The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-01-27

 THE COMPACT
The Story of an Unrecorded Con
 spiracy in South Africa
RIDGWELL CULLUM
 aThe Watchers the Plans' Riders" etc.
Author of

eeeeeeseeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeSeeoooeoetA stant.
 I'm not fond of throwing stones,'' the devil you did not tell me before. Maybe there was a reason for your silence. | remember something about woman-his wife. You know her. But let that pass. We must send somebody by an alterna- tive route. You shall carry dummy letters; the other, the real ones." Guy shook his head. His heat had died out, and he relapsed into his previous moodiness. The shadow of Elwood's power was lowering over him. He knew to whom they owed their defeat at Mafeking. And more that that. he knew that sooner or la- ter it must be his life or Elwood's. He believed, whatever the latter was do- ing, whatever he knew of their move ments, and however he hoped to frus- trate them, he. Guy. was this mans chief concern. Elwood had told nim the journey, and it's object. Then it was not likely, if he could stop him, that another could get through.
 Useless" he said. There is but one road open to us, and that is along the Molopo. The only other roads across the desert are away north, hundreds of miles out of the way, or down south, by way of the Orange River. Both impossible in the time. No; we must chance it. I shall do my utmost. My plans are carefully laid.''
 There was long silence between the two men. The serious face of the Jew betrayed none of the thoughts behind it. He smoked on; then he finally knocked out his pipe and put it away.
 said, preparing to depart. We have trusted implicitly to you in this mat ter. Don't fail us. It will be bet ter for you to lose your way in the desert than return-having failed"
 Guy turned on him with flashing eyes.
 'srhat's bad talk" he said fierce ly.
 .'It's straight talk, anyway"
 A further heated protest sprang to the younger mans lips, but he check ed the impulse. He could gain noth- ing, by quarrelling. It would only make the position more hazardous. TAir conspiracy was no pastime. He felt that his position could hardly have been worse. He was threaten ed with check in every direction. It was well-nigh checkmate. A few moves were open to him; but would they. avail? Would they save the game? He did not know. He could not even see clearly in any one >direc- tion.
 His nature was asserting itself. The abyss was yawning at his feet, and he was looking down into it. It chilled him, and set him morally shuddering. And yet he must move; he must move or abandon the game. The latter he was powerless to do. He must go on to the end, whatever that might be. And yet to move seemed quite hopeless.
 He left the stoep abruptly.and went round to the stables to see that his two horses were properly cared for. Such was his pre-occupation that he passed through the open doorway without noticing anybody or. any thing. He did not observe the Hot tentot boy squatting beside the stable door, playing cards with two Kaffirs, and consequently failed to see the shrivelled, yellow face lifted for an instant as he came by. and the black beady eyes shoot one swift glance in his direction. But the diminutive rascal did not pause. Beyond that one glance his whole interest seemed to be centered upon his game. which he was playing with all the native gamblers zest.
 A white-tented wagon stood amidst the bush-veldt in the valley o1 the Molopo River. The river itself was close at hand-a mere dry sand. bed, for the water was left far be- hind somewhere in the dim, hazy dis tance eastwards, in the neighborhood of Mafeking. It's course was well marked; if of little other service, al least guide to the traveller through the desert.
 Gro Be Continued.)