Jasper County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 June 1918 — RAINBOW'S END A NOVEL [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

RAINBOW'S END A NOVEL

By REX BEACH A NOVEL

AUTHOR. OF 772A/L " "ITteSPOTLESS * WEAPT CF 7XESMSEFtt. COF’VFU'&HT; BY harper, and brothers .

SYNOPSIS. 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 at 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 &,the special servant of the twins, gold. CHAPTER ll—Through* Donna Isabel’s Bchemipg 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 •he seeks to marry Rosa to the rich Don Mario, but Rosa is promised to O’Reilly, the American, and awaits his return from Kew York, whence he has gone to break off his engagement to his employer’s daughter. Esteban Is secretly aiding the Insurrectos. CHAPTER IV—Donna Isabel is at the tnercy of Pancho Cueto, her unscrupulous administrator, .who knows the deeds to the plantation are lost with the treasure. One night she walks in her sleep and meets her death in the treasure Well. Esteban and Rosa are forced to flee when Cueto denounces them as rebels. “ CHAPTER V—Rosa writes to O’Reilly of their plight and urges him to come and save her. CHAPTER VII. The Man Who Would Know Life. Later that day O’Reilly set out to reconnoiter the- city of Neuvitas. He was followed, of course—he had expected as much, and the circumstances amused rather than alarmed him. But when he returned to his hotel and found that his room had been visited during his absence he felt a hint of uneasiness. Evidently, as Doctor Alvarado had forecast, the authorities were interested in him; and he had further evidence of the fact when he lArned that the room next him was occupied by the very man who had shadowed him on the street. Inasmuch as the intervening wall was no more than a thin partition, through which his very breathing could be heard, while his every movement could doubtless be spied upon, O’Reilly saw the need of caution. During breakfast, and afterward throughout an aimless morning stroll, O’Reilly felt watchful eyes upon him. When he returned to his hotel he found Mr. Carbajal in the case concocting refrescos for some military officers, W’ho scanned the American with bold, hostile glances. O’Reilly com-' plained to the proprietor of a toothache. He declared that something had to be done at once, and inquired the name and address of the best local dentist.

Mr. Carbajal named several, among them Dr. Tomas Alvarado, whereupon his guest hurried away, followed at a respectful distance by the secret agent. Finding Doctor Alvarado’s office was closed, as he had anticipated, O’Reilly proceeded to the doctor’s residence. There was some delay when he rang the bell, but eventually the dentist himself appeared. O’Reilly recognized him from his resemblance to his brother. He addressed him in English. “I come from Felipe,” he began. “He well remembers the day you whipped him to keep him from going to the Ten Years’ war.” The languor of Doctor Alvarado’s siesta vanished. He started, his eyes widened. “Who are you?” he muttered. “My name is O’Reilly. I am an American, a friend, so don’t be alarmed. The man you see approaching is following me, but he thinks I have come to you w r ith a toothache.” “What do you want?” L “I want your help in joining the insurrectos.” By this time the detective had come within earshot. Making an effort at self-possession, the dentist said: “Very well. I will meet you at my office in a half-hour and see what can be done.” Then he bowed. O’Reilly raised his hat and turned away. Doctor Alvarado’s dentist’s chair faced a full-length window, one of several which, after the Cuban fashion, opened directly upon the sidewalk, rendering both the waiting room and the office almost as public as the street itself. Every one of these windows was wide open when Johnnie arrived; but it seemed that the dentist knew what he was about, for when his patient had taken his seat and he had begun an examination of the troublesome tooth, he said, under his breath: “I, tqO, am watched. Talk to me in English. When I press, thus, upon your gum, you will know that someone is passing. Now, then, what is the meaning of your amazing message from Felipe?” While Doctor Alvarado pretended to treat a perfectly sound molar, Johnnie managed, despite frequent interruptions, to make known the reason and circumstances of his presence. “But there are no rebels around here,” Alvarado told him. “You could

escape to the country, perhaps, bnt what then? Where would you go? How would they know who you are?” “That’s what I want to find out.” The Cuban pondered. “You’ll have to go to Puerto Principe,” h,e said at length. “Our men are operating in that neighborhood, and my brother Ignacio will know how to reach them. I’ll give you a message to him, similar to the one you brought me from Felipe.” Then he smiled. ‘Tve just thought of the very thing. Years ago I lent him a book which I particularly prized, and one of his children damaged it. I was furious. I declared I would never lend him another, and I never have. Now, then, Pll give you that verj- volume; hand it to him and say that I asked you to return it to him.” Q'Reilly thanked him, promising to use every precaution in delivering the message. The next morning he paid Carbajal's seoro- and took the train to the interior. In his bag was Tomas Alvarado’s^precious volume, and in the same coach with him rode the secret service man. In its general features Puerto Principe differed little from the other Cuban cities O’Reilly knew. It was compactly built, it was very old and it looked its centuries. Its streets were particularly narrow and crooked, having been purposely laid out in labyrinthine mazes, so the story goes, in order to fool the pirates. As he sat in a case, sipping an or\. angeade, he heard someone speaking an atrocious Spanish, and looked up to sA that another American had entered. The stranger was a tall, funereal young man, with pallid cheeks and hollow, burning eyes. O’Reilly stepped over to the table and introduced himself. “The hotel keeper in Neuvitas told me I’d find you here,” he said. “Your name is—” “Branch; Leslie Branch. So Carbajal said you’d find me here, eh? Oh. the greasy little liar. He didn’t believe it. He thought his cooking would have killed me, long ago, and it nearly did.”

This time Mr. Branch's bony frame underwent a genuine shudder and his face was convulsed with loathing. “Carbajal’s in the secret service. Nice fat little spy.” “So I suspected.” Mr. Branch’s beverage appeared at this moment. With a flourish the waiter placed a small‘glass and a bottle of dark liquid before him. Branch stared at it, then rolled a fiercely smoldering eye upward. “What’s that?” he inquired. O’Reilly read the label. “It’s bitters,” said he. “Bitters I And I asked for‘yellow’— a glass of agwa with yellow.” Branch’s voice shook. ‘Tm dying of a fever, and this ivory-billed toucan brings me a quart Of poison. Bullets!” It was impossible to describe the suggestion of profanity with which the speaker colored this innocuous expletive. “Weak as 1 am, I shall gnaw his windpipe.” He bared his teeth suggestively and raised two talonlike hands. The waiter was puzzled but not alarmed. He embraced himself as his customer had done, and shuddered; then pointing at the bitters, he nodded encouragingly. O’Reilly forestalled an outburst by translating his countryman’s wants. “Un vaso de agua con hielo,” said he, and the attendant was all apologies. “So you speak the lingo?” marveled Mr Branch. “Welt I can’t get the

hang of it. Don't like IL Don’t like anything Spanish. H—l of a country, isn’t it? —where the ice is ‘yellow’ and the butter is *meant to kill you,’ and does.” O’Reilly laughed. “You’ve been studying a guide book, ‘with complete glossary of Spanish phrases.’ ” Mr Branch nodded listlessly. “Pm supposed to report this Insurrection, but the Spaniards won’t let me. They edit my stuff to suit themselves. I’m getting tired of the farce.” “Going home?” > “Don’t dare” The speaker tapped his concave chest. “Bum lungs. I came down here to shuffle off. and I’m waiting for it to happen. What brings you to Cuba?” “I’m here for my health, too.” The real invalid stared. “I have rheumatism.” ** “Going to sweat it out, eh? Well, there’s nothing to do but sweat” — Branch was racked by a coughing spt sm that shook his reedy frame—“sweat and cough. Bullets ! No mistake about that hospital bark, is there?” When he had regained his breath he said: “See here! I’m going to take a chance with you, for I like your looks. My newspaper work is a bluff: I don't send enough stuff to keep me alive. I came here to cure my lungs, and — I want you to help me do it.” O’Reilly stared at the man in surprise. “How can" I help you?” he asked. “By taking me with you.” “With me? Where?” “To the insurrectos, of course.” The men eyed each other fixedly. “What makes you think —” O'Reilly began. “Oh. don’t say it! I’ve got a hunch! I don’t know what your game is—probably (dynamite: there’s a story that the rebels have sent for some American experts to teach them how to use the stuff, and God knows they need instruction! Anyhow, I can’t swallow that rheumatism talk. I thought you might give me a lift. Take me along, will you?” “And how would that benefit your cough?” Johnnie inquired curiously. Mr. Branch hesitated. “Well. I’ll tell you,” he said, after a moment. “I’m afraid to die this way, by inches, and hours. I’m scared to death.” It seemed Impossible that the sick man’s cheeks could further blanch, but they became fairly livid, while a beading of moisture appeared upon his upper lip. “Heaven I You’ve no idea how it gets on a fellow’s nerves to see himself slipping—slipping. I’d like to end it suddenly, like that!” He voiced the last sentence abruptly and snapped his fingers. “Then, too, I’d like to have a thrill before I cash in—taste ‘the salt of life,’ as somebody expressed it. That’s war. It’s the biggest game in the world. What do you think of the idea?” “Not much,” O'Reilly said honestly. “Difference In temperament. I suppose it is a sick fancy, but I’ve got it. Im a rotten coward, but I’ll fight if the Cubans will take me.” “Where are the Cubans?” “Oh, they’re out yonder in the hills. I know all about ’em. Come over to my quarters, and I’ll show you a map, if you’re interested.” “I am,” said O’Reilly, and, rising, he followed his new acquaintance, (TO BE CONTINUED.) The Tricolor, the French national standard, of blue, white and red, divided vertically, originated during the first French Revolution, in 1789 the leaf plucked by Camille Desmaulins in the garden of the Palais Royal became a rallying sign, and green as to be adopted as the national color; but remembeiing that green was the color of the hated Prince d’Artois, they rejected it on the following day. They at first chose, instead, blue and red, the colors of the city of Paris, and later added the white of royalty, that had been faithfully preserved by the national guard. This new standard was adopted with enthusiasm. A few months after the taking of the baitile, Bailly and Lafayette offered to Louis XVI the three-colored cocard as a badge of the reconciliation with the king. Thus the Tricolor originated as the symbol of the liberty of the French nation, and it continued as such even when afterward the “reconciliation” with the king ended with his decapitation.—New York Tribune. '

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