Newspaper Page Text
The Land of Broken Promises
—™- -—■■■ =By DANE COOLIDGE====
A Stirring Story of the -the fighting fool,” “hidden waters,-
“THE TEXICAN,” Etc.
filexi can Revolution illustrations by don j. lavin
A story of border Mexico, vivid,
Intense, such as has never before
been written, is this one of Ameri
can adventurers into the land of
manana. Texan, mining engineer,
Spanish senor and senorita, peon,
Indian, crowd its chapters with
clear-cut word pictures of busi
ness, adventure and love, against
a somber background of wretched
Armies marching and counter
marching across a land racked by
revolution and without a savior.
(Continued from Yesterday.)
"Then he stole it from me!” flashed
back Gracia as she gazed at the speci
men. “Oh, have you thought all the
time that I betrayed Phil? But didn't
1 tell you—didn’t I tell you at the
hotel, when you promised to be my
friend? Ah, I see that you are a hard
man, Mr. Hooker—quick to suspect,
slow to forget—and yet I told you be
fore! But listen, and I will tell you
again. I remember well when dear
Phil showed me this rock—he was so
happy because he had found the gold!
And just to make it lucky he let me
hold It while we were talking through
a hole in the wall. Then my father
saw me and started to come near—l
could not hand it back without betray
ing Phil—and in the night, when I
was asleep, some one took It from un
der my pillow. That Is the truth, and
I will ask you to believe me; and If
you have other things against me you
must say what they are and see if I
cannot explain.
"No!” she ran on, her voice vibrant
with the memory of past quarrels, “I
"I'd Fight, Tool" Bpoke Up Gracia.
have nothing to do with my father!
He does not love me, but ttiea to make
me marry first one man and then an
other. Bat I am an American girl
now, at heart —I do not want to eeU
myself; I asat to many tot love! Can,
you understand that? Teal No? Then
why do yon look away? Have you
something that you hold against me?
Ah, you shake your heed—but you
will not speak to me? Whet 1 was at
school In Los Angeles I saw the cow
boys In the west show, and (hey were
differ out-—they were not afntd of any
danger, hot they would talk too. I
have always wanted to know yon, but
you will not let me —l thought you
were brave —like those cowboy*."
She paused to make btm sneak, hot
Hooker was tongue-tied. Ttwe was
something about the way she talked
that palled him over, that male him
want to do what she said, aid yet
some secret, hidden voice was always
crying: 'Beware I“ He was aosvtnced
now that aha bad never been a party
to treachery; no. nor evwn fished
him Hi
She was very beautiful, too, h the
twilight and when she drew nearer
he moved away, for ha waa afmß aha
would away him from his purpoe* Bat
now she was waiting for sonM an
swer-some ward from him, tbmgh
th« question hod never been ssotd.
And yet he know what It was.
She wanted him to steal away rlth
her in the evening and ride tirr the
border and Phil. That was whatahe
always wanted, no matter what -he
said, and now she was calling bJa a
oo ward.
"Sure them broaco-rlilara are bora,"
he sold In vague defense; “but theft's
a difference between being brave aid
foolish. And a man might be brave tor
himself and yet be afraid for other
people.”
"How do yoa mean?" she asked.
"Well,” he eald, “1 aright be willhg
to go out and fight a thousand of then
Insurrectoa with one hand, and at t!t»
same time be afraid to take you alon(.
Or I might—"
"Oh. then yon will go, won't you?*
she cried, clasping him by the hand
"You wTTI, won't you? Pm hot alraTdT”
“No,” answered Bud, drawing his
hand away, “that’s just what I won’t
do! And I’ll tell you why. That coun
try up there is full of rebels —the low
est kind there are. It just takes one
shot to lay me out or cripple one of
our horses. Then I’d have to make a
fight for It—but ■what would happen
to you?”
“I’d fight, too!” spoke lip Gracia
resolutely. “I’m not afraid.”
“No,” grumbled Bud, “you don't
know them rebels. You’ve been shut
up In a house all the time—ls you’d
been through what I have in the last
six months you’d understand what I
mean.”
‘Tf Phil were here, he’d take me!”
countered Gracia, and then Bud lost
his head.
“Yes,” he burst out, “that’s jest
what’s the matter with the crazy fool!
That’s jest why he’s up across the line
now a hollering for me to save his
girl! He's brave, is he? Well, w'hy
don’t he come down, then, and save
you himself? Because he’s afraid to!
He’s afraid of getting shot or going up
against Manuel del Rev. By grab, it
makes me tired the w r ay you people
talk! If he’d done what I told him to
In the first place he wouldn’t have got
Into this jack-pot!”
“Oh my!” exclaimed Gracia, aghast.
"Why, what Is the matter with you?
And what did you tell him to do?"
“I told him to mind his own busi
ness,” answered Hooker bluntly.
“And what did he say?”
“He said he’d try anything—once!”
Bud spat out the phraee vindictively,
for his blood was up and his heart was
full of bitterness.
“Oh dear!" faltered Gracia. "And
so you do not think that Phil is
brave?”
"He’s brave to start, things,” sneered
Bud, "but'not to carry ’em through!”
For a moment Gracia huddled up
against a pillar, her hand against her
face, as if to ward off a blow. Then
she lowered it slowly and moved re
luctantly away.
“I must go now,” she said, and Bud
did not offer to etay her, for he saw
what his unkir. Inefes had done.
"I am sorry!” she added pitifully,
but he did not answer. There was
.nothing that he could say now.
In a moment of resentment, driven
to exasperation by her taunts, he had
forgotten his pledge to his pardner
and come between him and his girl.
That which he thought wild horses
could not draw from him had flashed
out In a fit of anger—and the damage
was beyond amendment, for what he
had said was the truth.
CHAPTER XXill.
There are two things, according to
the eaylng, which cannot be recalled—
the aped arrow and the spoken word.
Whether spoken in anger or in Jest,
our winged thoughts will not coroe
back to us and, where there Is no balm
for the wound we have caused, there
Is nothing to do but let It heal.
Bud Hooker was a man of few
words, and slow to speak 111 of anyone,
but woe unfamiliar devil had loosened
his tongue and he had told the worst
about Phil. Certainly if a man were
the bravest of the brave, certainly if
he loved his girl more than life Itself
—be would not be content to bide
above tbe line and pour out his soul
on note-paper. But to tell It to the
girl—that was an unpardonable sin!
Still, now that the damage was done,
there was no use of vain repining, and
after cursing himself whole-heartedly
Bad turned In for the night. Other
days were coming; there were favors
he might do; and perhaps, as the yes
terdays went by, Gracia would forgive
him for his plain speaking. Even to
morrow, If the rebels came back for
more, be might square himself In no
tion and prove that ha waß not a cow
ard. A coward!
It bad been a long time since any
one hod used that word to him, but
after tbe way he had knifed 'dear
Phil" be bad to admit he was 1L But
“dear Phil!” It was that which had
set him off.
tt She knew how many other gM»—
bat Bed put a sudden quietus on that
particular line of thought. As long as
the world stood and Gracia was in bis
sight he swore never to speak ill of
De Lanoey again, and then he went to
steep.
The men wtio guarded the case
grande slept uneasily on tbe porah,
tying down like dogs on empty suga»-
•asks Oxwt the women might not lack
bedding inside. Even at that they were
better off, for tbe bonse was Mono and
feverish, with tbe crying of babies
and tbe babbling of dreamers, and
mothers moving to and fro.
It was a beetle night, but Bud slept
It oat. and at dawn, after the custom
of his kind, he aroae and stamped oa
bis boots. The moist coolness of tbe
•corning brought the odor of wet
grsasawood and tropic blossoms *o his
nostrils as he stepped out to speak
with the guards, and as he stood there
waiting for the full daylight the mas
ter mechanic Joined him.
He was a full-blooded, round-headed
llttls man with determined views oa
life, and began the day, as usual,
•Copyright, ISM. bv Prank A. Munsey.l
with his private opinion dT Mexicans,
they were the same uncomplimentary
remarks to which he had given voice
on the day before, for the rebels had
captured one of his engines and he
knew it would come to some harm.
“A fine bunch of hombreß, yes,” he
ended, "and may the devil fly away
with them! They took No. 9at the
summit yesterday and I’ve been lis
tening ever since. Her pans are all
burned out and we’ve been feeding
her bran like a cow to keep her from
leaking steam. If some ignorant Mex
gets hold of her you’ll hear a big noise
—that’ll be the last of No. 9 —her
boiler will burst like a wet bag.
“If I was running this road there’d
be no more bran—not since what I saw
over at Aguascalientes on the Cen
tral. One of those bum, renegade en
gine drivers had burned out No. 745,
but the rebels had ditched four of our
best and we had to seffd her out. Day
after day the boys had been, feeding
her bran until she smelled like a dis
tillery. The mash was oozing out of
her as Ben Tyrrell pulled up to the
station, and a friend of his that had
come down from the north took one
sniff and swung up into the cab.
"Ben came down at the word he
whispered—for they’d two of ’em
blowed up in the north —and they sent
out another man. Hadn’t got upThe
hill when the engine exploded and
blew the poor devil to hell! I asked
Tyrrell what his friend had told him,
but he kept it to himself until he could
get his time. It’s the fumes, boy—
they blow up like brandy—and old No,
9 is sour!
“She’ll likely blow up, too. But how
can we fix her with these ignorant
Mexican mechanics? You should have
been over at Aguas the day they fired
the Americans.
“ ‘No more Americanos,’ says Ma
dero, ‘let ’em all out and hire Mexi
cans! The national railroads of Mex
ico must not be In the hands of for*
eigners.’
“So they fired ns all In a day and
put a Mexican wood-passer up in the
cab of old No. 313. He started to pull
a string of empties down the track,
threw on the air by mistake, and
stopped her on a dead-center. Pulled
out the throttle and she wouldn’t go,
so he gave it up and quit.
“Called in the master mechanic then
—a Mexican. He tinkered with her
for an hour, right there on the track,
until she went dead on their hands.
Then they ran down a switch engln*
and took back the cars and called on
the roadmaster —a Mex. He cracked
the nut —built a shoo-fly around No.
313 and they left her right there on
the main track. Two days later an
American hobo came by and set down
and laughed at ’em. Then he throws
off the brakes, gives No. 313 a boost
paet the center with a crowbar, and
runs her to the roundhouse by gravity.
When we left Aguaa on a handcar that
hobo was running the road.
"Ignorantest hombres In the world—
these Mexicans. Shooting a gun or
running an engine, It’s all the same—
they’ve got nothing above the eye*
brows.”
“That’s right,” agreed Bud, Who had
been craning his neck; "but what’s
that noise up the track?"
The master mechanic listened, and
when his ears, dulled by the clangor of
the shops, caught the distant roar ha
turned and ran for the house.
“Git up, Ed!” he called to the road
master, "they’re sending a wild car
down the canyon—and she may ba
loaded with dynamite!”
"Dynamite o~ not,” mumbled the
grizzled roadmaster, as he roused up
from his couch, "there’s a derailer I
put In up at kilometer seventy the first
thing yesterday morning. That’ll send
her Into the dltoh!”
Nevertheless he listened Intently,
cocking his head to guess by the
sound when it came to kilometer
seventy.
“Now she strikes It?” he anmoanoed,
as the rumble turned Into a roar; but
the roar grew louder, there was a
crash as the trucks struck a curve,
and then a great metal ore-car swung
round tbe point, rode up high as it
hit the reverse and, speeding by as if
shot from a catapult, swept through
the yard; smashed Into a freight car,
and leaped, car and all, Into the creek.
"They’ve sneaked my derailer!” said
the roadmaster, starting on a run for
the shops. ”Who’U go with me to put
in another one? Or well loosen a roll
on the curve —that’ll call for no mors
than a claw bar and a wrench 1”
"I’ll go!” volunteered Bud and the
man who stood gnard, and aa startled
sleepers roused up on every side and
ran toward the scene of the wreck
they deshed down the hill together and
threw a handcar on the track.
Then, with what tools they could
get together, and a spare derailer on
the front, they pumped madly up the
canyon, holding their breaths at every
curve for fear of what they might see.
If there was one runaway car there
was anothsr, for the rebels were be
ginning an attack.
Already on the ridges above them
they could hear the crock of rifles, and
a Jet or two of duat made It evident
that they were the mark. But with
three fj.ro ns me a at the handles they
THE AUGUSTA HERALD, AUGUSTA, GA.
made the lmndcar jump. The low hills
fled behind them. They rounded a
point and the open track lay before
them, with something—
“ Jump!” shouted the roadmaster,
and as they tumbled down the bank
they heard a crash behind them and
their handcar was knocked Into kind
ling wood.
It was a close call for all three
men, and there had been but an In
stant between them and death, a
death by the most approved fighting
methods of the revolutionists, methods
which kept the fighters out of harm's
way.
"Now up to the track!” the roadmas
ter panted, as the destroyer swept on
down the line. "Kind some tools—
we'll take out a rail!”
With frantic eagerness he toiled up
the fill and attacked a fleh-plate, and
Bud and the young guard searched the
hillside for tools to help with the work.
They fell to with sledge and clawbar,
tapping off nuts, jerking out spikes,
and heaving to loosen the rail—and
then once more that swlft-movlng
something loomed up suddenly on the
track.
"Up the hill!” commanded the road
master, and as they scrambled Into a
gulch a wild locomotive, belching
smoke and steam like a fire engine,
went rushing past them, struck the
loose rail, and leaped Into the creek
bed. A moment later, as it crashed
its way down to the water, there was
an explosion that Bhook the hills. They
crouched behind the cut bank, and the
trees above them bowed suddenly to
the slash of an iron hall.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
Testifying before the State Factory Commission, George Hall, of the New York Child Labor Commission, told how
a girl of fourteen had to make 576 artficial violets and paste them into wreaths for ten cents. And how a grandmother
and her three grandchildren, aged eight, thriteen and fifteen, between them earned $G a week at the same work. They
began making violets at 5 a. m. and quit at 10 p. m.
A bunch of violets—and the eye
No longer sees the dusty street,
But lingers on a fragrant bank
Of peeping blossoms, blue and sweet—
The tiny blooms that Athens claimed
To fashion her immortal crown;
The violets dim, but sweeter far
Than Juno’s eyelids drooping down.
II MEETING
(By Maurice Level.)
He stopped short at a turning of the
road. Something had run like a dagger
through his heart- two steps from him
a young woman was paying her driver.
He could see her only indistinctly, for
it was growing dark and she wore a
heavy veil, but lie recognized her by
her figure, her gestures, her way of
carrying her head, liy nothing and
everything, by all the indefinable which
always remains behind after a great
love. He moved a step towards her
and they stood face to face.
"You!"
“Yes, 1!”
They stood silent a moment because
she did not know whether to give him
her hand or not. He bowed his head—
she smiled.
■'l am very glad to see you again.”
He answered in a voice that sur
prised himself by its calmness.
“.So am I."
After a few commonplace remarks, it
seemed to them as if they had said
everything they could think of. A
great charm separated them. In a way
they felt just as uneasy at this mo
ment as when they had met the first
time. Passers-by stared at them, so
she suggested:
"Suppose we walk a little."
Gradually the feeling of embarrass
ment left them. At first they won
dered that they should have met here,
then they wondered that hey had not
net before They talked quite freely
now, he with the slightest tinge of re
gret, she cordially confidential. She
asked about lie present, while he al
ways returned to the past.
"I heard that you have been promot
ed. It made me very happy, and if I
had only dared, 1 would have written
and congratulated you."
“You ought to have done so—Do you
still remember our firs* dinner togeth
er? How long ago that seems.
"Yes, dreadfully long ago,” she as
sented.
Seven years. Two years later, almost
on the very anniversary, you left me.
I hope at least you have enjoyed your
self during these five veals.”
She might have lied or at least have
put a tone of disappointment Into her
voice, but stie replied truthfully and
without any embarrassment:
”1 have, Indeed.”
He bit his Ups and his short "Oh.”
expressed a world of jealousy. She ap
peared so perfectly natural and uncon
cerned that he felt he must not lei her
feel that tie hud suffered and In a care
lsss tone he added: "1 hope your pres
ent lover Is a nice fellow."
Now It was she who grew silent and
smiled, rather embarrassed.
He noticed it. and went on.
”1 suppose it is still the rich banker.
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS
Are you faithful to him?—How nice of ]
you. Really? Tnd you have really
never eared for anyone, since?”
His sufferig became audible through
his bantering tone. He could not for
get that he had been jilted She still
remained silent and as he realized that,
neither the memory of the past, nor
the present meeting would wring the
sympathetic words that he was yearn
ing for from her, lie began to pity him
self.
“You think that I have grown very
much older looking in all these years,
of course?”
"Older—Why, not at ail. And why
should you? You are still a young
man. not thirty-nine years yet."
"So you remember my age.”
“Certainly,”
“And how old are you now?”
She looked at him and smiled.
"Try to remember.”
lie did not need to. He knew her
age well enough. She was thirty-seven
last May.
"Thirty-seven,” he said, and all the
bitterness he had felt towards her dis
appeared. Thirty-seven years. She
was nearly forty years old. and to a
woman, that practically means the
| end of everything, while he, as she had
j said, was a young man still. What a
| dreadful retribution. He found her
changed, aged, not exactly old, but
I unite different from the woman lie had
l known and level. For a short time yet
j she would still defend herself, then the
wrinkles would come, those ugly little
wrinkles, which signify the death of
| beauty. II was an immense relief to
j him to imagine her less beautiful.
I Surely when she left him, he had shed
many tears and suffered much, now
fate was giving him revenge. Hud she
stayed with him he would have grow n
tired of her two years, perhaps three,
j and it would have been dreadful to
live wdth a companion to whom nothing
tied you, but force of habit.
Not to appear cruel, lie ceased talk
ling about the past.
"Do you go to the theater often
now?” he asked.
"Yes, very often.”
lie remembered how all eyes sought
her out as soon as she hud taken her
seat In their box at his side and
thought:
“It must be dreadful for her to notice
• hat she attracts no attention any
| longer.”
"Yes. 1 need not he home until
eight.”
Hhe began to talk about a thousand
things, of friends, whom he did not
know, of society affairs which lie had
not attended
Her voice seemed to come from far
away, her laugh hnd still ItH old silv, r
ring, but It did not thrill him as it
used to. He even thought stie laughed
too much, and he said to himself:
"How she would bore me now.”
As she removed her glove, he noticed
that she was till wearing his ring in
which he had hail a date engraved,
lie called her attention to it, and She
said:
A bunch of violets—and the eye
But darkly through the sweatshop murk
Sees little fingers twist and pull,
In endless, endless, endless work.
These violets dim, but far less dim
Than baby eyelids drooping down,
The shameless city well might claim
To fashion her a shameful crown.
—WEX JONES
“I have always worn It sud always
shall. Haven’t you yotrs?”
“Oh Lord, no." j j /' m « '
He thought, "s’n nfififjs to her mem
ories, while I have got past that long
ago.” And he admired himself Every
word that fell from her lips added to
the distance between them, and he
could no longer discover the faintest
brace of sadness in his heart, nothing
was there ljut feelings of pride and Joy
“t being free. The few memories he
slill retained were very pleasant and
■still he was surprised to catch himself
thinking of other things, while she was
talking. Time and again he thought,
"How she has aged.”
He saw her again as he first had
known her, her big child-like eyes, her
Pert little nose, her white teeth, her
whole splendid youthfulness. She be
longed to those who glow old quickly
and he thought. "Never atain will she
he as beautiful as then. She was mine
when her beauty was as its height.”
He ceased analyzing her. Once
more conversation stopped. He did
nothing to make her stay and remem
bered an appointment he had forgot
ten.
"1 am dreadfully hungry,” she sud
denly said. "1 did not -have any tea
this afternoon. Would you care to eat
a cake with me?”
“Certainly not."
They entered a case, and while she
wa schooslng the cakes for them he
nsked himself:
"Hid 1 then really love her so much?”
Standing at the counter she had
raised her veil and he wished some
body might see them together now—
him quite unchanged except for a few
silver threads at the temples and her
so different.
Just then she turned around and
Hinlled at him.
His surprise as boundless. Even in
the strong electric light her face look
ed more beautiful than lie had ever
seen her Her eyes had the same
child-ilk expression, her complexion
was wonderful and her teeth as white
and even as ever. Her beauty had rip
ened and become perfect.
As he noticed this he felt a dreadful
"nger arising within him and the pain
grew more acute than on the day she
had left him.
File looked at him, unable to under
stand the change that had come Into
Ills expression.
“Don’t you want anything?” she
nsked.
"No, thank you.” he answered with
out daring to look at her.
"’lieu they parted at the door she
said: "I am so happy to have had this
liltlc chat with you.”
Ho put her Into a call, shut he door
and while she smiled and waved her
hand at him, he muttered a curse be
tween his teeth.
lie stood motionless, staring after the
call until It disappeared. Then he
walked slowly homeward. When he
reached his door he noticed that his
eyelids were heavy and his cheeks wet.
Was tt then raining?
FIVE