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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