The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1885-05-14
FABLE THE FoURTH.-CoxTrsUED.


the dark, the last two hours seemed to
have become odiously coarse, and to
haze been robbed from life because
taken from her. He felt like a brute
and a boor.
"Yc5?' asked She
The Spaniards are two miles down
the river, with earthworks, bitches,
felled trees, and all that sort OF thin" to
cover them. We shall have to pass the
Germans and the Guards. TINS is an
outpost of the English infantry on the
left of thG-line; it goes to hill on the
far left of the line-but that's not our
way, your Spaniards being the right
wing, as / said before. There's a Span
ish division and all the cavalry in the
rear.
Let me see. Then these lines are
Two miles long-from a hill to where
Alpc-che joins Tagus; that is so? The
EEglish infantry on the left, so far as
the hill. The English Guards and
the Germans in the center; / see. The
Spaniards behind defenseS on the right
Yes; that would be 30. And The cav
airy and the Spanish divisiOn-ah, that
would be of BaSsccour, no dOu5t-On
the rear. Bien; thank you, mon ami"
A very little liquor on an empty stom-
ach tells, or Dick Blackthorn might
have thought her ready appreciation of
military details somewhat strange.
Can your horse stand another two
mile ride?" asked he. I'm game for
anything nov. Ah-Tve not guided
you so badly, after all"
You have guided me, excellently,
my friend. / was not wrong in coming
for advice TO you. And so | will give
You one piece OF advice in return.
When duty says heads, and woman
says tails, take YOU the heads, what
ever much she may cry. [ must have
my brag, You good Englishman. 1t
will not hurt now. But come-I like
YOU, just because you are a big, good
natured, impul>ive fool, who thinks of
a woman before himself, just because
she pretends TO cry. Choose then;
shall you starvc on thistles till YOU
CHOKE, or shall YOU make your fortune
and follow me?'
Poor Dicks brain began to rec:
You are French spy-Good Go,I.
what have | done! Here goes for y3ur
horse, R01C."
MADAME KraSinska, ans Poland, at
yoGr service" laughed she; THAT is
my name. Inquire at headquarters;
they will tell you more. You will,
;hen, not be wise? 1t is pity. for |
like you. MIR. Richard; l like YOU very
much indeed. Aha-you will not shoot
a woman, not even now. IiCG la
France! mon ami; al rcUOir!"
No; he could not fire, even at a
French spy. wis had made him an En-
glish one. Of she cantered on that IN
weariable mare; and he let her 90. ours
inc himself for n fool. And off she
went in the night; and what, in the
name of his own folly, was he to do
now?
ITS a woman and horse, this
timer groaned he.
He felt for once uncomfortable like a
fool. To fancy himself the protector of
n beautiful and charming widow of
high rank, and then TO find himself only
the tool and victim of a French spy. He
could see her game clearly enough now.
She had just made him eats paw, TO
pick All the chestnuts of intelligence
she wanted out of the campfire. And
the worst of it was she must have seen,
from the first moment that he was made
to be her dupe and her tool Never
would he trust bright ewes and soft
voices again. He would be a woman
hater from that hour; for his vanity
had received horrible wound.
But communicating would not draw
him out of the mess into which he had
ridden. He could not 20 back to the
outpost for very shame. He could not
bring himself to report his adventures
to anybody in command - wounded
vanity will know why, out of sympathy
and the mischief was done now.
whatever it might be. SO he must even
make the best, or rather least worst, of
the hour, after his own manner. and
trust to the rising of luck with the sun.
He led his stumbling horse some little
way up the water-cOurSe, covered him
over with his own cloak, and left him,
loosely tethered, to crop and lie down.
With his saddle for a pillow, he next
laid himself down for good sleep. such
as he needed in every limb, and which
had never yet failed to come. Tonight,
however, weary as he was, it would not
come. 1t may be that he was over
weary; and then the strangenesS of the
situation oppressed him, and, do what
he would, his adventure worried him.
And then he could not help thinking of
home, as a worried man will. 1t was
queer TO think that the same stars were
looking down upon him, out there in
Spain, and on the quiet farmhouse in
g. d..
tience lay sleeping. He could see every
brick in the house, well-nigh every
straw in the yard. Well, it was no use.
There the house would stand, while he
must 90 rolling on.
So the hours of darkness passed. No
doubt he had slept little, though he
would have sworn he had not been able
to close his eyes. After all, he thought.
as the darkness changed into a cold
gray, and clear thin light stole over
the hills, the best thing he could do
would be to make for the Spanish lines.
He did not care to make for the British,
where he might tumble into his old reg
iment-an adventure which might give
trouble. II would be no great achieve
ment in living to say that he had lost his
way. He would probably nave to trans
fer his allegiance from Portugal to
Spain, but that would be no matter at all. !
So he arose and looked around. He
was still close 10y the right bank of the
Alperche. But, well within SIGHT, he
could see where it joined a broader
Stream; and where stood Il town, with
walls and towers, all white and fair. 1t
was thither he must ride.
He sa6dled his horse and rode little