The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1912-12-26
CHAPTER XII.
The Caravan in tho Desert.

The Caravan in tho Desert.
Yes, George vanished from the
haunts of men as completely as If the
Great Roc had dropped him into the
Valley of Diamonds and left him
there; and as nobody knows just
where the Valley Of Diamonds Is,
George was very we'll lost Still. there
was, at the end Of most unique ex-
perience, a recompense far beyond its
value. But, of course, George, being
without the gift Of clairvoyance, saw
nothing save the immediate and immi-
nent circumstances: a door that
banged behind him, portentously;
sack, a cloak, burnouse, or whatever
it was, flung about his head, and
smelling evilly.
George hit out valiantly, and mer-
rv scuff1e ensued. The room was
small; at least, George thought it was,
for in the space of one minute he
thumped against the four sides Of 1t.
He could see nothing and he couldn't
breathe very we'll; but in spite Of
these Inconvenience he put up three
rounds that would have made some
stir among the middleweights. In the
phraseology Of the fancy, he had
good punch. All the disappointment
of the day seemed to become so many
mounds of steam in his shoulder; and
he was aware Of kind of barbaric
ioy whenever he hit some one. All
the circumspection Of years, all Of
the gentle blood Of his peaceful for
bears. gave way to the strain which
still turks in the blood Of civilized hu-
manity, even in the veins Of poets and
parsons. He fought with all the tao
tics of a sailor in bar-room, not over
nicely.
A table toppled over with smash
ing noise. George and his assallants
fell in a heap beside it. Thwack!
Bang! George struggled to his feet
and tugged at the sitting envelope.
Some one jumped upon his back, Old
Man of the Sea style. A savage elbow
jab disposed Of this incubus. And
then the racket began all over again.
George never paused mentally to won
der what all this rumpus was about;
time enough to make inquiries after
the scrimmage. Intrepidly, as Here
ward the Wake, as Busy d'Ambois,
as Porthos in the cave of Loch-Marta,
George fought He wasn't trained
athlete; he hadn't any science; he
was simply ordinarily tough and ac-
tive and clean-lived; and the injustice
of an unprovoked assault added to
physical prowess full measure OF
nervous energy. 1t was quasi-Homer-
ic; a modern young gentleman in eve
ming dress holding off for several min
utes five sleek, sinewy, unhampered
Arabs. But the days of the gods were
no more; and no quick-witted goddess
cast a veil across the eyes OF the
Arabs. No; George had to shift for
himself Suddenly there came gen.
eral rush from the center of the room
into one of the right-angular corners.
The subsequent snarl Of legs and
arms was not unlike that seen upon
the football field. George was the
man with the ball. And then to
George came merciful darkness. The
conjunction, as in astronomy, Of two
planets in the same degree Of the 70
diac-meaning Georges head and the
stucco-wall-gave the Arabs complete
mastery of the field Of battle.
From the opposite side of the room
came the voice of the referee:
Curses Of Allah upon these white
dogs! How they fight" And Ma
homed peered down into the corner.
One by one the Arabs got up, each
examining his honorable wounds.
George alone remained unmoved, quiet
and disinterested, under the folds Cs
the tattered burnouse.
els he dead?" demanded Mahomed
: "No, my father. His head hit the
wall"
Hasten, then. Bind his feet and
hands and cover his eyes and mouth.
! We have but little time"