Baraboo weekly news. [volume] (Baraboo, Wis.) 1912-197?, 1912-10-24

agree, said George very unn2p-
py.
"Have you any paper, Jones?"
George searched. He found the
dance-card to the ball at the hotel. In
another pocket he discovered the little
pencil that went with it.
"You write" said Mahomed to For
tune.
81 intend to-" Fortune took the card
and pencil and wrote as follows:
Mother: Horace, Mr.. Jones and are
prisoners of the man who owned the
rug which you will find in the large
steamer-roll. Give it to the courier
who brings this card. And under no
circumstances set spies upon his
track" In French she added: eve
are bound for Bagdad. In case Mo-
not liberated, wire the embassy at
Constantinople and the consulate at
Bagdad. FORTUNE"
She gave it to Mahomed.
"Read it out loud" he commanded.
While he spoke English fluently, he
could either read nor write it in any
serviceabIe degree. The note he had
given to Fortune had been written by
a friend of his in the bazaars who had
upon time lived in New York. For
tune read slowly, slightly flushing as
she evaded the French script.
'"That will do,' Mahomed agreed.
He shouted for one of the boys,
Il 4I,0 I, ~,
camel, which of all those twelve, alone
was his, and be off to Cairo. The boy
dipped his bowl into the kettle, ate
greedily, saddled the camel, and five
minutes later was speeding back
toward Cairo at gait that would
bring him there late that night.
Fortune and George and Ryanne
watched him till he disappeared below
a dip and was gone from view. In
the minds of the three watchers the
same question rose: would he be too
late? George was cheerful enough
thereafter, but his cheerfulness was
not Of the infectious kind.
At noon the caravan was once more
upon it's way. Ryanne was able to
ride. The fumes of whatever drug
had been administered to him had
finally evaporated, and he felt only
bruised, old, disheartened. An evil
day for him when he had set forth
for Bagdad in quest Of the rug. He
was confident that there would be no
rug awaiting the courier, and what
would be Mahomed's procedure when
the boy returned empty-handed was
not difficult to imagine. Mahomed
was right; so far honor had not en-
tered into the contest. According to
his lights, the Arab was only paying
coin for coin. But for the girl, Ry-
anne would have accepted the situa-
ton with a shrug, to await that mo-
ment when Mahomed, eased by the
sense of security, would naturally re-
tune changed the whole face Of the
affair. Mahomed could have his eyes
and heart if he would but spare her.
He must be patient; he must accept
insults, even physical violence, but
some day he and Mahomed would play
the final round.
His past, his foolish, futile past: all
the follies, all the petty crimes, all
the low designations in which he had
INDUCED, seemed trooping about his
camel, hooking and gibbering at him.
Why hadn't he lived clean like Jones
there? Why hadn't he fought temp
tation as he had fought men? Enyi-
ronment was no excuse; bringing-up
offered no palliation; he had gone
wrong simply because his inclinations
had been wrong. On the other hand,
no one had ever tried to help him
back to a decent living. His mother
had died during his childhood, and
her influence had left no impression.
His father had been a money-maker,
consumed by the pleasure Of building
up pyramids of gold. He had never
reasoned with his youngest-born; he
had paid his bills without protest or
reproach; it was so much month to
be written down in the expense ac-
count. And the frst-born had been
MS natural enemy since the days Of
the nursery. Still, he could not acquit
himself; his own arraignment was as
keen as any judge could have made.
Strong as he was physically, brilliant
as he was mentally, there was NOR
tai weakness in his blood; and search
as he might the history of his ances-
tors, their lives shed no light upon
his own.
In stating that his face had been
granted that dubious honor and con-
Germ of the perpetrators of the rogues'