Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 205, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 August 1920 — Yellow Men Sleep [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Yellow Men Sleep

By Jeremy Lane

Illusir«to<L Jy IrwinMwnr

Caw you imagine yourself eadertaking such a task aa that rivan Con Levlngton, a task from which you would probably novar roturn? CHAPTER ll—Continued. It was Andrew March who had found him running wild, one spring night in lower Cincinnati, with a gun ■peeking from each hand. The riot rail was in. Andrew March had, by the grace es God. appeared, beheld and understood. The elder man had recognized the equinoctial madness of one whose head was filled with beauty, the heart passionate for life and more of it, the feet rebelling against the ugliness of pavements. March had hurried him away, and later at his leisure soaked some of the deviltry out of the young frame, ■tiwmtng him clean and reasonable. Be had needed to be patient with Lovington while the rioter found a stew sensation called health. Presently the car turned in beneath a'Tine-covered archway, and stopped at the door of a great house. A lantern that was mellow and friendly bung at the step. There was a terraced garden ridging gently down to a pond, far back from the road. Till ewe terraces with lanes of roses and columbine were Levlngton’s respite from the wlne-sogged streets that wanted him.

March’s housekeeper, Mrs. Ames, a ■rKWrfnlly dazed woman whose narrow body never recovered from the exertions of yesterday, opened the door Ito them. They went directly to the ■stairs and ascended to an open door from which firelight danced out into the hallway.

As they entered, a very old man Sit down his book and turned to face em. There were no glasses before <hls eyes, and through the pallor of lage on his face showed yet a seasoned strength. “I know it is early for a fire. I

(was not cold.” he said smiling, "but (there are certain thoughts one cannot think wlthouLA bank of coals to look •into. And my fire here has been out nearly four months."

“Yes, and think of the people who team always get' along without an open (grate," said Andrew March. The very old man had the manner »of one who has found a vital peace, filled with more than memories. His head was strangely long, and someIthing Uke nobility hovered about the wasted shoulders. He was the father i<>f Andrew March. Now the gray-halred son closed the jhall door, and brought to his father’s icbair the tiny leather packet. He ■aid: “Lovington has done very

The father nodded, and the light in Bits eyes meant long acquaintance with (defeat Expectancy caught his features and turned them almost youthjfuL The bit of leather was placed in ><« hand, and he drew from it a isquare of white silk. It was tightly creased, of firmest texture. Traced Un purple upon one side was a line curiously crooked and trailing. It was dotted and crinkled, fanciful as some river of the moon. , Along the margin es the silk, certain Chinese characters hvura etched. “This is not a mantra, as we had Stoped,"—At these words Con felt a rush of disappointment But the old twice went <m—“though it may be of great help to us. It is a map." The three men fiMkd the .purple Une as it veered aeNR* the silk, but Uy the eldest the char acters. “A said. *would have been your passpm with traders mad thieves, *“d they Would try as Bwayw to deceive you, direct you falsely, ff they were content aaardwr. Whatever their hate es one they league against the trav.dariea been a bodily

on this silk Is the route Itself, Intended for the return Journey of their messenger.” "What are the words?" "All prayer-signs, save one, which reads ‘Shan-sung.’ Ton know the village, Andrew.” Stephen March’s son knew IL bitterly. Levlngton was trembling with eagerness. The old man did fiot glance up from the silken map. “This begins at' Shan-sung and runs westward. Each dot marks a day’s travel, I suppose in favorable circumstances. No water is Indicated untH this point, nearly a month into the West, These faint stars show the lay of the hills.” Levlngton was asked to tell how he secured this treasure-square. "You found the man for me,” replied Con, “and that was the most difficult part. Two nights ago I waited on the kitchen roof of the Wedger house until Chee Ming had finished reading his Chinese newspaper. His window opens out upon the roof. There are only tree-tops and open spaces beyond, and his privacy should have been perfect. He neglected to draw the curtain until after I had seen the bit of leather hanging on his chest You had told me to expect something of the sort although he did not raise it to his lips\before retiring.” “Since this is not a mantra,” concluded the old man. Here was the boundary of Levington's knowledge on the subject Chee Ming had been pointed out by Andrew March, and a task assigned. Con had reason to trust his new friend, even if he felt that the March interests were remote and strangely secret The father leaned back in his chair, sighing. He looked up at the grave face of his son, and said: “It may be the hand of God, or it may be only the hope of our foolish hearts —failure that is never final —but it seems, Andrew, you have found another beginning.” The son bowed his head. Stephen March added, "Levlngton has Indeed done very well.” Both father and son quietly regarded the young man before them. It seemed as if they had known him a long while, that he belonged to them. They were aware of the quality that had been suppressed in a disastrous childhood. The old father was always searching for some sign of violence of which Andrew had spoken, and it seemed to please him to find in Levington’s modesty and calmness a quick glint now and then, a light that touch-

ed Con’s eyes in unexpected moments, a far line to passion, reminiscent of satyr and centaur and the wine-dim slopes of abandon. They felt his power and its many dangers to himself. Above all, they loved a personal which they found perfect. “What further preparations?” asked Stephen. Andrew turned to Levlngton. “When will you be ready to goT” “To-night” The ancient figure In the chair looked thoughtfully into the fire. His words made floating pictures for Con. as if the shadowy golden stories of Ohinky BID were about to continue before his eyes. “You seek a country that may never be known. Perhaps it is entirely a rumor, a race-old fancy and fear. You have heard the tales that are told. If they be false or Une, and if the white man has ever passed beyond that borderland of pain, no one has come back to us with proof. I have seen the look on the faces of those who bad Attempted the passage, and

It was not pleasant, my son. The centers of the world have shifted many times, yet that weird realm of the half-true, the half-real, has gone unchallenged. I think its life goes at too swift a pace for us—something dizzy about IL Even the wild beasts avoid those boundaries. The air will rise and fall about you like a living presence; your sight will be whipped across with bewilderment and pain. You have seen that their bravest carry a map by which to return home —if home it be.” In the silence that followed, the old man’s thoughts seemed to live in the air of the room, and the glow from the hearth was oddly like desert sunUgbL

CHAPTER 111 The Far Call. Although, they supplied him with more money than any one needs, LevIngton was not inclined to stack worldly possessions. His very humble years in Dowagiac had taught him how little the human creature requires. Somewhere in a boyhood of neglect and frayed edges he had learned how to feel rich without an array of trinkets. To-night, his travel bag, a black slouchy leather affair, dear to his heart for having been through a great deal with him, was packed with clean things, and room at the top. He traveled light.

The distant draw of the sands was upon him now, rousing the old loneliness that sometimes made trouble. At such times Con thought of his mother. The woman next door had told him enough to Identify his father’s beloved with the nameless beauty in his own heart The hurt of this loveliness was often the starting-point for a rampage in the gutters. A sweetness was forever eluding him. It swept near in the words of Stephen March, and at last there was a guidance upon his energies. Their-talk of danger was only a courtesy, as Con regarded it For one who had known the red tangles of the underworld, peril was no more to be feared than thunder in the night Andrew March entered Con’s room. “It might be better to leave a dark house,” he suggested. "I understand,” replied Levlngton. •TH find a cab over at the end of the park. That ought to break any connection with you here.” "You do not regret your acceptance?” “Far from it” declared Con, hastily. "Do you mind going alone?” “No, it will do me good. I have everything to think over. It s rather a strain, you see —such a novelty — this ‘strait and narrow.’” They laughed. “You haven’t collapsed under it,” said March. “It isn’t narrow the way you’ve brought it to me.” “I have told you,” continued the gray-haired friend, “that probably you will never return.” Their glances met and held a moment The elder sought a possible trace of fear, but did not find it Levington had the good taste not to utter brave words. He had accepted his mission. There is used in the Orient a very thin parchment as grateful to the finger-tips as the cheek of a babe, smooth as swan’s down, and even more sacred to yellow men. “Wear this over your heart,” said Andrew March, smiling. A small folded parchment was placed in Con’s hand. It was a duplicate of the map on the stolen square of silk. This copy was in a soft leather sack, the size of a visiting card, to be secured about his neck by a leather cord. Andrew then gave him a sealed envelope, and in regard to it said: "I haven’t been very explicit with you. Con. There are some things that are not mine to tell you—now. When you have opened and read it, you will have committed yourself, and you must not turn back. The breaking of the seal is your pledge.. But until then, you are free, you have no obligations of any kind, to me or any one else. You will understand —in Shansung.” March smiled faintly, almost with solemnity, Levington bowed, accepting the small sealed packet He packed it to the bottom of the bag.

Presently they went to the father's room. The old man stood up, tall and steady, the light of youth in his eyes. There was a brief farewell, firmly spoken. Again in Levington’s room, Andrew March gripped the young man’s hand, a little more tensely than usual, and the silence between these two was vital with enduring affection. Mwrrb then took his leave.

It was not yet midnight. Con waited in his room, while the lights of the March house were dimmed. Into a new riarity of mind came images from his earliest days —Shasta that beckoned, the alley in Memphis, and one humid evening in the harbor of Elopura. Con wanted his father, forgetting that he was twenty-five. About one o’clock he turned out his own light and left the friendly room, passing down the hall, the black bag with him. At the door of Andrew March’s room he paused an instant His benefactor was sleeping, the bedroom door partly open. Con had not stopped from sentiment but in the darkness he caught a curious scent as of Hnnamon and musty wine. It whisked him baric to a kitchen in Dory street and he shuddered without knowing exactly why. It was like his father— shadowy, intimate, heavy-fated —as If March must share this with John Levlngton as a personal quality. Con almost believed he imagined tho perfume. It was the y«y odor of

darkness, soft and satiny. He passed J a, down through the darkened house, nd suddenly found himself wishing he had not paused before the open door. Precaution In leaving the March house was part of Con’s Instructions. Whatever the Chinese cook might have told his master, and young Wedger in turn communicated to the police after the singular occurrences In the Wedger pantry, Levington felt safe for the present He doubted If Chee Ming would dare give an honest account because of the nature of that which had been taken from him. Cedi would be annoyed, puzzled, even angry with his vanished guest Chee Ming would probably obscure the matter further. Con recalled the energy of that slim Oriental body—pantherlike, not a brawny strength, for the Chinese was beyond an age for muscles, but a silent writhing power, nerve-driven. Con did not go down to the front gate, but turned along the garden path, across the fragrant terraces. Even the roses, late blossoming, did not dear his nostrils of that spice in the open doorway up-stalrs. The shock of that was just reaching him. He had an Impulse to turn back and sniff again, to prove to himself that

he had fancied the familiar odor. Then he laughed at himself and began to ride down his fear He passed around the little pond, where autumn had touched the shrubbery and given a drier music to its rustling. Beyond this was a barred gate In the wall. Levington drew It back, glanced once at the dark house on the hill, and emerged upon the street More than three years before, Stephen March had faced the West A boy of seventeen, he had taken the prairie-wagon trails to San Francisco, and here he had heard strange stories. Seamen blew upon the flame in his young heart, when they told of Cathay and the Indies. Stephen would stride along the board walks, elbowing the world, and rubbing in bls buckskin pocket the gold that meant nothing to him except the unlocking of life. Often his long knees rubbed the table In a certain saloon where he could drink the wine of Dsungaria, and once, as the slow rich blaze crept into his veins, some one spoke of the Gobi. It seemed then he remembered many things he had never known.. He went next day to the same table, and the next, but could not find the man who had spoken. He almost believed that the wine Itself had whispered to him, but now the deepest cup was mute.

Stephen’s ears were shut to the cries of gold. The /Mormons, with solemn words and maidens, could not detain him. Adventurers from Spain drew him into their plans of raid, but he failed their appointments. There was a call to him from across the shining bay, and beyond. In the wetshops the discussion of yerba btiena was nothing to him until a Swedish captain roared from out his thirst a comparison with the good herbs of Asia, making pointed reference to the poppy and the hemp-resin, also to the magic koresh. Stephen March went with the Swedish captain. Numberless sailing-ships had anchor ed in the bay, many of them forever. Their crews had scented gold in the hills, and their decks were deserted. Perhaps the red and shouting Swede was glad of the boy’s homage. Certainly it was good business td ship him.

In Con are centered all the hopes of an unhappy man.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Both Father and Son Regarded the Young Man Before Them.

Stephen's Ears Were Shut to the Cries of Gold.