Jasper County Democrat, Volume 8, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 July 1905 — THe Wings of the Morning [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THe Wings of the Morning

By LOUIS TRACY

SYNOPSIS, Chapter I—The Sirdar, having among her passengers Iris Deane, daughter of the owner of the ship, and Robert Jenks, who is working as a waiter, is wrecked. ll—All are lost save Miss Deane and Jenks, who are cast ashore on an islet in the Pacific. Jenkins recovers stores and weapons from the wrecked vessel. He finds the skeleton of a European on the island. IV—A cave on the island is fitted up as a habitation. A chart of the island, mysteriously marked, is found on the skeleton. V—Jenks finds a hollow filled with human skeletons, the remains of a mining party. He is rescued from an octopus by Iris while recovering rfles from the wreck of the Sirdar. Vl—Jenks tells Iris that his real name is Anstruther and that, through the machinations of Lord Ventnor, he has been unjustly dismissed in disgrace from the English army. Lord Ventnor has been mentioned on the Sirdar as affianced to Iris. Vll—lris is attacked by a party of fierce Dyaks (Polynesian natives). They are beaten off by Jenks, three, however escaping in their boat. The castaways dread their return. Vlll—Anstruther prepares to defend Iris and himself, fortifying a ledge of rock above their cave. IX—A rich gold mine, indicated on the mysterious chart of the island, is discovered in the cave. X and Xl—The Dyaks attack the Island. Among them is an escaped convict, an Indian Musselman. They discover the hiding place, but are defeated by the Englishman. XII. An unlucky shot costs Jenks and Iris their water supply. A truce with the savages, the Mussulman speaking Hindoo to Anstruther, acting as interpreter. Mir Jan, the Indian, agrees to aid Anstruther and supply him with water. CHAPTER XIII. BESIDENTS In tropical countries know that the heat is greatest, or certainly least bearable, between 2 and 4 o’clock in the afternoon. At the conclusion of a not very luscious repast Jenks suggested that they should rig up the tarpaulin in such wise as to gain protection from the sun and yet enable him to cast a watchful eye over the valley. Iris helped to raise the great canvas sheet on the supports he had prepared. Once shut off from the devouring rays, the hot breeze then springing Into fitful existence cooled their blistered but perspiring skin and made life somewhat tolerable. ’ Still adhering to his policy of oombatting the first enervating attacks of thirst, the sailor sanctioned the consumption of the remaining water. As a last desperate expedient to be resorted to only in case of sheer necessity, be uncorked a bottle of champagne and filled the tin eup. The sparkling wine, with Its volume of creamy foam, looked so tempting that Iris would then and there have risked Its potency were she not promptly withheld. Jenks explained to her that when the wine became quite flat and Insipid they might use It to moisten their parched lips. Even so, in their present superheated state, the liquor was unquestionably dangerous, but he hoped it would not harm them if taken in minute quantities. Accustomed now to implicitly accept his advice, she fought and steadily con quered the craving within her. Oddly enough, the “thawing” of their scorched bodies beneath the tarpaulin brought a certain degree of relief. They were supremely uncomfortable, but that was as naught compared with the relaxa tlon from the torments previously borne. For a long time—the best part of an hour, perhaps—they remained silent. The sailor was reviewing the pros and cons of their precarious condition. It would, of course, be a matter of su preme Importance were the Indian to be faithful to bis promise. Here tin prospect was decidedly hopeful. Tin man was an old soldier, and the ex officer of native cavalry knew how en during was the attachment of this pool convict to home and military service Probably at that moment the Moham medan was praying to the prophet anc his two nephews to aid him in rescuing the sahib and the woman whom th< sahib held so dear, for the all wise anc all powerful Indian government Is verj merciful to offending natives who thus condone their former crimes. But, howsoever willing he might be what could one man do among s< many? The Dyaks were hostile to him in race and creed, and assuredly In furiated against the foreign devil who bad killed or wounded in round numbers one-fifth of their total force. Very likely the hapless Mussulman would lose his life that night in attempting to bring water to the foot of the rock. Even if the man succeeded in eluding the vigilance of bis present associates, where was the water to come from? There was none on the Island save that in the well. In all likelihood the Dyaks had ■ store in the remaining sampans, but the native ally of the beleaguered pair would have a task of exceeding difficulty in obtaining one of the Jars or skins containing It. Again, granting all things went well that night, what would be the final outcome of the struggle? How long could Iris withstand the exposure, the strain, the heartbreaking misery of the rock? He shook restlessly, not aware that the girl’s sorrowful glance, luminous with love and pain, was fixed upon him. Summarily dismissing these grisly phantoms of the mind, he asked himself what the Mohammedan exactly meant by warning him against the trees on the right and the “silent death” that might come from them. He was about to crawl forth to the lip of the rock and investigate matters In that locality when Iris, who also was busy with her thoughts, restrained him. “Wait a little* while,” she said. “None of the Dyaks will venture into the open

until night falls. And I have something to say to you.” There was a quiet solemnity In her voice that Jenks had never heard before. It chilled him. His heart acknowledged a quick sense of evil omen. He raised himself slightly and turned toward her. Her face, beautiful and serene beneath Its disfigurements, wore an expression of settled purpose. For the life of him he dared not question her. “That man, the Interpreter,” she said, “told you that If I were given up to the chief he and his followers would go away and molest you no more.” His forehead seamed with sudden anger. “A mere bait," he protested. “In any event It is hardly worth discussion.” And the answer came, clear and resolute: "I think I will agree to those terms.” At first he regarded her with undisguised and wordless amazement. Then the appalling thought darted through his brain that she contemplated this supreme sacrifice in order to save him. A clammy sweat bedewed his brow, but by sheer will power he contrived to say: “You must be mad to even dream of such a thing. Don’t you understand what it means to you—and to me? It is a ruse to trap us. They are ungoverned savages. Once they had you in their power they would laugh at a promise made to me.” “You may be mistaken. They must have some sense of fair dealing. Even assuming that such was their intention, they may depart from it They have already lost a great many men. Their chief, having gained his main object, might not be able to persuade them to take further risks. I will make it a part of the bargain that they first supply you with plenty of water. Then you, unaided, could keep them at bay for; many days. We lose nothing; we can gain a great deal by endeavoring to pacify them.” “Iris,” he gasped, “what are you saying?” The unexpected sound of her name on his Ups almost unnerved her. But no martyr ever went to the stake with more settled purpose than this pure woman, resolved to Immolate herself ■for the sake of the man she loved. He had dared all for her, faced death in many shapes. Now it was her turn. Her eyes were lit with a seraphic fire, her sweet face resigned as that of an angel. “I have thought it out,” she murmured, gazing at him steadily, yet scarce seeing him. “It Is worth trying as a last expedient. We are abandoned by all save the Lord, and it does not appear to be his holy will to help us on earth. We can struggle on here until we die. Is that right when one of us may live?” Her very candor had betrayed her. She would go away with these monstrous captors, endure them, even flatter them, until she and they were far removed from the island, and then—she would kill herself. In her innocence she imagined that self destruction under such circumstances was a pardonable offense. She only gave a life to save a life, and greater love than this Is not known to God or man. The sailor, in a tempest of wrath and wild emotion, had it in hts mind to compel her Into reason—to shake her as one shakes a wayward child. He rose to his knees’ with this half formed notion in bls fevered brain; then he looked at her, and a mist seemed to shut her out from his sight. Wa« she lost to him a’ready? Was all that had gone before an idle dream of Joy and grief, a wizard's glimpse of mirrored happiness and vague perils? Was Iris, the crystal souled, thrown to him by the storm lashed wave, to be snatched away by some irresistible and malign influence? In the mere physical effort to assure himself that she was still near to him he gathered her up in his strong bands. Yes, she was there, breathing, wondering, palpitating. He folded her closely to his breast and, yielding to the passionate longings of his tired heart, whispered to her: “My darling, do you think I can survive your loss? You are life itself to me. If we have to die, sweet one, let us die together.” Then Iris flung her arms around his neck. “I am quite, quite happy now,” she sobbed brokenly. “I didn’t—lmagine It would come—this way, but—l am thankful—lt has come.” For a little while they yielded to the glamour of the divine knowledge that amid the chaos of eternity each soul had found its mate. There was no need for words. Love, tremendous In its power, unfathomable In its mystery, had cast Its spell over them. They were garbed In light, throned In a palace built by fairy hands. On all sides squatted the ghouls of privation, misery, danger, even grim death; but they heeded not the inferno; they had created a paradise in an earthly hell. Then Iris withdrew herself from the man’s embrace. She was delightfully shy and timid now. “80 you really do love me?” she whispered, crimson faced, with shining eyes and parted lips. He fondled her hair and gently rubbed her cheek with his rough fingers.

The sudden sense of ownership of this fair woman was entrancing. It almost bewildered him to find Iris nestling close, clinging to him in utter confidence and trust. “But I knew, I knew,” she murmured. “You betrayed yourself so many times. You wrote your secret to me, and, though you did not tell me, I found your dear words on the sands and have treasured them next my heart.” What girlish romance was this? He held her away gingerly, just so far that he could look into her eyes. “Oh, It is true, quite true,” she cried, drawing the locket from her neck. “Don’t you recognize your own handwriting, or were you not certain. Just then, that you really did love me?” Dear, dear! How often would she repeat that wondrous phrase! Together they bent over the tiny slips of paper. There it was again, “I love you,” twice blazoned In magic symbols. With blushing eagerness she told him how, by mere accident, of course, she caught sight of her own name. It was not very wrong, was It, to pick up that tiny scrap or those others, which she could not help seeing and which unfolded their simple tale so truthfully? Wrong! It was so delightfully right thit he must kiss her again to emphasize his convictions. They grew calmer, more sedate. It was so undeniably true they loved one another that the fact was becoming venerable with age. Iris was perhaps the first to recognize its quiet certainty. “As I cannot get you to talk reasonably,” she protested, "I must appeal to your sympathy. I am hungry, and, oh, so thirsty.” The girl had hardly eaten a morsel for her midday meal. Then she was despondent, utterly broken hearted. Now she was filled with new hope. There was a fresh motive In existence. Whether destined to live an hour or half a century she would never, never leave him, nor, of course, could he ever, ever leave her. Some things were quite impossible—for example, that they should part.

Jenks brought her a biscuit, a tin of meat and that most doleful cup of champagne. “It Is not exactly frappe,” he said, handing her the Insipid beverage, “but, under other conditions, It Is a wine almost worthy to toast you in.” # She fancied she had never before noticed what a charming smile be had. “ ‘Toast,’ is a peculiarly suitable word,” she cried. “I am simply frizzling. In these warm clothes”— She stopped. For the first time since that prehistoric period when she was “Miss Deane” and be “Mr. Jenks” she remembered the manner of her garments. “It Is not the warm clothing you feel so much as the want of air,” explained the sailor readily. “This tarpaulin has made the place very stuffy, but we must put up with it until sundown. By the way, what is that?” A light tap on the tarred canvas directly over his head had caught his ear. Iris, glad of the diversion, told him she had heard the noise three or four times, but fancied It was caused by the occasional rustling of the sheet on the uprights. Jenks had not allowed his attention to wander altogether from external events. Since the Dyaks’ last escapade there was no sign of them in the valley or on either beach. Not for trivial cause would they come again within range of Jenks’ rifle. They waited and listened silently. Another tap sounded on the tarpaulin In a different place, and they both concurred in the belief that something had darted In curved flight over the ledge and fallen on top of their protecting shield. “Let us see what the game Is,” exclaimed the sailor. He crept to the back of the ledge and drew himself up until he could reach over the sheet. He returned, carrying In his hand a couple of tiny arrows. “There are no less than seven of these things sticking in the canvas,” he said. “They don’t look very terrible. I suppose that is what my Indian

friend meant by warning me against the trees on the right.” He did not tell Iris all the Mohammedan said. Th(>re was no need to alarm her causelessly. Even while they examined the curious little missile another flew up from the valley and lodged on the roof of, their shelter. The shaft of the arrow, made of some extremely hard wood, was about ten inches in length. Affixed to It was a

pointed fish bone, sharp, but not barbed and not fastened in a manner suggestive of much strength. The arrow was neither feathered nor grooved for a bowstring. Altogether It seemed to be a childish weapon to be used by men equipped with lead and steel. Jenks could not understand the appearance of this toy. Evidently the Dyaks believed in Its efficacy or they would not keep on pertinaciously dropping an arrow on the ledge. “How do they fire It?” asked Iris. “Do they throw it?” “I will soon tell you,” he replied, reaching for a rifle. “Do not go out yet,” she entreated! him. “They cannot harm us. Perhaps we may learn more by keeping quiet. They will not continue shooting these things all day.” Again a tiny arrow traveled toward, them In a graceful parabola. This one fell short. Missing the tarpaulin, it almost dropped on the girl’s outstretched band. She picked it up. The fish bone point had snapped by contact with the floor of the ledge. She sought for and found the small tip. “See,” she said. “It seems to have been dipped In something. It is quite discolored.” Jenksfrowned peculiarly. A startling explanation had suggested itself to him. Fragments of forgotten lore were taking cohesion in his mind. ‘‘Put it down. Quick!” he cried. Iris obeyed him, with wonder In her eyes. He spilled a teaspoonful of champagne Into a small hollow of the rock and steeped one of the fish bones in the liquid. Within a few seconds the champagne assumed a greenish tinge and the bone became white. Then he knew. “Good heavens,” he exclaimed, “these are poisoned arrows shot through a blowpipe! I have never before seen one, but I have often read about them. The bamboos the Dyaks carried were sumpitans. These fish bones have been steeped In the juice of the upas tree. Iris, my dear, girl, if one of them had so much as scratched your finger nothing on earth could save you.” [to bb CONTINUED.] Don’t get “rattled” when you want to buy a buggy or carriage. A few extra springs and two or three dollars less in price is not always a good investment.

C. A. ROBERTS.

The last arrow fell, and he sprang to the right of the ledge.