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The Peace of Righteousness—S —By Theodore Roosevelt
Come, Peace! nor like a mourner bowed
For honor lost and dear ones wasted.
Hut proud, to meet a people proud,
With eyes that tell o' triumph tasted!
Come, with han' gripping on the hilt.
An' step that proves ye Victory's daughter!
Longin’ for you, our spirits wilt
Like shipwrecked men's on raf’s for water.
Come, while our country feels the lift
Of a great instinct shouting “Forward!" •
An’ knows that freedom ain't a gift
That tarries long in han’s of cowards!
Come, seek ez mothers prayed for, when
They kissed their cross with lips that quiv
ered,
An’ bring fair wages for brave men,
A nation saved, a race delivered!
HKSE are the noble lines of a noble poet,
T written In the sternest days of the great
Civil War, when the writer, Lowell, was
one among the millions of men who mourned
the death in battle of kinsfolks dear to him.
No man ever lived who hated an unjust war
more than Lowell or who loved with more pas
sionate fervor the peace of righteousness. Yet,
like the other great poets of his day and coun
try, like Holmes, who sent his own son to the
war, like gentle Longfellow and the Quaker
Whittier,he abhorred unrighteousness and Igno
ble peace more than war. These men had lofty
souls. They possessed the fighting edge, without
which no man is really great, for in the really
great man there must be both the heart of gold
and the temper of steel.
In 1864 there were in the North some hun
dreds of thousands of men who praised Peace
as the supreme end, as a good more important
than all other goods, and who denounced war
ns the worst of all evils. These men one and
all assailed and denounced Abraham Lincoln,
and all voted against him for President. More
over, at that time there were many individuals
in England and France who said it was the duty
of those two nations to mediate between the
North and the South so as to stop the terrible
loss of life and destruction of property which
attended our Civil War, and they asserted that
any Americans who in such event refused to
accept their mediation and to stop the war
would thereby show themselves the enemies of
Peace. Nevertheless, Abraham Lincoln and the,
men back of him by their attitude prevented all
such effort at mediation, declaring that they
would regard it as an unfriendly act to the
United States. Looking back from a distance
of 50 years, we can now see clearly that Abra
ham Lincoln and his supporters were right.
Such mediation would have been a hostile act,
not only to the United States, but to humanity.
The men who clamored for unrighteous peace
50 years ago this fall were the enemies of man
kind.
These facts should be pondered by the well-
meaning men who always clamor for peace
without regard to whether peace brings justice
or injustice. Very many of the men and women
who are at times misled into demanding peace
as if it. were itself an end Instead of being a
means of righteousness, are men of good intel
ligence and sound heart who only need seri
ously to consider the facts, and who can then
be trusted to think aright and act aright. There
> is, however, an element of a certain numerical
importance among our people, including the
members of. the ultra-pacificist group, who by
their teachings do some real, although limited,
mischief. They are a feeble folk, these ultra-
pacificists, morally and physically; but In a
country where voice and vote are alike free,
they may, if their teachings are not disregarded,
create a condition of things where the crop they
have sowed in folly and wenkness will be reaped
with blood and bitter tears by the brave men
and highhearted women of the nation.
The folly preached by some of these individ
uals is somewhat startling, and if it were trans
lated from words into deeds it would constitute
a crime against the nation. One professed
teacher of morality makes the plea in so many
words that we ought to follow the example of
China and deprive ourselves of all power to
repel foreign attack. Surely this writer must
possess the exceedingly small amount of infor
mation necessary in order to know that nearly
half of China is at present under foreign do
minion and that at this moment the Germans
and Japanese are battling on Chinese territory
and domineering as conquerors over the Chinese
in that territory. Think of the abject soul of a
man capable of holding up to the admiration of
freeborn American citizens such a condition of
serfage under alien rule!
Nor is the folly confined only to the male
sex. A number of women teachers in Chicago
are credited with having proposed, in view of
the war, hereafter to prohibit in the teaching
of history any reference to war and battles.
Intellectually, of course, such persons show 7
themselves unlit to be retained as teachers a
single day, and indeed unfit to be pupils in any
school more advanced than a kindergarten.
But it is not their intellectual, it is also their
moral shortcomings which are striking. The
suppression of the truth is, of course, as grave
an offense against morals as is the suggestion
of the false or even the lie direct; and these
teachers actually propose to teach untruths to
their pupils.
True teachers of history must tell the facts
of history; and ifYhey do not tell the facts both
about the wars that are righteous and the wars
that are unrighteous, and about the causes that
led to these wars and to success or defeat in
them, they show themselves morally 7 unfit to
train the minds of boys and girls. If in addi
tion to telling the facts they draw 7 the lessons
that should be drawn from the facts, they will
give their pupils a horror of all wars that ar«
entered’ into wantonly oi with levity or in a
spirit of mere brutal aggression or save under
dire necessity. But they will also teach that
among the noblest deeds of mankind are those
that have been done in great wars for liberty,
in wars of self-defense, in wars for the relief of
oppressed peoples, in wars for putting an end to
wrongdoing in the dark places of the globe.
Any teachers, in school or college, who occu
pied the position that these foolish, foolish
teachers have sought to take, would be forever
estopped from mentioning the names of Wash
ington vand Lincoln; because their names are
forever associated with great wars for right
eousness. These teachers would be forever
estopped from so much as mentioning the shin
ing names of Marathon and Salami*. They
would seek to blind their pupils’ eyes to the
glory held in the deeds and details of Joan of
Arc, of Andreas Hofer, of Arnold von Win-
kelreid, of Kosciusko, and Itakotski. They
would be obliged to warn their pupils against
ever reading Schiller’s “William Tell,’’ or the
poetry of Koerner. Such men are deaf to the
lament running, “Oh, why, Patrick Sarsfield,
did we let your ships sail, Across the dark wa
ters from green Innisfall." To them Holmes'
ballad of Bunker Hill and Whittier’s “Lous
Deo,” MacMaster’s ode to the Old Continentals
and O’Hara’s "Bivouac of the Dead” are mean
ingless. On them lessons of careers like those
of Timoleon and John Hampden are lost; in
their eyes the lofty self-abnegation of Robert
Lee and Stonewall Jackson was folly; their dull
senses do not thrill to the deathless deaths of
the men who died at Thermopylae and the Al
amo—the fight of those grim Texans of which
it was truthfully said that Thermopylae had its
messengers of death, but the Alamo had none.
It has actually been proposed by 7 some of
these shivering apostles of the gospel of na
tional abjectness that in view of the destruction
that has fallen on certain peaceful Powers of
Europe, we should abandon all efforts at self
defense, should stop building up battleships, and
cease to take any measures to defend ourselves
if attacked, it is difficult seriously to consider
such a proposition. It is precisely and exactly
as if the inhabitants of a village in whose neigh
borhood highway robberies had occurred should
propose to meet the crisis by depriving the local
policeman of his revolver and club.
There are, however, many high-minded people
who do not agree with these extremists, but who
nevertheless need to he enlightened as to the
actual facts. These good people, who are busy
people and not able to devote much time to
thoughts about international affairs, are often
confused by men whose business it is to know
better. For example, a few weeks ago these
good people were stirred to a moment’s belief
that something had been accomplished by the
enactment at Washington of a score or two of
all-inclusive arbitration treaties; being not un
naturally misled by the fact that those respon
sible for the passage of the treaties indulged in
some not wholly harmless bleating as to the
good effects they would produce. As a matter
of fact, they probably will not produce the small
est effect of any kind or sort. Yet it is possible
they may have a mischievous effect, inasmuch
under certain circumstances to fulfill them
would cause frightful disaster to the United
States, while to break them, even although under
compulsion and because it was absolutely nec
essary, would be truitful of keen humiliation to
every right-thinking man who was jealous of
our international good name.
If, for example, whatever the outcome of the
present war, a great triumphant military des
potism declared that it would not recognize the
Monroe Doctrine or seized Magdalena Bay, or
one of the Dutch West Indies, or the Island of
St. Thomas, and fortified it; or if—as would In
finite possible—it announced that we had no
right to fortify the isthmus of Panama, and
Itself landed on adjacent territory to erect simi
lar fortifications; then, under these absurd trea
ties, we would Ik- obliged, if we happened to
have made one of them with one of the coun
tries involved, to go into an interminable dis
cussion of the subject before a joint commission,
while the hostile nation proceeded to make its
position Impregnable. It seems incredible that
the United States Government could have made
such treaties; but it has just done so, with the
warm approval of the professional pacificists.
These treaties were entered into when the
Administration had before its eyes at that very
moment the examples of Belgium and Luxem
bourg, which showed beyond possibility of
doubt, especially when taken in connection with
other similar incidents that have occurred dur
ing the last couple of decades, that there are
various great military empires in the Old World
who will pay not one moment’s heed to the most
solemn and binding treaty, tf it is to their in
terest to break it. If any one of these empires,
as the result of the present contest, obtains
something approaching to a position of com
plete predominance in the Old World, It is abso
lutely certain that it would pay no heed what
ever to these treaties, if it desired to better its
position in the New World by taking possession
of the Dutch or Danish West Indies or of, the
territory of some weak American State on the
mainland of the continent. In such event we
would be obliged to either instantly ourselves
to repudiate the scandalous treaties by which
the Government at Washington has just sought
to tie our hands—and thereby expose ourselves
in our turn to the charge of bad faith—or else
we should have to abdicate our position as a
great power and submit to abject humiliation.
Since these articles of mine were written and
published, I am glad to see that James Rryce,
a lifelong advocate of peace and the stanchest
possible friend of the United States, has taken
precisely the position I have taken. Bryce
dwells, as I have dwelt, upon the absolute need
of protecting small States that behave them
selves from absorption in great military empires.
He insists, as I have insisted, upon the need of
the reduction of armaments, the quenching of
the baleful spirit of militarism, and the admis
sion of the peoples everywhere to a fuller share
In the control of foreign policy—all to ' - ac
complished by some kind of International
League of Peace. He adds, however, as the
culminating and most important portion of
his article:
“But no scheme for preventing future wars
will have any chance of success unless it rests
upon the assurance that the States which enter
it will loyally and steadfastly abide by it, and
that each and all of them will join in coercing
by their overwhelming united strength any State
which may disregard the obligations it has un
dertaken.”
This Is almost exactly what I have said. In
deed, it is almost word for word what I have
said—an agreement which is all the more strik
ing l>ecause when he wrote it Lord Bryce could
not have known what I had written. We must
insist on righteousness first and foremost. We
must strive for peace always; but we must
never hesitate to put righteousness above pence.
In order to do this, we must put force back of
righteousness, for, ns the world now is, na
tional righteousness without force back of it
speedily becomes a matter of derision. To the
doctrines that .Might makes Right it is utterly
useless to oppose the doctrine of Right unbacked
by Might.
It is not even true that what the pacificists
desire is Right. The loaders of the pacificists
of this country, who for three months now have
been crying "Peace! Peace!” have been too
timid even to say that they want the Peace to
be a righteous one. We needlessly dignify such
outcries when we speak of them as well-mean
ing. The weaklings who raise their shrill piping
for a peace that shall consecrate successful
wrong occupy a position quite as immoral as and
infinitely more contemptible than the position
of the wrongdoers themselves. The ruthless
strength of the great absolutist lenders—Eliza
beth of England, Katharine of Russia, Peter the
Great, Frederick the Great, Napoleon, Bismarck
—is certainly infinitely better for their own na
tions and is probably better for mankind at
large than the loquacious impotence, ultimately
trouble-breeding, which has recently marked
our own international policy. Strength at least
commands respect; whereas the prattling fee
bleness that dares' not rebuke any concrete
wrong, and whose proposals for right are
marked by sheer fatuity, is fit only to excite
weeping among angels, and among men the
bitter laughter of scorn
At this moment any peace which leaves unre
dressed the wrongs of Belgium, and which does'
not effectively guarantee Belgium and idl other
small nations that behave themselves against
the repetition of such wrongs, would be n well-
nigh unmixed evil. As far as we personally
are concerned, such a ponce would inevitably
mean that we would at ouce and in haste have
to begin to arm ourselvev or be exposed in our
turn to the most frightful risk of disaster. Let
our people take thought for the future. Bel
gium was absolutely Innocent of offense. Her
cities have lieen laid waste, or held to ransom
for gigantic sums of money; her fruitful fields
have been trampled into mire; her sons have
died on the field of battle; her daughters are
broken-hearted fugitives: a million of her peo
ple have fled to foreign lands. Entirely dis
regarding all accusations as to outrages on in
dividuals, it yet remains true that disaster ter
rible beyond belief has befallen this peaceful
nation of 6,000,000 people, who themselves had
been guilty of not even the smallest wrong
doing. Brussels has been held to'' enormous
ransom, although It did not even strive to de
fend itself. Because soldiers In the forts at
tempted to repulse the enemy, hundreds of
houses in the undefended city were wrecked
with bombs fro m airships, and throngs of
peaceful men, women and children were driven
from their homes by the sharp terror of death.
Be it remembered always that not one man
in Brussels, not one man in Antwerp, had
even the smallest responsibility for the disaster
Inflicted upon them. Innocence has proved
not even the smallest safeguard against such
woe and suffering as we in this land can at
present hardly Imagine.
What befell Antwerp and Brussels will suro
!y some day befall New York or San Fraie
cisco and may happen to many an inland city
also if we do not shake off our supine folly, if
we trust for safety to peace treaties unbacked
by force. At the beginning of last month, by
the appointment of the President, peace ser
vices were held In the churches of this land.
As far as these services consisted of sermons
and prayers of good and wise people who
wished peace only if it represented righteous
ness, who did not desire that peace should
come unless it came to consecrate justice and
not wrongdoing, good and not eveil, the move
ment represented good. In so far, however,
as the movement was understood to be one
for immediate peace without, any regard to
righteousness or justice, without any regard
for righting the wrongs of those who have been
crushed by unmerited disaster, then the move
ment represented mischief, precisely as 50
years ago, in 1864, In our own country a similar
movement tor peace, to be obtained by the
•perpetuation of slavery, would have represent
ed mischief. In the present case, however,
the mischief was confined to those taking part
in the movement in an unworthy spirit; for
(like the peace parades and newspaper peace
petitions) It was a purely subjective phenome
non; it had not the slightest effect of any
kind, sort or description upon any of the com
batants abroad and could not possibly have
any effect upon them. It is well for our own
sakes that we should pray sincerely and hum
bly for the peace of righteousness; but we
must guard ourselves from any illusion as to
the news of our having thus prayfed producing
the least effect upon those engaged in the war.
There is just one wav in which to meet the
upholders of the doctrine that Might makes
Right. To do so we must prove that Righ
will make Might, by backing right with might
in his second inaugural address Andrew
Jackson laid down the rule by which every na
tional American Administration must guide
itself, saying: “The foreign policy adopted
by our Government is to do justice to all and
to submit to wrong by none.”
The statement of the dauntless old fighter
of New Orleans is as true now as when ho
wrote it. We must stand absolutely for right-’
eousness. But to do so is utterly without avail
unless we possess the strength mil the lofti
ness of spirit which will back righteousness
with deeds and not with words. We must
clear the rubbish from off our souls and admit
that everything that has been done in passing
peace treaties, arbitration treaties, neutrality
treaties, Hague treaties, and the like with no
sanction of force behind them, amounts to lit
erally and absolutely zero', to literally and ab
solutely nothing, in any time of serious crisis.
We must recognize that to enter into foolish
treaties w'hich can not be kept is as wicked
as to break treaties which can and ought to
be kept. We must labor for an international
agreement among the great civilized nations
which shall put the full force of all of them
hack of any one of tljera, and of any well-
behaved weak nation, which is wronged by any
other flower. Until we have completed this
purpose, we must keep ourselves ready, high
of heart and undaunted of soul, to back our
rights with our strength.
(Copyright, 1914, by the Wheeier Syndicate,
Inc.)
THE PERILS OF PAULINE
Presented by the Hearst Sunday Newspapers in Collaboration
With the Famous Pathe Players in a Photo-Play Serial Novel
By Arrangement with the
Eclectic Film Company.
SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING
CHAPTERS.
Sanford Marvin, a wealthy manufacturer of
utomobiles. Has worn himself out by over-
tork. His son Harry and his adopted daughter
auline love each other, but she wants two
ears of thrilling experiences seeing life before
larrying. Her reason is that she is ambitious
> be a writer. Old Mr. Marvin asks to see
ihat she has written. While Pauline and Har-
/ are in search of a magazine containing her
tory, Mr. Marvin opens the case of a mummy
hich has just arrived from Egypt. Raymond
wen, his rascally private secretary, helps lift
ff the front of the case, but leaves the old
lan to remove the mumm*y’« bandages alone.
Ir. Marvin, during a fainting spell, sees the
alf-exposed mummy come to life, step out of
er case, take a bracelet from her wrist and try
s force it into his nerveless grasp while her
ps whisper a strange message from the re
lote past.
Restored to consciousness by Harry and Pau-
ne, the old man believes it to be a dream until
iter he finds the identical bracelet on the
lummy’s skeleton wrist. Ho promises Pauline
ne year to see life, and places her in the
uardianship of Owen. A final heart attack
ives him just time to write on the doctor's pre
emption blank a brief will. Then he dies. A
iwyer tells Owen that he would have perma-
ent charge of Pauline's estate if something
could happen to her before marriage. Owen
onspires with villainous characters to have
auline killed. Balthazar, the Gypsy chief, al
es himself with Owen. The preceding chap-
srs have dealt with the many efforts of the
wo to accomplish Pauline’s end.
In the preceding chapter the conspirators plot
o lure Pauline to a counterfeiters’ den by
tealing her dog. This chapter tells of the de-
elopment of their plot.
(Continued From Last Sunday.)
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Copyright, 1914, by The Star Company.
All Foreign Rights Reserved.
HE proceedings behind the hidden doors
in the cellar of the ruined house be
tween Braithwaite and Castle Marvin
•e not interrupted by so small a matter as
kidnaping of an heiress—a kidnaping
t had progressed no further as yet than
capture of a dog.
As Owen stepped into the den, the sight
the bull terrier tied to the wall caused him
‘^see we have the main ingredient of the
ast in hand,” he said.
"The main ingredient and the most danger-
’’ said Wallace. "He has done nothing but
and bark night and day. May we kill
i?”
“Not yet," answered Owen. “It is possible
t she might demand sight of him before
erlng the house, or some nonsense of that
t. I would let him howl a little longer.”
“Very well,” laughed Wallace. “What or-
s have you for us to-day, sir?”
The other counterfeiters kept steadily on
:heir work over the melting pots, the molds
I stamping machines. The aged crone was
iking half-dollar pieces at the table.
“Why do you have the woman here?” de
eded Owen suddenly.
“To prevent starvation,” answered Wallace.
“Carrie is not only our purchasing agent, but
our excellent cook.”
The hag looked up for a moment with a
cackle of appreciation; then bent again to her
work.
"Can she write?” asked Owen.
"Yes.”
“Well, then, she can help us. Here Is an
advertisement which appears In the morning
papers.”
He presented a newspaper clipping to Wal
lace, which read;
LOST—A fine white bull terrier.
Finder will receive liberal reward if
dag is returned to Pauline Marvin, Cas
tle Marvin, N. Y.
“What do you want Carrie to do?” asked
Wallace.
“Answer the advertisement. Just cail her
over here.”
The hag laid down the coins she was count
ing and moved laboriously to the table where
Owen, Balthazar and her employer were sit
ting. Wallace produced from a drawer a pen,
paper and Ink. He got up and told the woman
to take his chair. Owen dictated:
Miss Pauline Marvin;
A dog came to my house yesterday
w 7 hich I think is the one you advertise
for. I am an old, crippled woman and
it’s hard for me to get out. Can’t you
come and see if it is your d%?
MARY SHEIBLE,
233 Myrtle Avenue.
The old woman w 7 rote slowly in a shaking
hand, and Owen waited patiently w 7 hile she
addressed an envelope. Then he placed the
letter in the envelope, sealed it, bade good-by
to his strange hosts and departed.
"And no sign of Cyrus?” inquired Harry
cheerily as he entered the library, where
Pauline sat disconsolate
She did not even answer. His gay manner
offended.
He fled the room, with rather more purpose
of concealing his mirth than of escaping the
fury of Pauline.
She lifted a magazine dejectedly and tried
to read; but soon it fell to her lap. She was
gazing through the window when Bemic en
tered with the mail.
Listlessly she opened her letters. Two of
them she laid aside, unread. The third, with
a scrawling address upon the envelope, at
tracted her interest. She opened the envelope
hastily and read: "A dog came to my house
yesterday”
Pauline's face lighted with hope anil happi
ness.
“Oh, isn’t Owen splendid?” she breathed.
“He knew just what to do.”
Eagerly she read on through the letter
which Owen (to whom she was so grateful)
had dictated to the hag in the den of the
counterfeiters.
With the letter In her hand she ran out to
the veranda.
“Harry! Harry!” she called across the
garden. There was no 'answer, save that
Margaret and Bemis came to the door.
“Run up to Mr. Marvin’s room and see if
he is there, Margaret. Bemis, go out and see
If he is at the garage.”
“No, Miss Marvin,” said Bemis. “He has
gone into Westbury.”
Pauline stood silent for a moment.
"Well, then I must go myself,” she said with
quick decision.
She sped upstairs, and within a few minutes
was out at the garage in her motoring dress.
A mechanician was-working over her racing
car in front of the garage—the racing car that
was just recovering from its recent calamity
in the international race.
“Is it all fixed, Hempley? Can I drive it
to-day?” she asked eagerly.
“Why—yes, ma'am—you COULD,” said the
mechanician. "But I haven't got it polished
up yet.”
"That doesn’t matter in the least. I want
to use it to-day—now.”
Lightly she sprang to the seat of the lithe
racer and In a moment was away down the
drive.
No. 233 Myrtle avenue was an address a little
difficult to find in Braithwaite. Myrtle avenue
was well outside the new town and Pauline
ha(l made several inquiries before an elderly
man, whom she found in the telegraph office,
volunteered directions.
She thanked him. and drove back for two
miles before she found the turn he had indi
cated.
Within a few minutes she had swung her
car to the door of the begrimed and dismal
house where Owen had held his conference
with the counterfeiters the day before.
The appearance of the place was unpre
possessing enough to tinge with hesitation even
the ambitious courage of Pauline. But the
sight of a venerable woman on the low porch
—a woman who seemed pre-occupied with the
training of a hopeless vine over the front door
—allayed her fears.
“You are Mrs. Shelble—you sent me a mes
sage that you had found my dog? asked Pau
line, approaching.
The crone turned as if surprised. For a mo
ment the confusion that she had meant to
simulate was sincere. She had expected to see
no such vision as that of Pauline on the black
ened steps of the coiner’s den.
“A dog?” she quaverd vaguely. Then with
growing self-mastery, “Oh, yes, my dear little
lady—the pretty white dog. He came to us
yesterday. My—son—he brought me the
newspaper, and”
“Oh, you are Just a dear," cried Pauline.
"May I see him now?—I am so fond of him!”
“Yes, my little lady. Will you come into our
poor abode?”
Pauline followed down the dark stairs to
the basement. She stepped back, with a
tremor of suspicion, as the hag rapped three
times upon the folding doors, and the doors
opened silently on their oiled rails. But she
was inside the narrow passage, and the light
that gleamed through the second pair of doors
had allayed her anxiety before she thought
of questioning.
The hag stood aside and, with a bow and
the wave of a directing hand, waited for Pau
line to enter.
In a breath she was seized from both sides.
Strong cruel hands held her. while Wallace,
the coiner chief, deftly smothered her cries
with a tight-drawn bandage across her lips.
She had hardly had time to see the little ter
rier tugging at his chain in the corner of the
room. His wild barking was all she knew of
possible assistance in the lonely prison where
now she found herself.
They laid her on the floor. She heard a
cackling laugh from the lips of the aged hag.
She heard a voice that seemed strangely fa
miliar giving abrupt orders Pauline sought
in vain to place the memory of the voice. It
was that of Balthazar, the Gypsy.
Suddenly she head cries. The barking of
the dog had stopped. There was the thud of
heavy footsteps on the stone floor of the cellar.
“Catch him! Shoot if you have to,” came
the command in the mysteriously familiar
voice. She felt that her captors were no long
er near her. There was a beat of rushing
footsteps on the floor.
It was several minutes before she heard
voices again in the room. •
“The cur hasn’t been there long enough to
know her. It won't make any difference,"
said Rupert Wallace, coming through the open
doors. "But I'm sorry it got away.”
"Where is Miss Pauline?" asked Harry, as
he entered the house u n his return from
Westbury.
“She ha.s found her dog. sir,” answered Mar
garet, smiling. “She went to get hlmwith
the racing car.”
His brow darkened. “The advertisement
was answered, you mean, Margaret?"
“I think so, sir.”
An hour later he walked into the garden and
sat down on the rustic bench where he and
Pauline had quarreled.
He had just taken up his newspaper when
he was startled by the spring of a small, but
muscled body fairly into his face. The attack
ceased Instantly, and, lowering the torn paper,
he saw Pauline’s dog cavorting in circles of
excitement around the bench.
The animal rushed to ward him again. but
did not leap this time. It came very near
and, with braced feet, began to bark wildly.
Harry stood up. The dog with another vol
ley of barks, started towards the gate. Harry
followed instinctively. The dog dashed ahead
of him, reached the ga t e. returned, renewed
the appealing barks, and again led the w 7 ay.
In another minute Harry was out on the
road, following the little urgent guide. He
was thoroughly stirred now. As the dog re
turned to him the second time, with its ap
pealing yelps, he quickened his speed.
He had traversed five miles of dust - laden
road before he reached the house on the
thoroughfare which still carried the dignity of
"Myrtle avenue."
The dog rushed to the door. Harry, follow
ing closely, was surpN-ed to find the door was
ajar. He entered and found himself In the
cellar passageway.
A sound outside caused him to grasp the
broken rope on the collar of the dog. It was
the sound of an automobile wheezing to a s*no.
Tt was follow'ed by the sound of voices. The
outer door opened. Harry drew the dog aside
Into the darkness. He held its muzzle tight to
hold the silence.
Four men entered. One rapped on the wall.
The panels opened softlv. The man went in.
Harry’s hand had fallen on a slim stick as
he stooped in the darkness. He slipped the
stick Into the aperture between the folding
doors.
He carried the doe to the outer door and
thrust it through. Then he eame baek.
"Who Is the woman?” asked a gruff voice.
"She does not concern you. Have you dis
tributed all of the coins”
"All but $5,000. She’s a peach, ain’t, she?”
The door crashed at their heels. Harry was
in the room. He had gripped Wailaee by the
threat before the man eould stir. The others
hacked toward their hidden weanons. Shots
blazed in the room, but the smoke was pro
tection for Harrv. swinging wildly at whomso
ever he saw. seeking onjv Pauline.
“You’re there. Polly?”
"Yes.” she gasped. tti«-ging at her bonds. In
her desperation she was strong. She was al
most free.
Harry had sWallece at his feet. He had Wal
lace’s gun in his hand. He hlazed blindly
through the room. A shriek told of one man
gone
Pauline felt strong nands grasp her. She
w 7 as whisked through the floor; through the
outer door and away, into the fresh air, into
the wakjng automobile. She felt Harry’s hot
breath on her foreheal as they sped In flight.
There was clamor behind them for a mo
ment as the car was starting. Then came only
the thrash of footsteps through the grassy road
as the coiners rushed to their own machine.
One stern command reached the ears of Paul
ine and Harry:
"It’s your lives or theirs. Get them or kill
yourselves.”
Far behind they heard the chugging start of
the coiners’ car.
"It’s no use, Polly. Come.”
Harry’s voice sounded grimly, peremptorily.
The machine with a sudden swerve had gone
almost off the road with an exploded tire. It was
only Harry's powerful hand that hud saved them
from wreck.
But as he helped Pauline out and led her on a
run into the forest; as he heard the sound of the
pursuing machine coming to a stop and the tu
mult of voices behind them, he knew that one
peril had only been supplanted by another.
“Where—where are we going, Harry?” pant
ed Pauline.
"The Gorman camp—if we can make it; if we
can reach the river."
"There’s the old quarry,” she exclaimed as
they came out on the crest of a blast-gnarled
cliff overlooking a stream. “I know their camp
is near the quarry."
"But on the other side of the river. Don’t
talk; run,” he pleaded, taking her hand and
leading her down a footpath that raced a
winding way over the face of the cliff into the
quarry.
In the shelter of the rocks there stood two
small buildings about 600 yards apart. One was
the old toolhouse of tfi~. deserted quarry. The
other was a hunter’s hut. evidently newly built.
A commanding cry came from the top of the
cliff.
“Halt or we fire!”
They ran on. A shot echoed against the cliffs
and a bullet flattened itself against the stone
base of the quarry not two yards from Pauline.
“In here—quick,” said Harry, dragging her
to the hunter’s lodge and thrusting her through
the open door. There was another shot and the
thud of another bullet as he slammed shut the
door.
“It looks like a fight now, Polly,” he said, as
he moved quickly around the hut. “And—thank
Heaven!—here’s something to fight with.”
From a rack In the wall he was lifting down
a Winchester rifle and a belt of cartridges. “Get
into the corner there and lie down,” he ordered
“No; give me the revolver,” said Pauline.
She did not wait for his protest, but drew from
his coat pocket the pistol he had wrested fro*
Wallace.
For a moment he looked at her with mingled
admiration, love and fear. Hut he let her have
her way. He opened ihe little window of the
hut, aimed and fired three shots at the group of
six men who were rur.nl ng down the cliff path.
“Into the toolhouse. ’ ordered Balthazar, stop
ping only for a glance at. one of his fellows who
had fallen on his face ‘nthe path.
The five gained the workmen’s hut. They
burst the door.
Immediately from the airhole and the wide
chinks In the sagging walls of the shanty came
a blaze of shots.
From the little window of the hunter’s lodge
the rifle of Harry and the pistol, firmly held in
the hand of Pauline, sped answering bullets.
A small white dog was coming down the pat.i
Into the quarry, but no one saw It.
Balthazar was searching- the toolhouse. “Ha'”
he exclaimed suddenly. “That Is what we
want!”
He lifted from the floor a box of blasting
powder Next Instant he dropped it and
sprawled, cursing, beside the half-spilled con
tents. Another man. shot through the body, had
fallen over his leader.
Balthazar quickly recovered himself. He
whisked about the hut and found a coll of
fuse. Tiie shots were still dinning in his
ears while he fashioned, with the powder
and the box and the fuse, j. bomb powerful
enough to have shattered tons of Imbedded
stone.
“Stop shooting,” he commanded. “There is a
better way.”
As he suddenly threw open the door and
dashed out he stumbled and nearly fell over
the dog, which stood there, whining in terror.
But Balthazar kept on. In a better busi
ness—with a heart in him—he would have
been counted among the bravest of men.
Running a swaying, zigzag course, In the
very face of the fire of Harry and Pauline,
he reached the hunter’s hut and beside it
dropped the bomb.
He did not try to return. With the long
fuse in his band he moved into shelter be
hind the hut. He struck a match and lighted
the fuse, and fled toward the river.
After him ran a small white dog—Pauline’s
dog.
Balthazar turned and uttered what was al
most a scream of rage. Ke dashed at the ani
mal, which dodged 'and passed him. In its
teeth it held the bomb he had just laid at
the risk of his life. The fuse was sputtering
behind as the dog^fled.
Balthazar pursued desperately. The path
to the liver ied through a narrow defile of
rock. But the beast was not trarmed at the
water’s edge as the Gypsy expected. It took
to the water with a wide plunge. Balthazar
turned away, cursing
Fury seized him. He rushed back to the
huts. The guns and pistols were silent. Ho
picked up from the side of the path a huge
piece of wood. As he neared his companions,
he shouted to them:
“Come out! Rush them, you cowards! Fol
low me!”
Harry and Pauline at their window heard
the order. They saw the desperate Gypsy
dashing toward them. They saw his follow
ers burst through the tool-house door.
Harry fired his last two shots and two men
fell. Paulino had long ago emptied the re
volver.
Three men came on. There was a crash
as the log In Balthazar’s mighty hands beat
down the door. Balthazar staggered through.
Harry was upon him. He hurled the Gypsy
across the room. He charged at the others.
One went down.
There came the sound of shouting from the
river side.
Pauline, looking through the window, was
screaming and waving her arms to someone.
Balthazar recovered his feet and attacked
Harry from behind. Harry backed against the
wall
Through the door came more men—four of
them.
* “It’s Harry. Help him!” cried Pauline.
Balthazar charged straight at the newcom
ers. But he did not attempt to fight. He was
out through the door and away to the river.
Within a few moments his companions iay
bound on the hut floor.
“But how did you find out? How did you
know we needed you?” asked Pauline of young
Richard German, whose camping party had
been the rescuers.
“That’s the girl who told us," he said, point
ing to a dejected little bull terrier that stood,
quaking with excitement, a few feet away.
“Cyrus!” cried Pauline, running to It and
clutching It in her arms.
“Yes. he brought us the bomb and we knew
something was up. So we came over.”
(To Be Continued Next Suncbuu}