Ottumwa tri-weekly courier., 1912-02-01

When it's soft you can mold 1t any
which way: when it's hard, 1t
crumbles. Will you trust a man ike
that?" h
s'.Yes. Out there you'll be away from
temptation"
perhaps. Well, I accept. And if one
day I'm missing, think kindly OF the
poor devil of an outcast who wanted
to be good and couldn't. I'm ragged.
I'm going to turn in. Good night.
He picked up his blanket and saddle
bags and made his bed dozen yards
away.
George set his gaze at the fire, now
falling in places and showing incan-
descent holes. A month ago, IN the rut
of commonplace, moving around In the
oiled grooves of .mediocrity. Bang!
like a rocket. Why, never had those
liars in the smoke-rooms recounted
ANYTHING half so wild and strange as
this adventure. Smugglers, card
sharps, an ancient rug, a caravan IN
the desert! He, turned his head and
looked long and earnestly at the little
tent. Love, too; love that had put into
his diffident heart the thrill and
courage of. a Bayard. Love! He saw
her again as she stepped down from
the carriage; in the dining-room at
his side, leaning over the parapet; in
effably sweet, hauntingly sad. Would
she accept the refuge he had offered?
He knew that old Mortimer would take
her without question. Would she ac-
cept the shelter of that kindly roof?
She must! If she refused and went her
own way into the world, he would lose
her forever. She must accept! he
would plead with all the eloquence OF
his soul, for his own happiness, and
mayhap hers. He rose, faced the tent,
and, with a gesture not unlike that or
the pagan in prayer, registered vow
that never should she want for Pro-
lection, never should she want for the
comforts of life. How he was going to-
keep such vow was a question that
did not enter his head. Somehow ne
was going to accomplish the feat.
What mattered the ragged beard
upon his face, the ragged clothes upon
his body, the tattered cloths upon his
feet, the grotesque attitude and en-
semble? The Lord of Life saw into his
heart and understood. And who might
say with what Joy Pandora gazed upon
this, her work, knowing as she did
what still remained within her casket?
From these heights, good occasion
ally for any mans soul, George came
down abruptly and humanity to the
prosiac question of where would ne
make his bed that night To lie down
at the north side Of the fire meant a
chill in the morning; the south side
meant, the intermittent acrid breath
of the fire itself, so he threw his
blanket and bags east of the fire,
wrapped himself up, and sank into
slumber, light but dreamless.
What was that? He sat up, alert,
straining his ears. How long had he
been asleep? An hour by his watch.
What had awakened him? Not sound
anywhere, yet something had startled
him out of his sleep. He glanced
over the camp. That bundle was
Ryanne. He waited Not a movement
there. No sign of life among the camel
boys; and the flaps of the two tents
were closed. Bah! Nerves, probably;
and he would have lain down again
had his gaze not roved out toward the
desert Something moved out there,
upon the misty, moonlit space. He
shaded his eyes from the fire, now
but heap ofsglowing embers. He got
up, and shiver after shiver wrinkled
his spine Oh, no; it could not be a
dream; he was awake. It was a living
thing, that long, bobbing camel-train,
coming directly toward the oasis, no
doubt attracted by the freight. Fas-
cinated, incapable Of movement, he
watched the approach. Three white
dots; and these grew and grew and at
length became pith-helmets!
Pith-helmets! Who but white men
wore pith-helmets in the desert?
White men, The temporary paralysis
left him. Crouching, he ran over to
Ryanne and shook him. 80.
"What
But George smothered the question
with his hand. Flush! For Gods sake
make no noise! Get up and stand
guard over Fortunes tent. There's a
caravan outside, and I'm going out to
meet it. Ryanne, Ryanne, there's a
white man out there!"
George ran as fast as he could
toward the incoming caravan. He met
IL Two OF CQToe HuuQrou ydTQS away.
The broken line of camels bobbed up
and down oddly,
"Are you white men?" he called
YES" seed deep, resonant voice.
"And stop where you are; there's no
hurry"
Thank God!' cried George, at the
verge of breakdown.
what the devil Flanagan,
here's a white man in a dress suit!
God save u.s." The speaker laughed.
Eyes, a white man; and there's a
white woman in the camp back there,
a white woman! Great God, don't you
understand? A white woman!" George
clutched the man by the foot desper-
ately. "A white woman!'
The man kicked Georges hand away
and slashed at his camel Flanagan,
and you, Williams, get your guns in
shape. This doesn't look good to me,
twenty miles from the main gamelieh.
I told you it was odd, that fire. Lively,
now!"