing the courtyard. They were carrying something between them —something that fought and struggled. Colonel Destlnn’s eyes were fixed on the broad red line which ran from north to south, past carefully marked towns and villages, throng]) white spaces of open plain, skirting broad waterways and low-ridged mountains, to the immense yellow bank where it ended abruptly, like some proud thought that had come to nothing. Colonel Destinn bent lower, bls brows contracted In Impatient bitterness. With a red pencil he struck off an inch of the great line and marked it with a cross. The place of the seven hundred dead.

The door opened again. He did not hear it. His knuckles were pressed against his forehead, as though crushing back an Intolerable recollection. Only as he was addressed’"by name he started and glanced back over his shoulder.

“I must apologize, Colonel Destinn. I ventured to come in unannounced. The sentry appears to regard me as one of the family with the right to come and go as I please.” “You have earned the privilege. Pray be seated.” The visitor came slowly, haltingly across the room. He came to the table, but did not accept the proffered chair. He stood in an attitude of listless exhaustion, his hands clasped on the heavy walking-stick, his face with its almost unearthly transparency half turned to the Inpouring sunshine. “I was In the Arab quarter last night, Colonel Destinn. Ali-Mahomed’s brother heads a fresh rising. There will be an attack from the north. The Arabs in the town are arming stealthily, but they will only move If there has been success outside.” Colonel Destinn nodded. “That is interesting. If your information is correct, we shall have further cause to be grateful to you. Mr. Lowe.” "It is probably one of the last services I shall be able to render, Colonel

“You Will Be Shot, Unbound, at Daybreak, by Your Comrades.”

Destlnn. I am retiring from the — service.” "France will be the loser.” Stephen Lowe did not speak for a moment. He was gazing fixedly and apparently Indifferently at the great map spread out on the table before him. “I wish to retire a rich man, Colonel Destlnn.” Destlnn looked up into the keen significant eyes. “You are very persistent Mr. Lowe,” he said. Stephen Lowe leaned forward; his frail body emanated a sudden power and the knowledge of power. “I do not know. My offer is not the old offer, Colonel Destlnn. It’s not money. As a French officer and a naturalized Frenchman, you never can offer your invention to another nation.” —. “There is a man who will Inherit it —my son." “Tomorrow you may have no son.” Destinn made a single gesture —the instinctive, upward movement of a man seeking to protect the face from a sudden blow. “My son Is In England; he Is with his regiment.” “If you had accepted my second offer you would know that he resigned his commission over ago. He did so at Sower’s request—to save your honor.” He waited a moment, studying the livid immobile features with a pitying interest The iron mask was

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENSSELAER, INI>.

down. It was a curious, terrible thing to see this man, who had brazened out death and every law of humanity, reel with the shaking foundations of his secret temple, "You gave your son his life,” Lowe went on quietly. “You have ruined it. In a few hours it may finally be taken from him. It lies in your power to give him back that life and the conditions which make It worth the living. Have you not — aa I have—some sense of atonement?" “Atonement —you ?” Lowe bowed his bead in grave deprecation.

"I am a blackmailing scoundrel, and quite ruthless —as you have been and are. '" But I understand atonement. Moreover, you know that I am not lying—and that what I promise to do I will do.” Colonel Destinn turned and crossed the room. Lowe warted composedly, without triumph. He saw Destinn take a key from the inner pocket of his dolman and insert it in the lock of the small iron safe let into the wall. He came back a moment later with a sheaf of transparent paper in his hand. He swayed slightly. “These are—the plans.” Lowe made a little movement of assurance.

“Consider! A friendly power—” Destinn laughed under his breath. Very deliberately he tore the delicate paper across and across. “Not that.” he said under his breath, “not that. My son—would not desire that” There was a silence. Stephen Lowe glanced curiously and a little bitterly at the white shreds fluttering through the sunlight and then for the last time at the peaceful face of the man beside him. “You may be right,” he said. “It is quite possible that you are right. But I am not made like that Colonel Destinn." He went out, closing the door softly after him.

CHAPTER XX. Fate Decides. Destiny had decreed that Desire Arnaud should die. He wasTn his room now, dying quietly and unostentatiously, “from the brain downward,” as the doctor had explained to Madame Arnaud with extreme gentleness, and had been deeply moved by the manner of its reception. She had not cried or fainted. She had looked at him with her wnrm brown eyes, and had given him her band with a quiet dignity. “It is the will of God, doctor.” He had admifrad her Immensely, and she had admired herself. “The will of God!” It was beautiful and simple, and it was wonderful to find that in spite of modern skepticism all things work out for the best for those who surrender themselves to the unseen guidance. And now this woman was here —this woman in the pale gray dress, with the brown hair and small dead-white face, out of which the eyes burned with a fierce consuming energy and purpose. “Mrs. Farquhar lies stricken with total paralysis,” Gabrielle Smith said. “She cannot speak to me, but I can read her eyes. She is asking for her son. Madame Arnaud, you have influence with Colonel Destinn. You can set Richard Farquhar free. You can atone.” “Atone!” It seemed incredible, ridiculous. It was tactless. Above all, it brought storm into her peace. Yet she remained gentle—very calm. ’“You ask me to intervene at a strange moment for a strange cause, Miss Smith,” she said. “My husband is dying.” “And the man who saved him?”

Sylvia glanced toward the curtained doorway and laid her finger gently to her lips. “Hush, you must not talk so loud. My husband is sleeping. And then— I am sorry—l can do nothing. Should I be justified in trying? Your—feeling blinds you, Miss Smith. I cannot, even for the memory of a girlhood’s friendship. take up arms —risk perhaps humiliation and misunderstanding for a man who sold his country for a woman.” “Mr. Preston is in Sidl-bel-Abbes,” was the answer. “Xfy „Preston knows that Richard chose the appearance of dishonor to save your husband—your happiness, Madame Arnaud.” Sylvia recoiled the step she had taken. Her hands were pressed to her face.

“If that were true —” But she did not ask a question. She knew that it was true. It was pitiable —terrible — beautiful. Her whble soul seemed to expand beneath its beauty. There had been no “other woman” in his life—onjy the one—Sylvia Arnaud, for whom he had sacrificed his honor, his name, his place. And now it was for her to act and to use her power nobly—to regain the ground lost on that fatal evening—to win back the holy place in his life. Suddenly she held out her hands. “Gabrielle, forgive me!” she said gently, and there were tears gathering on her long lashes. “I must have seemed hard —wicked. I did not understand. I had not your love—or the faith that love gives. I saw only dishonor —and sometimes we who stand outside the stress of life judge very harshly.” “But you knew him,” was the stern reproach. * ' “I was a child, Gabrielle. Can't you understand? Will you, too, judge harshly?”

But will Sylvia plead for the* life of Richard If she learns that Colonel Destinn will expect her to sacrifice her honor to him for the sake of the condemned man?

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

STAR PLAYERS SURPASS 1915 PERFORMANCE

Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, Jimmy Bheckard, Artie Hoffman, Harry _£teinfeldt and Frank Chance were idols on the West side in the pennant winning days, but it is doubtful if they commanded more admiration than Cy Williams, Frank Schulte, Heinie Zimmerman, Jimmy Archer and Vic Saier are getting at present on the North side from the Cub fans, writes Oscar Relchow in Chicago Daily News. These men have won the respect of the followers through their earnest efforts and brilliant,playing and richly deserve what they are getting in the way of applause and-encouragement. Fans were somewhat worried before the opening of the season whether Zimmerman, Williams, Saier, Schulte and Archer would play up to their standard for Manager Tinker. They have learned since that these star play-

BIG IMPROVEMENT OF YANKS

Mighty Bat of John Franklin Baker Great Factor in Winning Games for New York Team. John Franklin Baker, the home-run artist, did not live up to his reputation as a slugger in the early games in which the Yankees participated.

J. Franklin Baker.

Lately, however, the noted walloper has been hitting the ball with his accustomed vigor. The Yankees have shown a big improvement with Baker in the ranks and his mighty bat is bound to be a great factor In winning games for them.

PLAY AFTER THREE ARE OUT

Batter Hit Home Run, With Bases - Full, After Side Had Been Retired —Umpire Asleep. They must play a lively wideawake sort of game in the Ohio State. In a recent Frankfort-Maysville game, after three men were out a batter hit a homer with the bases full. After all four men had crossed the plate somebody aroused enough from his nap to acquaint the sleepy umpire and play'ers that It was against the rules of the. game to require four outs, so the umpire said the runs didn t count.

PITCHER WORKS IN “MOVIES”

Rather Than Join Vancouver Team He Secures Engagement With a Moving Picture Concern. Ralph Works, who used to pitch for the Detroit Tigers, does not have to play ball in order to earn a living. He was released by the Los Angeles club the other day and ordered to report to the Vancouver club. But hedtd not follow instructions. He just breezed up to Santa Barbara and joined a moving picture company at a salary which he. claims is fatter than any he ever received as a diamond performer.

IDOLS OF CHICAGO FANS.

ers are surpassing then 1915 performance in every respect and tt has been their combined assiduous efforts that have kept the club in a position to battle for a first division place. It has been years since the Cub fans have looked at such playing as Williams, Schulte, Saier and Zimmerman have been supplying to date. From close observation one is almost compelled to say that the task of keeping the Cubs in the race will fall upon Zimmerman, Williams, Schulte and Saier. Their batting is the big point. If they can keep it up and the twirlers hold up their end the Cubs are certain to be on top or near at every stage of the skirmish. What they have accomplished to date is sufficient proof of that, and it is doubtful if four men can be found in the National league to equal the work they are doing.

DIAMOND NOTES

Seven National league managers would like to see President Wilson order the Phils to Mexico. Weather man has hurt the big leagues more this season than the Federal league man did last year. * * * Charles Ebbets graciously allows all soldiers in military uniform the courtesy of Ebbets field without paying. ♦ ♦ ♦ Here’s what a baseball owner safd -the other day: “I would pay more attention to baseball, if it wasn’t for golf.” ♦ ♦ ♦ Connie Mack owns no diploma, but he makes 15 or 20 highly educated university youths jump through his fingers. Oh, yes, Hans Wagner is an old man. All of the guides tell you that, but you would never secure such an impression by his work in the field. » » * . . To the great diappointment of every American league member, Tyrus R. Cobb is not a member of the National Guard of Georgia. Somebody ■will swear out a warran. for those Cub pitchers pretty soon on a charge of vagrancy, since they have no visible support. « « • No; the leading professions won’t lie overcrowded with new college graduates as long as Connie Mack is trying to build a team. * * • Perhaps it was just common sense that enabled the Cleveland club to land Fred Beebe at the time they needed him so much. * * • Joe Jackson has received a letter from a man signing himself “A Fan” and Inclosing three hairpins, Joe’s chief omen of good. luck. * * * If the Giants do not win the pennant, McGraw will blame it on the schedule makers, who Tequlre them to play 77 games at the Polo grounds. * • * It is understood that several big league managers have written to Secretary Baker at Washington, asserting that they could tip off a number of “soldiers” to him. The Pirates have Honus Wagner, the king of pastlmers; Max Carey, the king of base stealers, and Al Mamaux. crown prince among pitchers. But it’s a tough year on royalty. «. • • In stating that his team Is as good as it was last year, Manager Pat Moran of the Phillies hasn’t anything on Connie Mack/ The Athletics also are as good as they were last year.

TWO STRICT MANAGERS

Castigations Given Players Are Like Father’s Reproofs. Nothing They Resent So Much aa Newspaper Criticism of Boys Playing for Them—Will Not Tolerate Interference. McGraw, manager of the New York National league baseball club, is very strict with his players, but they all swear by him, for they know that he is “on the level” with them. The same thing is true of McGraw’s old side partner, Hughie Jennings. They may “call” their players unmercifully, in the heat of a diamond battle for some bad mistake, but such castigations are like a father’s reproofs to his sons, and bear no ill will. Let someone else offer criticism, and these two managers will fight back just like a parent would were his sons attacked. There is nothing they resent so deeply as newspaper criticism of their players. They assume that they can conduct their own baseball households without outside Interference, and as they are the parties responsible for the showing of the teams, they propose to do it. Both are very hotheaded, and for this reason their seats on the bench are isolated and shiny —the former condition due to discretion on the part of the players, and the latter to nervous hitching about, incited by the managerial view of various plays. If some unlucky wight out on the diamond happens to err, a colleague roosting close to the manager is likely to be the

Manager John McGraw.

recipient of a spontaneous and unthinking broadside for something not his fault, simply because the manager’s mind must be freed. The actual offender generally escapes, because so many things happen before he gets back to the bench that his slip is forgotten. . McGraw strives eternally to drill his baseball knowledge Into the brains of his players. The thing he most abhors is a “bonehead” play. It is for such

Manager Hugh Jennings.

that he chides his Giants, not for the sort qf errors that go into the box scores. If his team should play orthodox baseball, and yet lose the entire 154 games of a schedule, he would not whimper. But if a single game is lost through mental Inability to grasp a situation, he raves. He cannot stand that. —Popular Magazine.

RESENTS JOSHING ABOUT AGE

Speaker Says Doesn’t Matter If Hair ( |» Getting Gray, So Long as He Continues at Top Speed. Tris Speaker resents being joshed about his age. He says that just so lonp as he continues to go at top speed it really does not matter how much the fans “ride” him because his hair is gray, but that it hurts when he is going bad. Speaker refuses to divulge his exact age, but declares thaF he has been gray sinae he was seventeen years of age, and that he is not yet thirty. Few fans will believe that Tris is as young as he would like to have people believe, but, after all, what does it matter? He is playing the greatest game of his career, and until he starts to slip the fans in Cleveland will not worry about his gray hair.