Jasper County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 May 1918 — RAINBOW'S END A NOVER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

RAINBOW'S END A NOVER

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synopsis. . „,. 1 ' . ' CHAPTER I—Don Esteban Varona. a Cuban planter, possesses a great treasure hoard. This wealth has been hidden In a well on the estate by Sebastian, a slave, and only he and his master know the secret cache. Don Esteban’s wife dies al the birth of twins, Esteban and Rosa. Don Esteban marries the avaricious Donna Isabel, who knows there is hidden treasure and tries to wring the secret from Sebastian. When the slave refuses she tries to hurt him by having Evangelina, his daughter, whom he loves dearly and who (a the special servant of the twins, sold. CHAPTER 11-Through Donna Isabel’s scheming Don Esteban risks Evangelina at cards and loses. Crazed by the loss of his daughter, Sebastian kills Don Esteban and himself. CHAPTER lll—Many years Donna Isabel searched for the hidden wealth of the man she had married. A few years later she seeks to marry Rosa to the rich Don Mario, but Rosa is promised to O’Reilly, the American, and awaits hts return from New York, whence he has gone to break off his engagement to his employer's daughter. Esteban is secretly aiding the Insurrectos. CHAPTER IV. < Retribution. Although for a long time Donna Isabel had been sure in her own mind that Pancho Cueto, her admlnistrador, was robbing her, she had never mustered •courage to call him to a reckoning. Nevertheless, De Castano’s blunt accusation, coupled with her own urgent needs, served to fix her resolution, and on the day after the merchant’s visit she sent for the overseer, who at the time was living on one of the plantations. Cueto was plainly curious to learn why he had been sent for, but since he asked no questions, his employer was forced to open the subject herself. Through dry, white lips she began: “My dear Pancho, times are hard. The plantations are failing, and so —” Pancho Cueto’s eyes were set close to his nose, his face was long and thin and harsh; he regarded the speaker with such a sinister, unblinking stare that she could scarcely finish: “ —and so I —can no longer afford to retain you as administrodor.” __ “Times will improve,” he said. “Impossible! I tell you Im bankrupt.” “So? Then the remedy Is simple—sell a part of your land.” Although* this suggestion came naturally enough, Donna Isabel turned cold, and felt her smile stiffen into a grimace. She wondered if Cueto could be feeling her out deliberately. “Sell the Varona lands?” she queried, after a momentary struggle with herself. “Esteban would rise from his grave. No. It was his wish that the plantations go to his children intact” “And his wish is sacred to you, eh?” Cueto nodded his approval, although his smile was disconcerting. “An admirable sentiment! It does you honor! But speaking on this subject I am reminded of that dispute with Jose Oroz over the boundary to La Joya. I have promised to show him the original deed to La Joya and to furnish him with the proofs about the boundary sane. That would be better than a lawsuit, wouldn’t It?” “Decidedly I But—l will settle with him myself."

Cueto lifted an admonitory hand, his face alight with the faintest glimmer of ironic mirth. “I couldn’t trust you to the mercies of that rascal,” he said piously. “No, I shall go on as I am, even at a sacrifice to myself. I love Don Esteban’s children as my very own; and you, senora —” Isabel knew that she must win a complete victory at once or accept irretrievable defeat. “Never!” she interrupted, with a tone of finality. “I can't accept your sacrifice. I am not worthy. Kindly arrange to turn over your books of account at once.” Then Pancho Cueto did an unexpected thing: he laughed shortly and shook his head. Donna Isabel was ready to faint and her voice quavered as she went on: “Understand me, we part the best of friends despite all I have heard against you. I do not believe these stories people tell, for you probably have enemies. Even if all they said were true, I should force myself to be lenient because of your affection for my husband.” me man rose, still smiling. “It is 1 i who have been lenient,” said he. “Eh? Speak plainly.” “Gladly. I have long suspected that Don Esteban hid the deeds of his property with the rest of his valuables, and now that you admit —•” Donna Isabel recoiled sharply. “Admit! Are you mad? Deeds! What are you talking about?” Her eyes met -his bravely enough, but she could feel her lips trembling loosely. Casting aside all pretense, the overseer exclaimed: "Por el amor de Dios! An end to this! I know why you sent for me. You think I have been robbing you. Well, to be honest, so I have. Why should I toil as Ido while you and those twins live here in lux--ury and idleness, squandering money

to which you have no right?” “Have I lost my reason V gasped the widow. “No right?” “At least do better right than L Don’t you understand? You have no title to these plantations! They are mine, for I have paid the taxes out of my own pockets now these many years.” “Taxes! What do you mean?” “I paid them. The receipts are in my name.” “Heaven! Such perfidy! And you who knew him!” “The deeds have been lost for so long that the property would have reverted to the crown had it not been for me. You doubt that, eh? Well, appeal to the court and you will find that ft Is true. Now, then, let us be frank. Inasmuch as we're both in much the name fir, hadn’t we better continue our present arrangements?" He stared nnhiinkingiy at his listener. “Oh, I mean it! Is it not better for you to be content with what my generosity prompts me to give, rather than to risk ruin for both by grasping for too much?” “The outrage! I warrant you have grown rich through your stealing.” Isabel's voice had gone flat with consternation. , “Rich? Weß, not exactly, but comfortably well off.” Cueto actually smiled again. “No doubt my frankness Is a shock to you. You are angry at my proposition, eh? Never mind. You win think better of It in time, if you are a sensible woman. But now, since at last we enjoy such confidential relations. let us have no more of these miserable suspicions of each other. Let us entirely forget this unpleasant misunderstanding and be the same good friends as before.” Having said this, Pancho Cueto stood silent a moment in polite expectancy; then receiving no intelligible reply, he bowed low and left the room. To the avaricious Donna Isabel Cueto's frank acknowledgment of theft was maddening, and the realization that she was helpless, nay, dependent upon his charity for her living, fairly crucified her proud spirit. AH day she brooded, and by the time evening came , she had worked herself into- such a state of - nerves that she could eat no dinner. Some time during the course of the evening a wild idea came to Isabel. Knowing that the manager would spend the night beneath her roof, she planned to kill him. At first it seemed a simple thing to do—merely a matter of a dagger or a pistol, while he slept—but further thought revealed appalling risks and difficulties, and she decided to wait. Poison was far safer. Constant brooding over the treasure had long since affected Donna Isabel’s brain, and as a consequence she often dreamed about it. She dreamed about it again tonight, and, strangely enough, her dreams were pleasant. Sebastian appeared, but for once he neither cursed nor threatened her; and Esteban, when he came, was again the lover who had courted her in Habans. It was amazing, delightful. Esteban and she were walking through the grounds of the quinta and he was telling her about his casks of Spanish sovereigns, about those boxes bound With iron, about the gold and silver ornaments of heavenly beauty and the pearls as large as plums. As he talked Isabel felt herself grow hot and cold with anticipation; she experienced spasms of delight. Then of a sudden Isabel’s whole dream-world dissolved. She awoke, or thought she did. at hearing her name shouted. But although she underwent the mental and the physical shock of being startled from slumber, although she felt the first swift fright of a person aroused to strange surroundings, she knew on the instant that she must still be asleep; for everything about her was dim and dark, the air was cold and damp, wet grass rose to her knees. Before she could half realize her condition she felt herself plunged into space. She heard herself scream hoarsely, fearfully, and knew, too late, that she was indeed awake. Then—- , whirling chaos— A sudden, blinding , crash of lights and sounds — Nothing more!

Esteban Varona sat until a late hour that night over a letter which required the utmost care in its composition. It was written upon the thinnest of paper, and when it was finished the writer inclosed it in an envelope of the same material. Esteban put the letter in his pocket without addressing it. Letting himself out into the night, he took the path that led to the old sunken garden. He passed close by the well, and its gaping mouth, only half protected by the broken coping, reminded him that he had promised Rosa to cover it with planks. In its present condition it was a menace to animals, if not to human beings who were unaware of its presence. Seating himself on one of the old stone benches, the young man lit a cigarette and composed himself to

wait. He sat there for a long time, uumbllng inwardly, for the night was damp and he was sleepy; but at last a figure stole out of the gloom and joined him. The newcomer was a ragged negro, dressed in the fashion of the poorer country people. “Well, Asensio, I thought you'd never come. I’ll get a fever from this 1” Esteban said irritably. “It is a long way, Don Esteban, and Evangelina made me wait until dark. I tell you we have to be careful these days.” “What is the news? What did you hear?" Asensio sighed gratefully as he seated himself. “One hears a great deal, but one never knows what to believe. There is fighting in Santa Clara, and Maceo sweeps westward." Taking the unaddressed letter from his pocket, Esteban said, “I have another message for Colonel Lopez.” “That Lopez! He’s here today and there tomorrow; one can never find him.” “Well, you must find him, and Immediately, Asensio. This letter contains Important news—so Important, in fact” —Esteban laughed lightly—“that If you find yourself in danger from the Spaniards I’d advise you to chew It up and swallow it as quickly as you can.” “I’ll remember that,” said the negro, “for there’s danger enough. Still, I fear these Spaniards less than the guerrilleros: they are everywhere. They call themselues patriots, but they are nothing more than robbers. They—” Asensio paused abruptly. He seized his companion by the arm and, leaning forward, stared across the level garden into the shadows opposite. Something was moving there, under the trees; the men could see that it was white and formless, and that it pursued an erratic course. “What’s that?” gasped the negro. He began to tremble violently and his breath became audible. Esteban was compelled to hold him down by main

force. “It’s old Don Esteban, your father. They say he walk§ at midnight, carrying his head in his two hands.” Young Varona managed to whisper, with some show of courage: “Hush! Wait! I don’t believe in ghosts.” Nevertheless, he was on the point of setting Asensio an exapiple of undignified flight when the mysterious object emerged from the shadows into the open moonlight; then he sighed with relief: “Ah-h! Now I see! It Is my stepmother. She is asleep.” For a moment or two they watched the progress of the white-robed figure; then Esteban stirred and rose from his seat. “She’s too close to that well. There is—” He started forward a pace or two. “They say people who walk at night go mad if they’re awakened too suddenly, and yet—” When the somnambulist’s deliberate progress toward the mouth of the well continued he called her name softly. “Donna Isabel!” Then he repeated it louder. “Donna Isabel! Wake up.” The woman seemed to hear and yet not to hear. She turned her head to listen, but continued to walk. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said, reassuringly. “It is only Esteban —Donna Isabel! Stop!” Esteban sprang forward, shouting at the top of his voice, for at the sound of her name Isabel had abruptly swerved to her right, a moverwent which brought her dangerously close to the lip of the well. “Stop! Go back!” screamed the young man.

Above his warning, there came a shriek, Shrill and agonized—a wail of such abysmal terror as to shock the night birds and the insects into stillness, Donna Isabel slipped, or stumbled, to her knees, she balanced briefly, clutching at random while the earth and crumbling cement gave way beneath her; then she slid forward and disappeared, almost out from between Esteban’s hands. There was a noisy rattle of rock and pebble and a great splash far below; a chuckle of little stones striking the water, then a faint bubbling. Nothing more. The stepson stood in his tracks, sick, blind with horror; he was swaying over the opening when Asensio dragged him back. Pancho Cueto, being a heavy sleeper, Was the last to be roused by Esteban’s outcries. ” When he \ad hurriedly slipped into his clothes in response to the pounding on his door, the few servants that the establishment supported had been thoroughly awakened. Cueto - - •

thought they must be out of their minds until he learned what had befallen the mistress of the house. Then, being a man of action, he too Issued swift orders, with the result that by the time he and Esteban had run to the well a rope and lantern were ready for their use. Before Esteban could form and fit a loop for his shoulders there was sufficient help on hand to dower him Into the treacherous abyss. That was a gruesome task which fell to Esteban, for the well had been long unused, Its sides were oozing slime, its waters were stale and black. He was on the point of fainting when he finally climbed out. leaving the negroes to hoist the dripping, Inert weight which he had found at the bottom. Old Sebastian’s curse had come true; Donna Isabel had met the fate he had called down upon her that day when he hung exhausted in his chains and when the files tormented him. The treasure for which the woman had intrigued so tirelessly had been her death. Furthermore, as if in grimmest Irony, she had been permitted at the very last to find It. Living, she had searched to no purpose whatsoever; dying, she had almost grasped it In her arms. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“What’s That?” Gasped the Negro.