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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. R. C. Saxon. Grassdale, Bartow County, Ga., A Superb Grip Cure. Johnson’s Tonic is a superb Grip cure. Drives out every trace of Grip Poison from the system. Does it (pick. 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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.