Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1913-02-19

began to take notes. He counted
ten, eleven, twelve camels, a car
van in truth, prepared for long and
continuous journey. There were three
pack-camels, laden with wood, tents,
and such cooking utensils as the fru-
gal Arab had need Of Certainly Ma
hOmed was a rich man, whether he
owned the camels or hired them for
the occasion. Upon one Of the beasts
they were putting up a MAMMAL, a can
opy used to protect women from the
sun while riding. One Arab, taller,
more robust than the others, moved
hither and thither authoritative1y.
Wound about his tarboosh or fez was
a bright green cufia, signifying that
the wearer had made the pilgrimage
to Holy Mecca. This individual
George assumed to be Mahomed him
self. And he recognized him as the
beggar over whom he had stumbled
two nights gone. Pity he hadn't
known, and pitched him into the Nile
when he had the chance.
Mahomed completed his directions,
and walked leisurely toward George,
but his attention was not directed
toward him. A short distance away,
lat Georges left, was a man, stretched
out as if in slumber. Over his inert
figure Mahomed watched He drew
back his foot and kicked the sleeping
man soundly, smiling amiably the
while; kick which, had Mohameds
foot been cased in western leather,
must have stove in the sleeper's ribs
Strange, the victim did not stir. Ma
homed shrugged, and returned to the
business of breaking camp.
George was keenly interested in
this man who could accept such a
kick apparently without feeling or re-
sentiment. He stood up for better
view. One glance was sufficient. It
was Ryanne, the erstwhile affable
Ryanne of the reversible cuffs: his
feet and hands still in bondage, his
clothes torn, his face battered and
bruised like sailors of Sunday
morning on shore-leave. The sight of
Ryanne frightened him considerably.
Although he was singularly free from
the spirit Of malevolence, he was, new
ertheless, human enough to subscribe
to that unwritten and much denied
creed that the misery of one man rec
Onciles another to his. And here was
company such as misery loved; here
was man worse off than himself,
whose prospects were a thousand
times blacker. Poor devil! And hers
he was, captive Of the men he had
Wronged and beaten and robbed. AS
seen through Georges eyes, Ryanne's
outlook was not a pleasant thing to
contemplate. But oh! the fight this
one must have been! If it had taken
i've natives to overcome him, how
many had it taken to beat Ryanne
into such a shocking condition? He
was genuinely sorry for Ryanne, but
in his soul he was glad to see him.
One white man could accomplish
nothing in the face of these odds: but
two white men, that was a different
matter. Ryanne, once he got his legs,
strong, courageous, resourceful, Ry-
anne would get them both out of it
somehow. And if Ryanne
hadn't the rug, who the dickens had?
The tumble of questions that rose
in his mind, seeking answers to the
riddle Of Yhiordes rug, subsidized even
as they rose. The bundle to the far
side of Ryanne stirred. He had, in his
general survey Of the scene, barely
set a glance upon it, believing it to
be conglomeration Of saddle-bags
(made of wool and cotton) and blan-
kets. 1t stirred again. George stud
led it with a peculiar sense of detach-
ment. A woman; woman in what
had but recently been a smart Paris
ian tailor-made street-dress. The
woman, rubbing her eyes, bore her
self up painfully to a sitting posture.
She was white. Ali the blows Of the
night past were as nothing in COM
parison with this invisible one which
seemed to strike at the very source
of his life.
Fortune Chedsoye!
VIII