The Daily Ardmoreite. [volume] (Ardmore, Okla.) 1893-current, 1916-01-19

manueu Neal anu heep 6uaiu uPoAN
her day and night"
All night he lay, chained heavily,
solitary, in the lazarette, working out
his own salvation-not eternal, but
material. And he always came to one
conclusion-"I'll beat them yet"
All night the pilot puzzled his head
| over his compass.
| AS dawn broke in the crows nest
aloft, the lookout shaded his eyes with
his hand-then with the same hand
shaded his mouth.
Land ho!" he cried, land ho!"
Neal heard him and hurried to the
pilots side. Cant be Lost Isle," he
! exclaimed.
Must be-" said the pilot, we're
headed straight for her-straight as
the crow flies, sir. But | can't under
stand it, ether-blest if /"
The sentence was unfinished. With
a terrific shock the vessel crashed into
an unseen reef-an unknown reef, for
they had ventured into uncharted seas.
Neal understood the danger. The
shock was too terrific to be ignored.
1t meant a wreck-it would be mat
ter of minutes only before she filled.
Man the boats" he cried, order
all on deck. Make haste
He rushed in person to Annette's
door and threw it open. In person he
lifted Annette and her mother into
the first boat. Inez also was included.
1t was lowered safely. Neal turned to
his crew. "Get the lazarette prisoner"
he commanded, drag him into this
boat here. Be about it now" (
Hernandez, in frenzy of fear, had
been beating with his chains upon the
/ barred door of the lazarette. They
dragged him forth, his face working
with fear and rage, and bundled him
into the second boat-the Brute leap
ing in behind. Half way down the side
something happened-the gear broke.
The boat dropped-its one end still
held to the tackle-and plunged its
human burden into the sea beneath.
Hernandez, heavy with his irons,
clung to the Brute. The Brute was
| still paragon of strength. With both
Hernandez hands upon his brawny
shoulders-with the dragging weight
of Hernandez irons upon him, he
swan, with even, steady strokes,
| toward the shore-swam for an hour,
tirelessly, like some huge dog.
Suddenly his feet touched sand. {.
Neal and Annette stood upon a strip
of beach, staring all about them
This" said Annette. must be Lost
Isle-and the admiral was right-it is
deserted. Unless we find Robinson
Crusoe here-possibly--my father"
Neal shook his head. I'm not sure
it's Lost Isle," he commented, "and
I'm not sure it's deserted. See that
turn in the short line-let's round the
corner and have better look"
Around the corner, some three-quar-
ters of a mile away, a group of naked
natives clustered greedily about fire.
Above the fire something-horribly
gruesome-turneda and turned upon a
slowly-revolving spit. Scattered about
upon the ground, were human
One of the natives held up his arms,
uttering cultural sounds and pointed
off the shore. The whole crowd broke
into a run-reached the shore and
waited.
Two men staggered from the water
toward the beach.
The group of natives set up yell
of triumph here, then, were.
two more human skulls-two more
gruesome forms to be turned upon a
spit over hot fire. Yes. Mariners.
were quite right. These were indeed,
uncharted seas-Hernandez and the
Brute were pioneers.
The Brute looked straight ahead.
He placed his arm about his masters
quivering shoulders and stepped up
out of the sea, straight into that dia-
bolical group of wentieth-century
anthropophagi. The Brute knew no
fear. The black brutes reached forth
clutching hands and touched him
seized Hernandez. The Brute
stretched forth hand, seized a saw
age by the neck, and whirled him
round and round about his head, strik-
ing the black men right and
left.
Then he tossed his captive into
the sea, leaving him to struggle out
as best he might.
There was q wild cry among the na.
tives-then suddenly, they prostrated
themselves before the Brute.
He has white face-wfite beard"
they told each other. down, down on
your faces. He is a god-our god"