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UNDER TWO
FLAGS By " OUIDA ”
CHAPTER VII.
S rDDENLY. as she went, Ciga
rette beard a about on the still
BCSpT night air—very still now that
the lights and the tnalodies
and the laughter of Chateauroy’s villa
lay far behind, and the town of Algiers
was yet distant, with its lamps glitter
ing down by the sea.
The shout was: “Help, soldiers! For
France!” And Cigarette knew the
voice, ringing melodiously and calmly
still, though it gave the sound of
alarm.
“Cigarette is coming!” she cried in
answer. She had cried it many a time
over the heat of battlefields and when
the wounded men in the dead of the
sickly night writhed under the knife of
the camp thieves. If she had gone like
tpe wind before, she went like the
lightning now. A few yards onjvard
she saw a confused knot of horses and
of riders struggling one with another
in a cloud of white dust, silvery and
hazy in the radianoe of the moon.
The center figure was Cecil’s; the
four others were Arabs, armed to the
teeth and mad with drink. They had
knocked aside and trampled over a
woruout old colonel of age too feeble
- - - -
A confused knot of horses and of riders.
for him to totter in time from their
path. Cecil had reined up and shouted
to them to pause. They, inflamed -with
the perilous drink and senseless with I
fury, were too blind to see and too i
furious to care that they were faced I
by a soldier of France, but rode down j
on him at once, with their curled sa- !
bers flashing round their heads, flis j
horse stood the shock gallantly, and
he sought at first only to parry their
thrusts, but he soon saw that if he
struck not, and struck not surely, a
few moments more of that moonlight
night were all that he would live. He
wished to avoid bloodshed, but it was
no longer a matter of choice with him,
as his shoulder was grazed by a thrust
which, but for a swerve of his horse,
would have pierced his lungs, and the
four riders, yelling like madmen, forc
ed the animal back on his haunches
and assaulted him with breathless vio
lence. He swept Ids owu arm back
and brought his saber down straight
through the sword arm of the fore
most. The limb was cleft through as
if the stroke of an ax had severed it,
and. thrice infuriated, the Arabs closed
in on him. The points of their weap
ons were piercing his harness when,
sharp and swift, one on another, three
shots hissed past him. The nearest of
his assailants fell stone dead, and the
others, wounded and startled, loosed
their hold, shook their reins and tore
off down the lonely road, while the
dead man’s horse, shaking his burden
from him out of the stirrups, followed
them at a headlong gallop through a
cloud of dust.
“That was a pretty out through the
arm. Better bad it been through the
throat. Never do things ly halves,
frieiKi Victor,” said Cigarette careless
ly as she thrust her pistols back into
her sash and looked with the tranquil
appreciation of a connoisseur on the
brown, brawny, naked limb where it
lay severed on the sand, with the hilt
of the weapon still hanging in the sin
ewy fingers. Cecil threw himself from
bis saddle and gazed at her in bewil
dered amazement. lie had thought
those sure, cool, death dealing shots j
had come from some spahis or chas- ,
6eur.
“I owe you my life!” he said rapidly.
“But, good heavens, you have shot the
fellow dead”—
Cigarette shrugged her shoulders,
with a contemptuous glance at the
Bedouin's corpse. “To be sure. I am
not a bungler.”
“Happily for me, or I had beeu where
he lies now. But wait. Let me look.
There may be breath in him yet.”
Cigarette laughed, offended and scorn
ful as with the offense and scorn of
one whose first science was impeached.
“Look and welcome, but if you find
any life in that Arab make a laugh of It
before all the army tomorrow.”
She was at her fiercest. Cecil, disre
garding her protest, stooped and raised
the fallen Bedouia. He saw at a
glance that she was right. The lean,
dark, lustful face was set in the rigid
ity of death. The bullet had passed
straight through the temples.
“Did you never see a dead man be
iors?' 1 demanded Cigarette impatiently
as he lingered. Even in this moment
lie had more thought of this Arab than
he had of her.
lie laid the body down and looked at
her with a glance that, rightly or
wrongly, she thought had a rebuke In It.
“Very many. But —it Is never a
pleasant sight. And they were in drink.
They did not know wlipt they did.”
“What divine pity! Good powder
and ball were sore wasted, it seems.
You would have preferred to lie there
yourself, it appears. I beg your par
don for Interfering with the prefer
ence.”
Her eyes were flashing, her lips very
scornful and wrathful. This was his
gratitude!
“Wait, wait,” said Cecil rapidly, lay
ing his hand on her shoulder as she
tluug herself away. “My dear child, do
not think me ungrateful. I know well
enough 1 should be a dead man myself
had it not beef) for your gallant assist
ance. Believe me, I thank you from j
ray heart.”
“But you think me ‘unsexed,’ all the
same!”
The word had rankled In her. She
could launch it now with telling re
prisal. He smiled, but he saw that his
phrase, which she had overheard, had
not alone incensed but had wounded
her.
“Well, a little perhaps." he said gen
tly. “How should it be otherwise?
And, for that matter, I have seen many
a great lady look on and laugh her soft,
cruel laughter while the pheasants
were falling by hundreds or the stags
being torn by the bounds. And they
had not a tithe of your courage.”
“It Is well for you that 1 was unsox
ed enough to be able to send an ounce
of lend into a drunkard!" she pursued,
with immeasurable disdain. “If I had
been like that dainty aristocrat down j
there, it had been worse for you. 1 I
should have screamed and fainted and j
left you to be killed while I made a
tableau. Oh-be, that Is to be ‘feminine,’
Is it not?”
“Where did you see that lady?” he
asked in some surprise. .
“Oh, I was there!” answered Ciga
rette, with a toss of tier head south
ward to where the villa lay. “I went
to see how you would keep your prom
ise.”
“Well, you saw 1 kept It.”
She gave her little teeth a sharp click
like the click of a trigger.
“Yes. And I would have forgiven
you if you had broken it.”
“Would you? I should not have for
given myself.”
“Ah, you are just like Marquise. And
you will end like him.”
“Very probably.”
“Why did you give those chessmen
to that silver pheasant?” she asked
him abruptly.
"Silver pheasant?”
“Yes. See how she sweeps, sweeps, I
sweeps so languid, so brilliant, so use
less—bah! Why did you give them?”
“She admired them. It was not much
to give.”
“Ah. you would not have given them
to a daughter of the people.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Because her hands would
be hard and brown and coarse, not fit
for those ivory puppets, but milaiM’a
are white like the ivory and cannot soil
it. She will handle them so gracefully
for five minutes and then buy anew
toy and let her lapdog break yours!”
“Like enough.” lie said it with his
habitual gentle temper, but there was
a shadow of pain in the words. The
chessmen had become in some sort like
living things to him through long asso
ciation. Cigarette, quick to sting, bu|
ns quick to repent usjng her sting, saw
the regret in him. With the rapid, un
calculaging liberality of an utterly un
selfish and intensely impulsive nature
she hastened to make amends by say
ing wbat was like gall on her tongue in
the utterance.
“And yet.” she said quickly, “perhaps
she will value them more than that. 1
know nothing of the aristocrats—not I!
When you were gone, she championed
you against the Black Hawk. She told
him that if you had not been a genfle
man before you came into the ranks
she had never seen one. She spoke
well. If you had but heard hen!”
“She did?"
She saw bis glance brighten as it
] turned on her in a surprised gratifiea
| tion.
“Well, what is there so wonderful?”
Cigarette asked it with a certain pet
ulance aud doggedness, taking a name
j sake out of her breast pocket, biting its
1 end off and striking a fusee. A word
from this aristocrat was more welcome
to him than a bullet that had saved his
life!
Her generosity had gone very far,
and, like most generosity, got nothing
for its pains. “Well! Well!” thought
j his champion as she made her way
! through the gay, lighted streets. “I
| swore to have my vengeance on him.
t is a droll vengeance to save hisJife!”
“Hola. Cigarette!” cried the zouave
Tata, leaning out of the little case
ment of the As du Pique, as she
passed it. “Come in. We have the
devil's own fun here” —
“No doubt!” retorted the Friend of
the Flag. “It would be odd ifrthe mas
ter fiddler would not fiddle for his
own!"
“Come In. my pretty one!” entreated
Tata, stretching oqt his,brawny arms,
i “You wilf die of laughing if you hear
Crls-Grl* tonight. Such a song!”
“A pretty song. yes. for a pigsty!”
said Cigarette, with a glance Into the
chamber, and she shook bis hand off
her and went on down the street. A
night or two before anew song from
Gris-Gris would Lave been a paradise
to her. and she would have vaulted
through the window at a single bound
Into the pandemonium. Now, she did
not know why, she found no fChurm
lu it. And she went quietly home to
her little straw bed In her garret and
curled herself up like a kitten to sleep;
but for the first time in her young, life
sleep did not come readily to her, and
when it did come for the first time
found a restless sigh upou lmr laugh
ing mouth as she murmured, dream
ing, “How beautiful she Is!”
CHAPTER VIII.
4 <f VVTIGHTING In the Kabaila,
Jp life was well enough; but
jpgs? here!” thought Cecil, as,
awake than those
of liis cliamhree, he stood looking down
the lengthy narrow room where the j
men lay asleep along the bare floor. j
What made life in the barracks ol’ |
Algiers so bitter was the impoteuey, the I
subjection the compelled obedience to 1
a bidding that he knew often caprl- j
clous and unjust ns it was cruel, which i
was so unendurable to his natural
pride, yet to which he had hitherto
rendered undeviating adhesion and
submission, less for his own sa*ke than
tor that of the men around him, who,
he knew, would hack him in revolt to
the death, -and he dealt with, for such
loyalty to him. in the fashion that the
vivandiere’s words had pictured with
such terrible force and truth.
“Is it worth while to go on with it?
Would it not be the wiser way to draw
my own saber across my throat?” he
thought as the brutalized companion
ship in which his life.was spent struck
on him all the more darkly because
the night before a woman's voice and
a woman’s face had recalled memories
buried for 1” long years.
This morning he roused the men of
his cliambree with that kindly gentle
ness which had gone so far in its nov
elty as to attach their liking; made
his breakfast of some wretched ouion
soup and a roll of black bread; rode
bO miles in the blazing heat of the
African day at the head of a score
of iiis men on convoy duty, and
returned jaded, weary, parched with
thirst, scorched through with heat,
to be kept waiting in his saddle,
by his colonel’s orders, outside the
barracks for three-quarters of an
hour, whether to receive a com
mand or a censure he was left in igno
rance. When the three-quarters had
passed he was told the colonel had
gone long ago and did not require him!
Cecil said nothing. Yet he reeled
slightly as he threw himself out of
saddle; a nausea and a giddiness had
come on him. The chasseur who had
brought him the message caught his
arm eagerly.
“Are you hurt, corporal?”
Cecil shook his head. The speaker
was one known in the regiment as
Fetit Ficpon, who had begun life as a
gamin of Paris and now' bade fair to
make oue of the most brilliant of the
soldiers of Africa. Fetit Ficpon had
but one drawback to his military ca
reer—he was always in insubordina
tion. The old gamin daredevilry was
net dead in him and never w’ould die.
and now he muttered a terrible curse
under his fiercely curled mustache.
“If the Black Hawk were nailed up
in the sun like a kite on a barn door, I
would drive 20 nails through his
throat!”
Cecil turned rapidly on him.
“Silence, sir. or I must report you.
Another speech like that, and you shall
have a turn at Beylick.”
Fetit Ficpon looked as crestfallen as
one of his fraternity could.
“Send me to Beylick if you like, cor
poral,” he said sturdily. “I was in
wrath for you, not for myself.”
Cecil was infinitely more touched than
he dared for sake of discipline or sake
of tlie speaker himself to show', but
his glance dwelt on Fetit Ficpon with
a look that the quick, black, monkey
like eyes of tke rebel were swift to
read.
“I know,” he said gravely. “I do not
misjudge you; but, at the same time,
my name must never serve as a pre
text for insubordination. Such men as
care to pleasure me will best do so in
making my duty light by their own self
control and obedience to the rules of
their service.”
Ho led his horse away, and Petit Pic
pon went ou an errand he had been
sent to do in the streets for one of the
officers.
Picpon bad been euroiled in the chas
seurs at the time with Cecil and,
following his gamin nature, had ex
hausted all his resources of impudence,
maliciousness and power of tormenting
on the “aristocrat,” somewhat disap
pointed, how-ever, that the utmost in
genuities of his insolence and even his
malignity never succeeded in breaking
the “aristocrat’s” silence and contempt
uous forbearance from all reprisal.
One day. however, it chanced that a
detachment of chasseurs, of which Ce
cil was one, was cut to pieces by such
an overwhelming mass of Arabs that
scarce a dozen of them could force their
way through the Bedouins with life.
Cecil was among those few, and a flight
at full speed was the sole chance of re
gaining their encampment. Just as he
had shaken his bridle free of the Arab's
clutch aud had mowed himself a clear
path through their ranks he caught
sight of his young enemy, Picpon. on
the ground, with a lance broken off in
his ribs, guarding his head with bleed
ing hands as the horses trampled over
him. To make a dash at the boy,
though to linger a moment was to risk
certain death, to send his steel through
an Arab who came in bis way, to lean
down aud catch bold of the lad's sash,
to swing him up into his saddle and
throw him across it in front of him and
to charge afresh t'hrougii lie storm of
musket balls and ride on thus burden
ed was the work of ten seconds with
Bel-a-faire-peur. And he brought the j
boy safe over a stretch of six leagues ;
In a flight for life, though the Imp no j
more deserved the compassion than a
reorpion that had spent all its noxious
lay stinging at every point of uncov
ered flesh would merit tenderness from
the bund It had poisoned.
When he was swung down from the
saddle and laid in front of a vedette lire,
sheltered from the bitter north wind
that was then blowing cruelly, the
bright, black, apelike eyes of the gam
in opened with a strange gleam in
them.
“Picpo.n will remember!” he mur
mured.
Cecil himself, having watered, fed
and littered down his tfred horse, made
bis way to a litHe cafe he commonly
frequented and spent the few sous he
could afford on an Iced draft of lemon
flavored drink. Eat he could not. Over
fatigue had given him a nausea for
food.
A few doors farther in the street
there was a quaint place kept by au
old Moor. wAo had some o'f ttie rarest
and most beautiful treasures of Al
gerian workmanship in his long, dark,
silent chambers. With this old man
Cecil had something of a friendship;
lie had protected him one day from the
mockery and outrage of some drunken
Indigenes, and the Moor, warmly grate
ful, was ever ready to give him a cup
oi coffee and a bubble bubble in the
stillness of his dwelling. Its resort
was sometimes welcome to him as the
one spot, quiet and noiseless, to which
be could escape out of the continuous
turmoil of street and of barrack, and
he went thither now.
“No coffee, no slierbert, thanks, good
father,” said Cecil, in answer to the
Moor’s hospitable entreaties. “Give
me only license to sit in the quiet here.
I am very tired.”
“Sit and be welcome, my son,” said
Ben Arsli. “Whom should this roof
shelter in honor, if not thee? Musjld
shall bring tliee the supreme solace.”
The supreme solace was a narghile,
and its great bowl of rosewater was
soon set down by the little Moorish
lad at Cecil’s side. Whether fatigue
really weighted liis eyes with slumber,
or whether the soothing sedative of
the pipe had its influence, he had not
sat long in the perfect stillness of the
loor’s shop before he slept—the heavy,
dreamless sleep of intense exhaustion.
Ben Arsli glanced at him, and bade
Musjld be very quiet. Half an hour
or more passed: none had entered the
place. The grave old Moslem was half
slumbering himself, when there came
i a delicate odor of perfumed laces. A
delicate rustle of silk swept the floor
nd a lady’s voice asked the price of an
ostrich egg superbly mounted in gold.
Ben Arsli opened his eyes—the chas
seur slept on; the newcomer was one
of those great ladies who now and
then winter in Algeria.
The Moor rose instantly, with pro
found salaams, and began to spread
before her the richest treasures of his
stock, and throughout her survey Ben
Arsli kept her near the entrance, and
Cecil slept on unaroused.
A roll of notes had passed from her
hand to the Moslem’s, and she was
about to glide out to her carriage
when a lamp which hung at the far
ther end caught her fancy.
“Is that for sale?” she inquired.
As he answered in the affirmative
she moved up the shop and, her eyes
being lifted to the lamp, had drawn
close to Cecil before she saw him.
When she did so, she paused near in
astonishment.
“Is that soldier asleep?”
“He is, madame,” softly answered
the old man in his slow, studied
French. “He comes here to rest some
times out of the noise. He was very
tired today, and, I think, ill, would he
have confessed.”
“Indeed!” Her eyes fell on him with
compassion. He had fallen into an at
titude of much grace and of utter ex
haustion. His head was uncovered
and rested on one arm, so that the
laws'^
“Is that soldier asleep?"
face was turned upward. With a wo
man’s rapid! comprehensive glance
she saw the dark shadow, like a bruise,
under his closed, aching eyes; she saw
the weary pain upon his forehead;
she saw the whiteness of his hands,
the slenderness of his wrists, the soft
ness of his liair; she saw, as she had
s*en before, that whatever he might
be now-, in some past time he had been
a man of gentle blood, of courtly bear
ing.
“He Is a Chasseur d'Afrique?” she
asked the Moslem.
“Yes. madaine. I think he must have
been something very different some
day.”
She did not answer. She stood w-ith
her .thoughtful eyes gazing on the
wornout soldier.
“He saved me once, madame, at
much risk to himself from the savage
ry of some Turcos,” the old man woiYt'
on. “Gt couioe *he is welcome
under my roof. The companionship
he has must be bitter to him. I fancy.
They do say he would have had bis
officer’s grade and the cross, too, long
before now if it were not for his colo
nel’s hatred.”
“Ah. I have seen him before now.
Tto be continued. 1
COL- SAXON ON JOHNSON GRASS-
Tells the Farmersto Let It Alone
on Floottdale Lands.
Editors Home and Farm.
Some ten years ago I sowed a
patch of Johnson grass in a per
manent pasture. It matured, but
the hogs rooted it totally up, and
not a vestige have I seen since.
Young grass can be destroyed by
turning in summer or winter.
If Johnson grass is in any low
land, subject to floods and of pre
carious returns for cultivation, let
it severely alone.
Like sorghum, to make good
hay it should be thick and cut in
the boot. To prevent it spreading,
cut every stalk before it seeds.
There is no crop to be compared to
Johnson grass if sown on good
land and the hay properly cured.
It will pay to fertilize it if needed.
The hay brings sls per ton, and
it can be mowed three times a sea
son. The beauty is it needs but
one sowing for all time. To mow
and bale require but few hands,
and the baling can be done in win
ter. The labor question has to be
faced, for it is here.
Sow wheat and mow it in the
dough state, cure and feed to
horses, for this supplants corn and
requires but little work.
This policy reduces the cotton
acreage, if it must be made. I
know of no other substitute for
cotton.
Reuters making cotton should
not be e til bar rased with wheat, as
they conflict in the fall and in
June. Nor should hands employed
to make hay be entangled with
wheat for market, as neither will
wait. One active man can feed,
provide fuel, sow wheat for horses,
and with- one or more, can mow
wheat and grass and bale.
I wish to make hay that will
command a premium. There is a
secret in haymaking, and everyone
thinks he has it, but I am not sat
isfied until I demonstrate by actual
experiment.
First —To cut hay and in two
hours rake into wind rows, tnen
into cocks with a tread in the cen
ter and tread it. Then withdraw
the stoke leaving a space for the
escape of heat.
Second —Cut and haul to a con
venient place and rick with slotted
ventilators every eight feet.
Third —Box a frame eight feet
square; pack half cured hay anti
cover. No doubt your readers
will say “That will be a failure.”
Sometime ago, at haymaking
time, it rained two or three showers
each day for several days. Clover
was ready and between showers the
hay was rushed into the barn. All
thought the hay would heat and
be ruined, but although it smoked
and filled the barn with heat, it
was the finest hay delivered that
season. No doubt some are ready
to sav ‘‘l don’t believe a word of
such stuff.” What-about a silo?
Green vegetation with the air ex
cluded preserved intact. Some
farmers house all their hay the
same day it is cut and pack it
down.
I have flat lands that made noth
ing last year and will make noth
ing this year. Johnson grass de
fies floods and holds the fort.
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Anyone sending a sketch and description mav
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TO ALLPERSONS HAVING
FARMING, TIMBERED OH
MINERAL LANDS, OR
WATER POWERS
FOR SALE.
The Nashville, Chattanooga and St.
Louis Railway proposes to u.h its b< j >r
efforts to induce a good class of immi
grants to settle in territory contiguous
to its lines, and to engage the attention
of capitalists seeking Manu aetnring
Sites or Mining Property. It therefore
solicits the support, the co-operation
and the assistance of the people of every
county through which its lines pass.
The management earnestly requests
that all persons who have farms for sale
or lease, those who hare timbered
lands, water powers or mineral lands
fnr sale, will send a brief description ot
the same to the railroad agent nearest
them, giving the prices and terms ot
sale. The prices must correspond with
the prices asked of locat buyei s. The
management does not propose to aid m
selling lands to immigrants at exorbi
tant or speculative prices.
Large tracts suitable for cob Hization ;
at low prices, are tspe-iallv wi Kte
J. B,
Industrial and Commercial Agb
H. F. Smith,
Traffic Manager,
' NasliyflTe, Tenn.