Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 200, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 August 1916 — Page 2

The Red Mirage

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers

( CHAPTER XXll—Continued. — 2l— came out of the shadows to the corporal’s side. “There must be no struggle,” he said. “It would be quite useless, and we must keep Harding out of this.” “Yes, of course.” "You said I had friends here. Who?” “An Englishman for one, who calls himself Preston.” “What does he know?” “Everything—more than you do, Don Quixote. But wisdom Invariably comes too late in this world. Hush!” With a roar of laughter the song came to an end, and in the brief lull that followed the two men listened intently. Without warning Goetz 'wrenched open the door. By the dim light of the lantern falling Into the now darkened passage they saw the body of a man lying face downward on the stone. He still breathed. Beyond him, leaning against the wall, •was the German doctor. His head was thrown back; they saw his sac white mask, made whiter by the dark line of blood trickling from the halfopen mouth. His eyes shone to meet them with a boyish triumph. “He wanted to go in—l knew —we fought and I managed to stun him — the road is clear, Englishman;” “Good God, do you think we are going to leave you there?" “He got at me with his bayonet. It’s •all over. Go —don’t make it all —in vain.” Parquhar caught the cold fast-weak-ening hand in his. Danger was forgotten in grief and self-reproach. “Must I bring death and destruction to you also?” The fading eyes brightened. “This is not death —not destruction. It was my chance —to make good—” IHe faltered and staggered to his knees. “Goetz von Berllchingen—I—I have known always—your highness—greet our fatherland —” He made a last effort to draw himself up to the salute and fell quietly forward. “You will forget what you have heard.” Goetz said simply. “The road Is clear. We must not make the sacrifice a useless one. Come!” “The sentries —” “The sentries are the men you saved. The sentries are blind tonight.”

She came oat of the darkness, a slight frail figure In the big cloak, her hands outstretched. He caught them and kissed them, and then the white grave face which she lifted to him with the dignity of a great and single passion. “You had my message, Gabrielle?” “Yes.” “You understood?” “Everything.” The light which shone in her eyes dazzled him. It was supreme happiness, supreme sorrow. “If there Is a new life waiting for me over there you will come to me. you will help me to live It—as you have helped me to live in the past—" “I shall be always with you, Richard. But you must not think of me now; think of your life —for my sake.” An Arab servant brought up the two hoi*es. She drew back instantly, and Farquhar swung himself into the saddle. Preston came up to him and pressed his band for a last time. “Our friend Goetz here will explain everything that has happened. You will ride straight to Les Imberts. It is thirty-two kilometers —you should be there before daybreak. Let your horses go. There is a train starting for the north at five o’clock. I shall be on it. We meet at Oran. I shall have passports for two Englishmen—Richard Farquhar and John Eyres. You will remember? Now off with you—and Godspeed!” Goetz had already ridden out of the grove. Still Farquhar lingered. Gabrielle had come forward and placed something hard, metallic, in his outstretched hand. “It is your one gift to me—your revolver,” she said. “It Is loaded. May it guard you*well, Richard.” For a fleeting second he looked down at her. Swifter than a dream he relived his life as he saw it mirrored among the shadows in her eyes. “You have saved me twice,” he said. “You will savet me again. God keep ns for each other.”' He drove Lis heels in his horse’B flanks and a moment later was galloping at Goetz’s side across the plain.

CHAPTER XXIII. Kismet. In the fall blaze of the afternoon Colonel Destlnn had ridden out of Sldl-bel-Abbes. He had taken three mounted legionaries with him, and they bad followed * sullenly silent in the low cloud of yellow dust which rolled baek from his horse’s hoofs. It was now close on midnight. They left the smooth, white military road behind them and galloped out Into the waste—faster and faster — memory hot at his side, Its merciless fcanda upon the reins. The kilometers past * Vineyard and huddled villages lay far behind in the aeatam shadow. There was again a

By I.A R. WYLIE

(AH right* reserved. The Bobbs- Merrill Co.)

grim unconquered desolation of rock and stone and yellow ever-changing hills. He drew rein at last, moved by a curious pity for the panting quivering animal beneath him. The three men were outdistanced. He was alone, his haggard haunted face lifted for an instant to the now darkened sky. Out of the black unlit waste a horseman raqed toward him. “Who goes there?” “Arabs —Arabs—two thousand —you are cut off —Sidl-bel-Abbes —attacked at daybreak—” The reeling horse stumbled and pitched its rider on to the stones. The goum lay motionless. Colonel Destinn turned in his saddle. The three legionaries . were already behind him. Their heads were lowered. There was for a moment no sound but that from the snorting, winded horses. Then from tb£ southwest, borne on a gust of the fitful storm, there came a monotonous, familiar cry—“ll La Ilaha ilia Allahu!” They watched him stupidly as he turned his horse and rode forward Into the mysterious half-light which in the darkest hour hovers over the great African wastes. Silently they rode after him. Colonel Destinn did not hear them. He was listening to the walling monotonous chant, beyond the darkness. As yet he could see nothing, but he knew with whom he had to deal. Lowe had spoken the truth. The tribes had risen. And he had Said, “Tomorrow you may have no son.” That also would be true. The twenty-five years of exile nad been sacrificed to an unknown life perhaps already extinguished. “La Ilaha ilia ’llahu!” He straightened in his saddle. The high-pitched voices were now close at hand—his trained ear measured at most a couple of hundred yards. And the man who had long since ceased to believe to God or devil prayed—- “ God, make it not in vain!” Then he shook the tired beast into a gallop. The flying hoofs scarcely added a sound to the dull thunder of the Arab advance. Then he was on them—through them, with the horde

“Get up behind me! Quick!” He obeyed. At the terse imperative command his brain had cleared. He “had recognized Goetz In the soldier now galloping beside him. He glanced back over his shoulder. The Arabs were in sight He caught the flash of steel and the waving of pennons above the dark line of dust The air quivr ered with their hoarse triumphant shouts. They were gaining. It was at that moment that the man-riding before him swayed and suddenly fall

With Strips of His Linen Shirt He Plugged the Ragged Wound.

of shouting Arabs at his heels. He bent low in the saddle. And he gained. There had been a diversion. The three legionaries had followed him, and they had been mown down almost without resistance. This Destinn did not know. There was a narrow passage between the bowlders —room for a couple of horsemen abreast, but no more. If he could reach them there would be another hundred yards gained—perhaps safety. Suddenly he felt the animal beneath him reel in her stride. He dragged her up—another ten yards and she pitched forward, rolled over qnd lay still. He swung free as she fell, and raced on through the soft clogging sand. But his own strength was gone. This was the end. He smiled grimly to himself. “If this be the expiation—O God!” A shout reached him. As the dark of his pursuers broke out from the lingering shadows he turned. raced toward him from the rocks. He saw them through the cnist—new enemies—and took aim and fired with an unshaken nerve. As he saw that neither shot had told he cursed irritably. The next moment the foremost rider reached him and swung round in a cloud of dust

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

back limp Into his arms. Then D<j* tinn understood. One shot at least had told. Exerting all the powers of a brilliant horsemanship/ he held on tq the unconscious man and forced the straining mare to an increased effort. Side by side the two horses burst into the narrow passage between the rocks. Destinn bent forward. “We’ve no chance like this —warn Sidi-bel-Abbes —I shall , try to take cover—Hod help you!” Goetz nodded without answering and dashed "M. At the end of the cutting Destinn drew rein and slipped to the ground. There he fell, face downward. The blood drummed in his ears. It filled his brain, thundering down every other sound. A dozen Arabs swept through the gully, but he neither heard nor saw them. When he at last lifted himself upon his elbow the pursuit had long since rolled away in the distance. The dawn had broken. He glanced down at the man lying motionless beside him. His heavy brows contracted over eyes in which there had dawned a sudden emotion, a startled Incredulity, changing a moment later to a bitterly contemplative amusement. He bent over the dark unconscious face. The fiery eyes that time after time had defied his with their brilliant recklessness were closed, the black brows smoothed out into an untroubled serenity. Yet the expression was as he remembered it. * In the far distance, beyond his range of vision, a sudden sharp rattle of artillery broke the silence. His eyes flickered with a faint triumph. Sidi-bel-Abbes had not been taken unawares. Perhaps that daredevil German had arrived in time.

He laid a shaking hand on the quiet breast. The man still breathed. It was like an answer —an acceptance. He opened the tunic with rapid skillful fingers. The roar of battle was now close at hand. It rolled toward toe narrow barrier of rock in a cloud of rising dust, from which flashed an intermittent lightning. Colonel Destinn paid no heed. He had traced the course of his bullet. It was lodged an inch above the heart, but its force had been checked by an old tattered letter case, ■which he tossed on one side. With strips of his linen shirt he plugged the ragged-looking wound and bandaged 1L The whole thing was the work of a few minutes. Death swept down upon them both, but this man was not to die through him. He had lifted the unconscious head upon one arm; his eyes passed for an instant to the tattered letter ease and rested there. It had fallen open. Moved by he knew not what impulse he touched It tremblingly. A few dried and faded rose leaves, a letter, yellow with age, singed and pierced by his own bullet. Suddenly it grew very still about him. The crash of battle seemed to have sunk behind a deadening veil of silence. There was nothing left in the world but this man and himself. “Richard Farquhar!” The name escaped him without his knowledge. The legionary groaned and half turned, his unconscious hand clutching Destinn’s arm, and a minute later his eyes opened. They looked at each other steadily, and Destinn shrank back. This was the expiation—the punishment. There was to be no curse and no mercy, but the grim working out of a logical merciless law. x “You know now, sir?”

The weak voice sounded loud in his ears—louder than the thunder of the guns. He made a movement of stunned assent. “Yes; you are Richard—Richard Far quhar t my—” He broke off. He was looking in the eyes of his judge; he awaited sentence. Farquhar drew himself up with a desperate effort. “They’re—they’re coming on fast — aren’t they, sir? I haven’t much time. And I have a message—from my mother—who is waiting for you—in Sidi-bel-Abbes. She gave it me two years ago. Can you hear me, sir?” “Yes—yes.” “I was to tell you—that night when you left her —you won her. She has waited for you.” He dropped back, gasping, into Destinn’s arms. “Sir, I thank God—that at the last I have found you. I also have my message— I understand —and honor —and pity ydu.” Destinn bowed his head. A word of release had been spoken. He was free. The burden of years dropped from him. He was gazing down into the face of a child, in the frank clear eyes of a memory. He held the wounded man closer, shielding him with a stern tenderness.

“I too —thank God. Richard.” The cheering had grown louder. Within a hundred yards of the rocks where they meant to make, their last rally the harried shot-ridden ranks of Bedouin cavalry faltered. For an infinitesimal second of delay they seemed to be gathering to face the new attack: then the leaders broke away westward and with them, in a magnificent awe-inspiring semicircle, the whole beaten, panic-stricken host. It was Goetz von Berliohlngen who had led the victorious flank attack, sweeping the retreat far into the west. He had had no ,orders to do so and' only a small detachment of chasseurs at his command. But he had succeeded, and now be lay in the sand, coughing up blood from a bullet-riddled lung. General Meunier knelt beside him. He had no great interest in dying legionaries, but he wished to make sure of Colonel Destinn’s last whereabouts. “You say to the right—among the rocks there?” 1 “Yes ” “Then your flanking movement probably saved them. You are a daring fellow. If you had lived I should have had the pleasure of court-martialing you. As it is—have you any request to make?” (TO BB CONTINUEIX)

CHRISTY MATHEWSON BOSS OF CINCY REDS

Christy Mathewson has been appointed manager of the Reds to take the place of Charley Herzog, who goes to the New York Giants in exchange for the star right-handed twirler. Cincinnati, in addition to getting Matty, also will land Inflelder McKechnie and Outfielder Rousch, while the Giants will take Outfielder Killifer from the Reds. This is one of the biggest deals to be made this year and strengthens New York’s chances for the flag. Seventeen Years in League. Christy Mathewson has been pitching in the National league for 17 years. He joined the New York Giants in 1900 and since that time has been rated as one of the game’s greatest hurlers. Almost from the start he placed himself among the topnotchers, although it was not until 1905 that he gained worldwide fame by pitching in the world’s series games against the Philadelphia Americans. In that series he pitched three games without letting a runner score off him. That exhibition stamped him as one of the stars, for the Philadelphia club had famous sluggers in Hartzel, Lord, Davis, Seybold, Murphy and Monte and Lave Cross. Twirled Two No-Hlt Games. Before this wonderful exhibition of pitching Mathewson proved that he possessed the ability and stuff by pitching two no-hit games, the only two credited to him in his 17 years of work with the New York club. He twirled

Buck Herzog.

his first no-hit game a year after he joined the McGraw staff. On July 15, 1901, he blanked the St. Louis Cardinals without a rap. His next performance of this kind was against the Chicago Cubs on June 13, 1905, and it was that year in which he won the world’s title for McGraw by beating the American league champions. After 1905 Mathewson was ranked as the leading pitcher of the major leagues. Compared With Johnson. When Walter Johnson of the Washington club appeared on the scene with his brilliant twirling it was questioned whether Mathewson was his equal. Of course, American league partisans said not, but those who were impartial declared Matty was the king of them all. He was one of the best fielding pitchers as well as a fair hitter for a slabman. Matty was always a glutton for Work and it is said that without him McGraw would not have won the championships he did. This is probably true, for Mathewson led the National

New Manager of Cincinnati Team.

league in pitching for years, and especially in the seasons when the title went to the New York club. Would Not Jump to Feds. Mathewson did not jump to the Federal league when it was organized, although he had flattering offers to leap. He has always been a man of his word and one of the finest characters in the game. He has always been a sportsman and has gained his reputation on fiis ability to do things. He has never bought publicity and is modest, although many were inclined to think differently. His years of pitching are nearly over and he longs to be successful as a leader. He has been with McGraw for so many years that he understands his tactics and strategy to the letter and with a fairly good ball team ought to carry the Reds up in the race. He will probably do some of the flinging, although he has been bothered with a lame arm that has thrown him a bit out of gear.

MALL NOTES

The home team continues to dig in. * * Stallings still carries six outfielders, more than any other manager apparently needs. • • * It is said that Johnny Evers will not be with the Braves next year. Will the Cubs get him? * * * One re&son for Joe Birmingham’s failure at Toronto may have been too much newspaper management. • * * Bert Daniels of the Colonels, who broke his right leg in Kansas City, will not be able to play for two months. * * * Five defeats in a row Is the limit for the Phillies and they announced that it won’t happen again this season. * * * Cleveland critics accuse the Boston Red Sox pitchers of using the “bean ball” to drive the Indians away from the plate. * * * The Washington players are kicking about the White Sox diamond, which they say is the worst in any ball park in the big leagues. « * • Unlike most pitchers, Walter Johnson would have been a star ball player if he had been developed in either the infield or the outfield. • * * Frank Schulte, the “Last of the Cubs,” the lone survivor of a fallen host, is playing a greater game today than he has in many seasons. * * * Tyrus Cobb of the Detroit Tigers is another baseball star \tho has decided not to mix golf with his regular business during the ball season. * * *_ Persons who are jealous of the success of the Clevelands have started a story that Lee Fohl is using a signaltipping bureau. There’s nothing in it • * * Tony Walsh has been doing great work on first base for Scranton and the Miners at last seem to have that position provided for after experimenting all season. • • • Johnny Dell has another Jc-b, or did have at last accounts. He caught on with Lawrence after his release by Bridgeport, and was sent to the outfield by Manager Burkett • * • Manager Jennings evidently made no mistake when he supplanted Crawford with Heilman in Detroit’s right field. Heilman Is hitting at a .8M clip and is fielding splendidly;

AIDED BY TYPO ERROR;

foe Cantillon Tells Yam on Manager Jack Hendricks. Unmercifully Scorched Recruit When He Was Called Upon to Run Bases for Player Who Had Just Made Safe Hit. Here’s a Joe Cantillon yarn. It joncerns Jack Hendricks, now mana* ger of the Indianapolis American as* sociation team: Jack was surprised in the middle of one season to learn that _ he had been purchased from Spokane by Washington. He saf on the bench 11 days. On the twelfth day the game was close. In the ninth inning the Washington catcher got a single and lumbered to first. Washington needed a run and needed it badly. Cantillon, who was coaching off first, called to Hendricks, who divested himself of his sweated and trotted over to first. “Run for this fellow," instructed Cantillon. “Go down when I tell you.” In wonderment Hendricks took thd base. On the second pitch Cantillon yelled with all his lung power: “Beat it!” Hendricks got up his best steam, but was intercepted 25 feet from second by the baseman with the ball in his hands/ He strode back toward the bench, trying his best to avoid the irate Cantillon. “You easy mark,” breathed Joe, with the deadliest venom. “I thought you could run bases.” “Who told you I could run bases?” demanded Hendricks with spirit. “I never claimed to be a base runner.” “Why, you stole 65 bases In Spokane last year, you cripple,” Cantillon told Hendricks, ending with a “didn’t you?” “I stole only 15 bases in Spokane last year,” answered Headricks, truthfully. “The record book says 65, but that was a typographical error.” Cantillon tore his hair. He screeched and fumed around the base line until his players grew so nervous they blew up and lost the game. “Get out of here," Cantillon stormed at Hendricks. “I don’t want you around. Get out, you typographical error, you.”

NO-HIT GAMES ARE SCARCE

George Foster's Feat Was Eighteenth of Kind in American League—Average Only One Yearly. George Foster’s feat of holding the New York Yankees hitless at Boston, a few days ago, was the eighteenth nohit game pitched in the American league since its organization. More than two years have elapsed since the last no-hit game was twirled in Ban Johnson’s league, Joe Benz of the Chicago White Sox pitching it against Cleveland on May 31, 1914. In the National, league, there have been 40 no-hit games in the 40 years of Its career, the last one also being by a Boston pitcher, Tom Hughes, second, of'the Braves, who held the Pittsburgh Pirates hitless on June 16. That a no-hit game is a rare perform-

Pitcher George Foster.

ance may be noted from the fact that in both National and American leagues they have averaged only one a year. Several pitchers have had the misfortune of holding opposing teams without a hit In nine innings, only to yield hits later on and be deprived of places In the No-Hit Hall of Fame. Among such performers in the last decade are Leon Ames, formerly of the Giants; Harry Mclntyre, formerly of Brooklyn, and Jim Scott of the White Sox. It is interesting to note that neither Walter Johnson nor Grover Alexander, the present pitching princes of the two major leagues, has pitched a no-hit fame, though Johnson has been with Washington since 1907 and Alexander with the Phillies since 1911-

Mitchell's Wonderful Feat.

Willie Mitchell resents the idea that Guy Morton did such a wonderful feat when he struck out four Athletics in one inning recently. Mitchell says that when he was with San Antonio he struck out seven men in one inning, yet four erf them scored. Dolly Stark was catching for him, or that Is, was trying to catch the balls Mitch-; Ml threw. 1