The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1911-01-26
TIE EVENING STORY
The EiIinino Gunid.

(By NJ. J. Phillips.)

(By M. J. Phillips.)
Snick!
Something struck Private Weaver
on the breast of his blue flannel shirt
at a tiny arrow-and went sick with
terror. For in the Philippines pols-I
oned arrows are the soldiers bug
bear, and about San Benao there were
many tribesmen adept in the use OF
the deadly dart.
Weaver glared at the wall of green
jungle along which his beat ran. It
qufvered under the assault OF YER
teal sun, but there Yves no one IN
sight. Hastily he tore open his shirt
thanksgiving assembled from ms
heart. The skin was not broken; the
virus could have no effect.
Then, gingeriy, he untangled the
ishly II was. innocent of the deadly
brown stain at the tip; so It was not
a poisoned arrow at all. The dart
was daintily fashioned, almost as
light as a straw, and was stained a.
At the feathered butt something
white was attached-a little roll of
paper. He snoothed 1t out, first as
surfing himself that Meigs on his
right and Mccarthy on his left We're
tention to him. On the bit Of paper. in
word, amigo 20
"Amigo-friend,'' pondered weaver,
his boyish brow wrinkling with per-
plexity. with a question mark at
tached. A woman wrote that. Am
a friend of a woman in distress? Am
game? I am Turning to the wall
of green he said cautiously, Eyes, SEN
orita."
Snick!
On the next turn another tiny arrow
whizzed out of the jungle and chung
to his breast. He unrol1ed the note
1t bore: at fear lockers and cannot
talk now. At the church of San Juan
at midnight. Three small whistles.
'"Twice-over the heart" unused
Weaver. That's some shooting, o
you Filipino Cupid"
1t was dark at midnight, at the
church of San Juan, and lonesome
The moon had gone down. Private
Weaver kept the butt of his revolver
within reach. The church was out
side the American line and wandering
bands of insurgents criss-crossed
through the jungle, looking for un-
fortunates to cut up.
AS the sexton beat out the hour
with his bamboo hammer on the
chimes of San Luis in the village,
Weaver gave three low whistles A
rustic and out from the jungle stepped
two women. They were family out
lined in the Starlight slender girl
ahead, an older woman STOPPING be-
hind.
s'Thees is the Senior Weaver ?"
asked the young woman. in curiously
accented English.
"It isl said the soldier
II have come to save the life of a
countryman of yours" she continued.
HE was a soldier. too, but the insur-
rectos captured He in the village of
Gomaro is kept but few miles from
here, but much hidden. The insur-
rectos leave it soon; they cannot take
him on the march. He must die.
save him. We can to the village go,
since the insurrectos trus- us. You
will aid ?''
Sure" returned Weaver, heartily.
He was betting with himself that a.
girl who owned a low, metodious
voice like that must be pretty. "You
aren't a Filipino ?" he queried abb
ruptly.
'I am Spanish" returned the girl
proudly. "and in your United States
talked rapidly for several minutes.
Fine" cried Weaver, admiringly.
when she had finished; chats a
good plan, senorita. I never would
have thought of it,
Your praises please me. senior.
morrow, then
It was slim, smooth hand which
answered-or did it?-his own quick
pressure. Then she was gone, fol-
lowed by the faithful duenna
Having been relieved from guard at
O'Clock that night. Weaver had
twenty-four hours liberty At rev.
ellie next morning he slipped away,
carrying two rifles. two belts filled
with ammunition. some sandwiches
and we'll filed canteen. By the
middle of the forenoon he was hid
den beside dim trail three miles be-
yond the church of San Juan. A shay
gy pony kept him company.
Down. the trail had gone the senior
ita. the bent and wrinkled crone who
had been her companion in the
churchyard, and the Senior Orillia
The soldier had won his bet with
himself. The senorita was pretty
bewilderingly pretty-with great dark
passed the hours most agreeably
thinking of her.
Adult 1 o'clock the duenna returned
afoot at speed surprising in one of
her years. Weaver assisted her onto
the pony and sent her on her home
but Spanish. but thanked him with a
friendly smile that lighted up her
wrink1ed brown face
With mid-afternoon came the sound
of hoofs. and Weaver slipped out of his
to greet the senior, his daughter, and a
duenna as like the one who had gone
before as one bean is like another
dressed in the same gaudy and volum-
inous skirt. with the same mass of
gray hair, the same brown, scanned
face-a figure that slipped off the
pony with a joyful roar at sight of
Weaver. It was little Mallory, the
trumpter of Viewers company, miss
ing for weeks and given up for dead.
A few hurried words explained it
all: his capture and confinement in a
village so secluded and difficult of ac-
therein at will; the discovery by the
senorita that he was to be put to
death before the insurgents took the
field again, and her clever plan to
smuggle in a gown, a wig, brown
stain and bit of charcoal SO that
he might make up as her duenna
and leave boldly in her company.
The real duenna had first vanished by