Evening Star Newspaper, March 13, 1921, Page 60

- 2 OHN PETERSON was disturbed. His bushy yellow eyebrow ‘were drawn together in a ter- rific frown. His clear blue ®yes—eyes usually as serene a Jummer sea—were troubled. He fwalked majestically away from the e, followed a narrow, wind- ing street for a short distance and entered his own doorway with a sigh of yelief, It was blistering hot, so he went through the house to the ‘veranda, where there was at least a breath of air and the green shadow of tropical trees and bushes. “Queer,” he said under his breath. | *“Mighty queer. As like as two pen- nies. And yet—twenty yvears.” He put his big straw hat on the floor and stretched himself at length in a_wicker armchair. Perspiration stood on his brow and his hands trembled. He kept licking his lips as if they tasted of =alt. But his huge body was motionless. and he gazed steadily into the brilliant. tan- | gled garden, not as if he were seeing | the waxlike flowers and prodigious palms, but as if his eves were fixed on some invisible scens that fasci- nated and terrified him. “Queer.” he muttered again. like as two pennies K yet nothing out of the ordinary had happened to John Peterson. He had gone out, following his usual custom, at 11 o'clock and had strolled far as the Piazza Independenziu. Keeping always in the shadow of the houses. He was very imposing in his white linen’ clothes—a huge. blonde | fellow, bearded like a viking. his; eves as blue as ice beneath their shaggy brows. The shouting drivers of dilapidated cabs swerved sharply out of the way to avoid him. Bare- footed mozos ve him the Narrow sidewalk with & subservient courte Big-eved, black-haired native giris Jooked slyly at him as he passed. this was exactly as usual. Peterson was accustomed to being admired. | Was he not the incorruptible banker | of Magella, a rich citizen and a fig- jonal importance? e bewan. the day, like all other days with a glass of brandy at the Cafe Albion. Various dapper. copPer-) colored young men tipped their straw | hats in his direction. and some Whit® haired rovalist officials. sweltering in frock coats and gloves, bowed very Jow as they passed his table. Peter- son “stood in” with the rovaliste They had been in power for severd years, and_it began to look as if| President Diego were a permanent fixture in the old white palace which fronted so conspicuously on the piaz- za. Magella was growing great. The Fairchild Company. an American syn- dicate, controlled the fabulous mines; of the Santa Christina. The Marias, were enriching the royalists. And & Yankee railway was pushing across the campagna. across the half-de- serted interior of Concordia, linking Magelia to the rest of the World. Dev cidedly it was best to stand in Wit fhe party in power. Peterson handle the modest fortunes that were being made by Diego followers: he even ac” | cepted for safekeeping. in the mih-| ner of bankers the world over. i savings of native workmen, European | gettlers. that aermy of nondscripts; which had drifted into the sieepy Jittle republic in the wake of Nor American capital. * % ® % ETERSON had lived in Magella P twenty years and had walked the narrow white line of moral recti- tude. He had married 2 Magellan n—a dark-skinned beauty who ::dm"ro'n fat with happiness and who smoked big black cigars. Their daughter, Cora, was the prettiest girl in Mabgella and the pride of Peter- son's heart. She was as fair as her father—a tall, white-skinned, golden- haired girl, with eyes the color of gentians. It was said that every young man_in Magella was in love with her. Sighing suitors were al- ways parading back and forth be- neath her windows, preening them- selves, hoping that the blond Cora Wwould feel the pangs of passion. But Peterson = snubbed all would-be wooers and the cool, snow-white Cora refused to be charmed by dapper, brown dandies, who had so little imagination that they made love to her by calling attention to themselves. Cora had her own conception of love and lovers. All day she sat in the Mttla garden at the back of her father's house, eimiig, woman fashion, of the man Swho -would win her-in.spite of herself, etérson had beem in very good humor that morning st the Cafe Al- biop. He sat for & 108g lime over his glass of ‘brandy. M8’ tboughts . busy with the delectable fiture.. And it the dignified royalists who bowed 3o cor- dially when they passed his table could have known what he was think- ing, there would have beéen a riot. a revolution. or a civil war in Magella before night. But Péterson's eyes wero as guileless as a child's. He was outwardly as mild as a milk- fed god—majestic, Jovian and incor- ruptible. ‘:.’”l‘ for .the drink and strolled across the city to the esplasade. hi thoughts still busy with the futur John Peterson had something up his eeve for himself and Cora. His wife dn't matter—she was an unthink- ing. senseless mound of flesh in & calieo print wrapper. - He had loved her for a brief. tropic month of moon- light and rmadness, a long time ago. Twenty vears ago. Now there was Cora, tall. fresh-skinned—a goddess in this land of little. swarthy women with straight, black hair! And Peter- son did not propose that she should stay in . Magella forever: A little longer. Qnly a little Jonger! Then Le would take her td Paris. Vienna, Berlin. London. They would stay at great hotels. They would go to the races, 1o Monte Carlo, te the gay watering places. Cora weuld wear Fauropean clothes, and men of fushion would sture at her. He, Peterson. would strall along the boulevards as e was stroliing now, only that upon | his head. in place of a broad-brimmed straw hat, he would r a shining | stovepipe, and his majestic body | would be clothed. no' in crumpled | linen. but in broadeloth, excellently tailored. There would be money in his pockets, and Magella, this land of blaxing sky. towering mountains, palme, revolutions, and purple wounld' be erazed from his memory Jike & miserable dream. There were ways. For Instance: i “AS The royalists might be very much in powér, but there were others who aspired to fit into| the comfortable niches now filled by Diego and his followers. The nation- ali for example. Beneath the pla- cid surface of daily life in Magella a political volcano was seething. Its center was the Cafe Nazionale. Its jnmost heart was Pedro Cammarillo, half-breed Spaniard. Some day there was going to be an eruption. The red-hot revolutionists would blot out Diego's government like a shower of Java and burning cinders. Then there would be an end to Yankee influence in the republic. Cammarillo. the lib- erator, would occupy the white palace on the plaza. The railway would belong to the country: the fabulous wealth of the Fairchild mines would pour into the national treasury, where it belonged. All of those smiling. frock-coated royalists who had bowed to John Peterson in the Cafe Alblon would be shot against the sun-baked walls of the foriress. or thrown into damp dungeons beneath San Martino. or exiled to a life of meditation and remorse in the desolate provinces of the interior. All these things were scheduled to happen quickly. Peterson smiled un- der his golden beard when he looked about him at the unsuspecting people Farticular'y he smiled when he passed the American consulate and his eyes fell upon the flag which hung in lan- zuid foids above the doorw The American consul. young Fairchild and a handful of Yankee engineers were all that stood between Diego and the silent, purposeful, ruthle army of nationalists which had al- Teady flocked to Cammarilio’s side. s HY: conwul and Pug Fairchild went s -iate tha copsulate as P < SR | elry ! corruptible banker of Magella. passed. He tipped his wide-brimmed hat to them and looked them straight in the eye with a glance both benign and inscrutable. 5 “A glorious day, gentlemen. Pug and the consul uncovered rev- erently before the incorruptible bank. er. But when he had turned the cor- ner, talking slowly in the shadow of the houses, Pug whistled, glanced up at the cloudless sk owned, and said, briefly: “Whisker: Peterson went on, to the esplanade. The Liberta had come in from Porto Bio, bringing & cargo of misfit mer- chandise, canned goods. phonograph: had a conglomerate assortment of ad- ! venturers in the modern style—jew merchants. tintype artists,” life insurance peddiers, professional £ol- diers and professional loafers. The first boatload was coming ashore, propelled across the glittering harbor by a sweating crew of half-naked natives. Peterson went down on the beach and watched the landing; he liked to come into contact with' the great outside world, the world he had dreamed of for twenty vears. Some day he and Cora were going aboard the Liberta, to sail forever out of the harbor. northward to crowded tering cities, to civilization. to pleas ure. They were almost done with thi land of sunshine and languor. The wera almost done with the deadl monotony of the honest vears. Just then John Peterson caught sight of a young man who was in charge of one of the Liberta's boats. He was standing upright, shouting to the oarsmen as the overloaded craft shot through the surf and plungsd nose-first into the White sand of the beach. A tall, sandy-haired young- ster, in a blue flannel shirt and khaki trousers—Peterson looked aL him and felt his heart leap in his breast. As like as two pennies,” he thought, licking his lips. He tipped his hat over his eves and strolled down to the water's edge for a Dbetter look at the sandy-haired American. The young: stood at the tiller, shouting orders in a pretty variety of bilingual cuss words, a sort of good-humored. gentle tongue- lashing meant to sting the native boatmen into something like action. They jumped out into the shallow surf. beached the heavy boat, and stood by while the passengers came ashore. Peterson mingled with the crowd, a towering. conspicuous man_ of t north. The tropic sun gilded his magnificent beard. And the sandy haired American, suddenly relaxing to mop his brow with a red bandanna handkerchief. caught sight of the in- For a moment their graze crossed. Peter- son felt a drowning wave of terror, but his face was expressionless. He glanced beyond the American to the open harbor. where the rusty Liberta dozed at anchor. Then he turned on his heel and walked slowly back to his house in the Via Cristoforo. There he stretched himself in his favorite wicker chair. clenched his hands, and gazed with iackluster eyes into the p The sandy-haired youngster. in the meantime, had done several astound- ing thinge. First he stared after the towering figure of the banker as if he could not believe his eyes. There was smoldering fury, hate and a sort of glad surprise in his glance. He stood rigid by the tiller of the Lib- erta’s boat, unconscious of the burn- ing sun which beat down on the top of his head with the withering in- tensity of sun plus a magnifying lens. He was like a man struck dumb by a new. great idea, or one who has just realized an overwhelming am- bition. Suddenly he leaped into the sand and ran after John Peterson at top speed, leaving the Liberta's land- ing boat to its fate. The native oarsmen looked after him with star- tled eyes, then shrugged their shoul- ders and squatted in the hot sands, to wait until he chose to return. These Americani were always a little paszi. He would come back—poco tiempo. In such wise, with cowlike g;thm‘:le l;uy niufld Italian and and gossiped softly oi rim of the beach, ¥ o0 b e sandy-haired youngster reach- ed the esplanade and found that the glant banker had disappeared in one glit- | THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. THE INCORRUPTIBLE ONE | the determined onslaught of the san- dy-haired American and, introducing |the guest with a frightened bob of { his head. disappeared into the kitch- {en. The consul vas lying in a ham- | mock, and another young man, very cool and comfortable in white duck clothes, was twanging a guitar in the | shadow of @ banana tree. | “Hello,” the consul said, sitting up sleepily. “What do you want? ‘My name’s White, haired one gasped. of the Liberta. I'm looking for a man—Schmidt—Carl Schmidt. X lowed him a block and lo: again. Can you tell me Where lives The consul shook his/ead. “Sorry Mr. White. There aren’t many Euro. peans in Magzel other than Italians. And vour Mr. Schmidt, 1 judge. a No one here by that name, the guitar nle: i ¢ camp. uitar player. pluck the he or questioning 1o be at the said the ontinuing to caw him!" said White. tell T foliowed him for a block. But ixed up with th ner: blonde out vou m ndy-haired youngste lan unpleasant laugh full dain. 0 that's what he P ims: erson sddenty el nxul with blazing | oves. “Where does he 1 ‘m go- ing after him. W more, I'm g0- ing to get him '] he consul stood up. i e bme mistake.” he sald Quietly. “Mr. Feterson has lived in Magella for twenty vears. As far as I know, he has alwavs been l':lllf 1 Peterson, | He is a banker, a very heneat. respectable und trustworthy rhaps.the sun—" Mtm P areht. young White an. swered. “I've been traveling up 3‘"] down fhis coast for two years and a little thing like a hot d: dol"r:'l‘ make me see things, If thats wha You mean. The man I saw down on the beach is not |'--n-r5'x‘:‘:;l‘:\s name t. a he's a ¢ 5 I8 eI aver been in Magella before. Mr. White to the c “| think there “Then how comes it that you Tec i v v secn? ognize a man you have er ? D oreon hasn't left the city for fit- feen years, except to ride as far-as the foothills. The young man it's a_long Stor: smiled. “Well. sir. 1 won't swear that ‘o men T'm Fight® Maybe there are two me In"the world who look like Carl Senmidt. But T doubt it. T'd like tell_you—" i By all means. I'm here. The musical gentle the bananma tree is known as hila, or, popularly. Signor Pug. ff faon “his vacation, twiddling his {thgmbs after three months in ihe } bull Tanas of the campagna. Anvihing P8 Loy to us will be accepted ai 5 v confidential.” ; S 6e down the guitar and light- ed a clgarette. “If vou've got anyy fhing on ol gold whiskers.” he su politely, “spill it. 1 am all ears. o Younz White mopped his face with his blye flannel sleeve, sat down in one of the consul‘a‘hnmr’:v::dsrr?:da I chalri accepted a glass 20¢ With alacrity, and began to talk. Over oa the veranda of his house in & {¥la Cristoforo, Peterson still sat, rig- o and watchful, with tremblinz hands clutching the arms of his chais He might have been following wor 3 ¢ told by = for N O erican to Pug Fairchild and g American t r::r:-gmul. His attitude was that of an who listens intently yet the fomsulate was a quarter of a mile vy, separated from Peterson's house 37 a 'mass of wandering streets, dobe dwellings, tangled gardens Inld dnst‘y public squares. An impartial lnger, pausing a moment above the city of Magella, would have said that Peter- son heard, word for word, sentence fcr sentence, chapter for chapter, the story told in the sun-checkered patio of the consulate. * ¥ ¥ ¥ LASH back twenty-five years. The F gold and blue and purple of Ma- the consul tieman under Fair- He THE SANDY-HATRED YOUNGSTER CAUGHT CORA AND WHISPERED IN HER EAR: “I'M COMING BACK FOR YOU. OVERMUCH, BUT I LOVE YOU. of those twisting alleys which strike toward the heart of the city. He ran back and forth, peering down first one and then another like a bound on the scent. But Peterson was gone. A barefoot policeman in a cocked hat was dozing on a carner and the American_accosted him. “Say! Where's the American con- sulate in this place?’ The policeman made polite gestures. Non capisco signore.” Consulate! Amerie: Why the blazes don’t you speak English? Con- sulato Americano. Here's a _ ciga ette—now open up. I'm in a hurry. The policeman accepted the cigar- ette, smiled, shrugged his shoulders and pointed with his thumb toward the Via della Pace. “I get you,” the youngster panted, and rso. The consul was in. His Tndisn boy basked away into the patio bsfore 1 DON'T LIKE YOUR POP gella fades into the cinder of a Prairie town in the United Btates—a single main strect flanked on both sides by one and two storied brick and wooden houses, brand-new, hid- eously ugly. Horses are tethered be- fcre the post office. Farther up the street there is a bank: above the door, written in gold letters three |feet ' high. the names Schmidt & White. 1n thix drab world of dust land prairie Peterson appears again, young. boitterous, bearded. And with him the a man strangely like the sandy-haired youngster who raced shore at Magells in one of the Li- berta’s boats. strangely like, yet older and a little bent. Peferson calls this man Andrew, and Andrew calls Pe- terson Carl. Andrew White and Carl Schmidt, partners In business, stanch friends. Carl Schmidt is a dreamer. He hates the fat prarie stretching to every e horizdn like a becalnfed sea: he hates the ugly brick houses, the post office. the saloon, the tethered horsfs with drooping heads, the heat and dust and deadly monotony. He dreams of ad- venture in far-off lands—purple seas, palms and snow-white beaches. Andrew gentle; he dreams, but his dreams are of a prosperous fu- ture. He sees the prairie town be- come a great city; he sees Schmidt and White honored and rich. Andrew is married and lives with his wife and little son in a neat white house near the ban The sandy-haired youngster is talk- ing to the consul at Magella. Over in the Via Cristoforo John Peterson sits motionless, listening. “It was like this. Mr. Consul. My father trusted Schmidt. Once he went away to Chicago—a long journey in “MY NAME 18 FAIRCHILD. T MEAN WHAT I SAY. the veranda, followed by a short, 8 'thy man in a crumpled uniform— apt. dal Re, commander of the Liberta. They glanced around with the air of conspirators, then Peterson waved the Italian to & chair and sat down facing him, directly in the path of light. He whispered. and his words floated out over the garden and kin- dled an unholy joy in the breast of Signor Pug. The banker spat the name “Fairchild” with venom and disdain; he spoke of the espised and already defeated royalists, siaves of the Americans, traitors to Ma- gella.” He whispered to the estir mable captain of revolutionary troops waiting at Porto Bio to pounce upon Magella; he whispered of guns and ammunition, of loot, of treachery, of thefts and awards. Finally, hitching his chair closer to Dal Re, he hatched 2 preposterous plot. YOU'RE GO} C., MARCH 13. 1921-PART 4% A Story By Mildred Cram 'into the Liberta this cheerful rousta- bout hung back until the rest of the gang had gained the deck. Then he disappeared imto the shadows of the hold. and the hatches were closed as a protection against the burning rays of the red-hot sun. The sandy-haired youngster grinned, tipped his cap over his es, hung over the rail to watch the north- bound passengers coming _aboard. They arrived in the custom house launch—two wilted and irritable trav- eling salesmen, a fruit grower from the coast provinces, John Peterson and Cora Peterson. ‘When the second officer caught. sight of the banker's daughter he came near to falling into Magella harbor. He felt a wave of pleasurable ex- citement that made him dizay That girl—Peterson’s daughter? That girl TO RUN THE LIBERIA ASHORE ON SAND ISLAND. MR. WHITE WILL COMMUNICATE WITH THE ENGINE ROOM.” those days—and left Schmidt in charge of the bank. When he came home. he found that Schmidt had eloped with all the money he could lay his hands on. He had fixed the books. He had cleaned out the safe.! He was gone! And he hadn't left a footprint in the prairie sand Young White met the consul's eyes squarely. “I saw Schmidt on the beach twenty minutes ago. How did 1 know him? I grew up with the hate of him in my heart. My father had a photograph of him on the mantel- sheif in the parlor, and about once a| day he'd point to it and say: “That's the man who ruined me.' It was true. He carried the burden of Scumidt's crime until he died. I've been some- thing of a traveler. I've knocked; about the globe for four years, keep- ing my eves open for tall, blond men with curly beards. Now I've found him.” The consul shook his head. “Peter- son may be Carl Schmidt. or again he may be the sixth son of a Swedish earl. He came here Lwenly years ago | full of money and pleesant ways. and married a native woman. If I re- member rightly, she was called Maria Teresa Ulloa Nan Martino de Vega, none of which was her rightful name. They lived at Numero 6, Via Cristo- foro. You might drop around and take another look at Peterson. The sandy-haired youngster put down the empty glass and offered the consul his hand. “Thanks,” he sald briefly, “I will” When he had gone the consul and Pug exchanged 2 look full of under- standing. Pug rose from his loung- ing position beneath the banana tree, tound his hat, and followed the voungster to the water front. White Jumped into the Liberta's boat and Was rowed swiftly across. the harbor. Then Pug found a bench in the shadow of the dusty trees along the esplanade, and, tipping his hat over his eyes. sat down to wait. He waited all the afternoon, strewing cigarctte stubs around the bench and whistling antique comic opera tunes. He was homesick for trolley cars, asphalt, gasoline and hurrying crowds, the Punsent essence of civilization. Ma- Fella was growing dull. There was nothing to disturb the changeless mo- notony of the changeless days except an occasional scrap at the railway camp and a Sunday bullfight in the ‘Arena Goldoni. Here, between the toppling mountains and the purple sea, the white city dozed like a pretty Woman In eternal siesta. Decidedly, life was stale. Pug waited until the orange sun- set had faded into dusk, partly be- cause he mistrusted the flery 100k in the sandy-haired youngster's eyes, principally because he believed Peter- son to be Schmidt. Night had fallen, like a blanket quenching the last glow of twilight, before he heard again the steady click of oars and the ripple of water against the prow of a small boat. White was coming back! Pug saw him when he crossed the esplanade, appearing for an instan in the round pool of light cast by’ street lamp, then disappearing again into the thick shadow of the water- front buildings. Loosening the re- volver in his pocket, Pug rose from his_patient vigil and follow White turned into the Via Cristo- foro and hesitated before Numero. 6 to light a cigarette. Two of Cora's suitors were strolling back and forth, their eyes fixed on the grilled win- dows of the banker's house. White passed them and hurried around the corner into a narrow alleyway which touched upon Peterson’s garden. He scanned the high wall, made a quick Jeap, gained the top and dropped ntly into the tangled follage on the other sid: “T thought 80, Pug whispered, smil- ing in the dark. He waited a mo- ment: then he followed, landing in the comnact branches of a flowering hedge. The garden was as dark as the inside of a closet. Not a star burned in the sky. Only in the palm fronts a whole ballet of fireflies danced to inaudible music. White had disappeared like a man fallen fnto the bottom of a deep well. Tf he had heard Pug climb over the wall, he gave no sign—he was somewhere in that tangle of bushes and vines, watching for the incorruptible one. * k% x SUDDENLY a, door opened, & shaft of vellow light fell across the darkness, and Peterson came out-on | engineers at Dora Riparia. “Senti, capitano,” he said, for they were speaking Italian. “There are only a dozen men who keep Diego where he is—that Signor Pug, the consul, Bianchi, McCarthy, and the Figure for yourself. Once the liberator is in the “city, the whole population will swing to our side, Then—" The in- | corruptible one leaned back in his chair. hooked his thumbs under his suspenders, and smiled behind the golden glory of his beard. The little captain glanced away with a troubled frown. ‘There are loyal troops.” “Asleep! Asleep! Drugged with idleness and too much security. My dear fellow, all you have to do is to take the troops aboard at Porto Bio, bring them into Magella harbor at night. and wait for your reward. It will be ample. Still the captain demurred. shufing his feet and waving his hands. “Sup- pose my crew : “You can buy vour crew. See her From an inside pocket the banker produced a roll of bills: a roll so fat, so compact. so crisp, that Dal Re's yes started from his head. “Amply sufficlent.” he said, thickly. suddenly collapsing into an attitude of abject humility. The roll passed from Peter- son’s hand into the captain's and dis- appeared with surprising rapidity into his pocket. “Viva la liberta!” he said, rising and clicking his heels together. “Viva Cammarillo! Abbasso Diego. nemico della liberta! Peterson got to his feet. “T will come aboard tomorrow,’ he said. “A rivederci. 5 Pug heard a rustling in the grass, & quick gasp that was like a child's sob. Peterson's back was turned, and he stood in the doorway, wilhouetted against the flood of yellow light. Pug rolled over, groped blindly, and jerked a pistol out of White's hands. = “Ssh, ¥you fool.” he whispered. winding his arms about the sandy-haired young- ster and preventing any foolish ex- ?:::lnce. “I know a better way than They waited. breathing h i Petérson and the captam of tne Tibe ;r!l h;d passed into the house. Somewhere within they he: faint tinkie of Cors :flliu:‘":nfl”‘: g:l‘nh sweet voice singing “Don Pas- _Pug loosened his hold on the pas- sionate avenger of old wronn!‘ "!gl.r: ple-hearted nephew of Uncle Sam. he whispered, “the obsequies are not yet. Do you understand Italian? No? Your enemy. Carl Schmidt, has been frying his own goose. He has been spinning his own shroud. He is as £00d as dead already. Pocket your little gun and listen to me. My name is_Fairchlld. T mean what I say. I will deliver thine enemy into thin hands shorn, plucked and trussed. He glanced at the empty veranda, then up at the garden wall. .‘The next move,” he said. “is in the di- ;a::'l::l I?: olhe le; tAlhh.m. The n me, onnclr‘l E;&hmldt.' S iAok ve minutes later Peterson cam out into.the garden. He glanced u; at the velvet-black sky and down at the riot of tropical flowers and plants. “Funny.” he thought. ‘He was like him as one penny to another, as one pin to another.’ Suddenly he turned and went back into the house, calling in a loud frightened voice: ‘Cora! Cora ‘Where are you?" * % x % AT noon of the following day there Wwas the beginning of great ac- tivity in the harbor. A cargo of fruit was going aboard the Liberta. The winches rattled and screamed. Clusters of top-heavy native lighters clung like barnacles to the steamer's sides. On the bridge Capt. dal Re paced back and forth, nervously chewing a lunfilbllct clgar. For th first time in gellan shipping hi tory, the Liberta was being loaded at top speed. Young White, second officer and general utility man, stood on the forward deck, superintending at close range the lowering of the cargo into the hold. His language was pic- turesque and forceful, but he grinned eévery time he glanced into the open hateh. A gang of dirty, half-naked, wholly disreputable natives were sllvlng in the hold. One of them, of g:wer ul build, more or less invisible neath a coat of sweat and dirt, displayed L “F.u"hl ‘lll“l‘“h.flz ‘whenever the second officer. A-g“ n the last { e I 1 ! | 1 I the daughter of a2 man who played in with a crowd of cutthroat revolu- tionists? Fantastic and incredibl * % x % 'ORA PATERSON had about her an air of buoyancy and freshness; she was superbly tall. free of gait. blond as a Norse goddess. Her skin was faintly tinged with the golden brown of her mather's race. She came up the side ladder to the Liberta's dirty deck, glanced about, and caught the second officer’s ardent eyes. There- after. be it sald now, their gase met and clung more often than was nece: sary. Peterson was close behind he; carrying two suit cases made of wov- en straw. Young White sprang forward, touch- ing the brim of his cap. “You're Mr. Peterson, aren’t you? Your cabin's forward, sir.” Peterson drew a deep breath, but his frosty eyes did not waver. “Yes, Peterson. We're going as far as Porto Bio." The second officer bawled for a deck hand and sent the incorruptible bank- er and his daughter away to their stuffy cabin. When they had disap- peared he executed a few neat, ecstatic dance steps on the closed hatch. And down in the steaming, redolent hold a dirty cargador, crouch: ed behind mounds of green banana: heard and understood. At dusk the Liberta sailed, wheez- ing her leisurely way out between the twin lighthouses which guard the protecting half-moons of idnd at the harbor’s mouth. Behind her Magella faded into the blue shadows between the sea and the precipitous slopes of the Santa Christina mountains. Monte Bianco, an anvil-shaped giant stand- ing astride the range, was still tinged by the red glow of the vanished sun. But in Magella a whole string of street lamps flashed up along the es- planade and cast wavering reflections oily surface of the water. Peterson said, waving his hand toward the retreating city. “How desirable. Eh. capitano mio? Dal Re glanced nervously over his shoulder, then out to sea again. “You have said it. Peace is desirable above all things. I am a peace-loving man. In my heart of hearts I dislike dan- gerous undertaking: The banker threw back his head and let the cool breeze sport in his amazing beard. ‘There is a cure for all such mean hesitations and fears,” he said pleasantly. “I carry it in my hip pocket, and I learned to use it on the plains of my own country, where men shoot to kilL. By the way, 'mico mio, what do you call your second of- ficer?” “Why-Eat,” explained Dal Re, lick- ing his lips. “I don’t liké his looks. He has been hanging around my daughter all the evenin Suddenly the captain of the Liberta rolled his eyes and whispered fierce- ly: “I will have to bribe him too. I'll have to bribe everybody. What you gave me is not enough by half. “There will be enough for us all, even the meanest half-breed fighting for bread and wine. Patlence.” * % % % THE Liberta edged out of the hur- bor, making a wide curve to avold the turtle-backed Isola di Sab- bla—Sand Island—which makes the channel risky going on & dark night. Then, turning abruptly, she passed beneath the Capo light and entered the open sea. Magella disappeared. ‘The Capo dropped behind, its sultry flashes illuminating the horison like t.l‘i(e play of heat lightning in a murky sky. ‘The sandy-haired youngster was leaning on the rail, his arm touching Cora Peterson's. Together they watched the flashing by of black waves threaded and starred with phosphorescence. White was think- ing of many things. He hated John Peterson with simple, unfaltering logical hate. But he had netver before seen a girl like Cora Peterson. He told her so. And Cora listened. Why not? She was used to brown-skinned suitors, who languished beneath the barred windows of her room, sighing thunderously and picking with lan- guid fingers at the strings of their mandolins. The second r of the Liberta he told her in detail why she ‘was the prettiest girl in South Amer- ica. His wooing was sudden. imme- diate and irresistible. in the impetu- ous manner of his kind. He kindled dreams in the tall goddess' cool eves. He waxed 50 eloquent that he might have stormed the citadel of her heart then and there had Peterson not de- scended from the bridge to carry his daughter off to bed The sandy-haired youngster Wwas not cast down. He hurried away to the forward deck. whistling, and shoved off a manhole cover. ostensi bly for ventilation. The rusty Li- berta was rising and falling to a slow ground swell, and with every dip of the bow a shower of foam exploded high into the air and flung back across the decks. Glancing up, White saw the captain’s cigar glowing on the bridge: above him the mist light swayed against a sky as black and dense as a velvet pall. The second officer lighted a cigarette and squat- ted by the opening. And presently. throwing back head. ha began to sing. If the captain had cared to listen to the words of the dit might have learned a thing or two. ¥or this is what the youngster said: “Hey, you, down there. All right?” A hoarse whisper rose from ateaming hold. “Hot as heil. is everything?" “I've " been talking daughter,” caroled the a passionate tenor voice. peach. A peach. A peach. And with such a dad! ® * ¢ Oh la! la! la! They're going to Porto Bio. she says. sit!’ She's as innocent a8 to Peterson’s ! 1 saw Diego. His army is four days’ march from Magella—an nual maneuvers. No one in the city who can use a popgun. * * * A small | force at the fort. Peterson knew!| The Liberta is going back there to- morrow with a cargo of revolullun-l ists. Cammarillo himself is marching down from the hills. * * * Sing, you fool—sing 'Good Lord!" “That's fierce warbled the youngster. It's all up then? Oh, 6t on your life. Where's whis- him bribe you. d'you hear? Play up. Pat him on the back. Smile, even if your hate chokes you. 1 tele- graphed McCarthy at the mines. They'll cut cross-country to meet Cammarillo. We'll have to hold up rgo of toy soldiers some- * Oh, how, old dear? Two of us against an army? You make | me sick—you make me awfully s..v»hl the hoarse whisperer warned. “something terrible is going | to happen to Magella. Go to bed, and | let me think. Bul, for God's sake,j don't give me away.” The song ceased abruptly. and the useful sec- ond officer closed the manhole again. | He did not go (o bed that night. but sat on a stanchion. watching the ex- plosions of phosphorus, inaudible and daszling, which stirred the racing sea. At dawn he went (o the bridge. Dal Re was still there, his uniform more crumpled than ever, his quench- ed cigar chewed to a pulp. “Good morning.” he said English, “you singlike those 1 birds last night. Signor Why-Eat. “I am musical by disinclination,’ confessed the second officer, smiling “I was singing the hymn of liberty. Liberta!” whispered Dal Re. pound- ing his breast hands. I, too, love the oo, am patriot. The little countries —they, whet you call, step on my hearts. Too long have Magella been under the foot of the tyTant crushed. 1 weel “AR, d the sandy-haired young- ster, coming nearer and lowering his volce. “How's that? Any trouble in Magella?" in feeble tie * ok k% with both clenched ! liberty! L} blind man. She squeezed hi " and followed the inforruptible Sanbert into the landing boat. Once she tura. ed and waved to the.second officer. Then the shadows swallowed her and she was gone. night the Liberta quivere der the Teet of Cammarillos hentm men. They swarmed up the side: and spread themselves over the deck the cabins, the saloon and the rig Eing—barefooted, dark. careless men, Wwearing huge sombreros with choco-§ late-cream crowns. H ey were So burdened with ar-| tillery that they rattled when they moved. Each one carried a long-| barreled Winchester, & revolver and} an assortment of knives. Camma-, rillo. the liberator, was not withy them. He had cut the wires between ! the capital and Porto Bio and hud' left the embarkation of troops to Peterson, rushing away on horse-. back to join the major portion of} his command in the foothills. It wax! his intention to march into Magell from the north while the Liberta) contingent was engaged on thos water front. He knew that Diegosi little army was scattersd to fth four points of the compass and not! likely 1o fire a shot against the su perior ionalist force. It was prett game of ring-around-a-rosy and the half-breed Spaniard caicu Jated on being in the palace. presi- dent and dictator. within a week. The Liberta sailed st dawn, in-| crusted with men and 8o overloaded' that her decks were almost flush with? the sea. . Peterson was on the bridge, ma Jestic, clad in white from head to| foot. the deus ex machina of the rev- olution. He borrowed the captainsi glasses and made out Cora standing] on the veranda of the commandante sy house. where Peterson had left hert ‘until the cause was won.” Coral had doubts about the cause, but sh waved. stretching out her arms in a gesture not meant for her father, but; for the sandy-haired youngster wh had promised to come back for her. What was Paris compared to thel mystery and radiance of life with man who had made her fall in love with him in one day and a half? The Liberta plowed south agai across w steaming sea. The funne beiched black smoke. The rusty pro-, peller kicked up snow-white, plumes of foam. 1 She was hurrying down the sea at! top speed. In order to enter Magella: harbor in that impenetrable hour just; before the break of dawn. All da the jaded nationalists hugged th meager shadow of the awnings or la full length on the hatches, their bar feet pointed heavenward. And th sandy-haired youngster watched wit fomething like fear in his heart. H danced no more above the hidden car gador's head. Instead. he hung ove the rail, biting his nails and starinz; out to sea. 3 Two men against 2,000—it lookad: like & big deal. One thing he knew— he would trin Peterson. Then he would go back for that girl, and tel her the truth. If he could The sun was quenched at last. Tike a an{n rocket A cool mist rose, the unmistakable odor of the drenche and tropical land. The nationalisis began to stir. They shouted. Theyt sang. And fearful bilingual oathg enlit the air. There was a constant rattle of armss ominous and businesslike. The Libert 4 rode into the gathering darknes} without lights quivering as she sensed the peril of the adventure. * % % % THE second officer. wandering fo ward, opened the hatches with ostentatious care for the cargo—ir— cargo not likely to reach its destina- tion. While he was fumbling there i the darkness, the disreputable car; dor slipped out on the deck and fell immediately into the relaxed attitude THE captain winked solemnly. “You love the liberty 2" “How much is it worth? “One hundred dollars.” Not enough.” What's Dal Re stepped cio®e to officer and whispere: Listen. Big revolution in Magella, fra—two days. ‘We go in to Porto Bio tonight and get 2,000 men with guns. Take them back. No one knows. Make to enter the port at dark. Ssh! No one hears. Land at customhouse. Capture city. Easy. Like that! All for the liberty. Day beyond tomorrow all royalists are desd and all nationalists are rich. Ebbene.’ Anything you say. It listens well. Td rather be a rich nationalist than a dead royalist. Give me the two hun- Re sighed and stripped some green bills from the fat wad he car- ried in the inside pocket of hix dirty linen jacket. The sun had bounced above the horizon like an enormous jack-in-the-box. and the sea wa mad danoe of little waves gilded on their crested tips. All day the Liberta churned her way across the brilliant sea beneath a sk as blazing blue as the inside of a sap- phire cup. A ribbon of smoke rolled back from the funnel and hung like a black cable above the water. The wind had dropped: it was sweltering hot beneath the canvas deck awnings. Peterson slapt, his head thrown back, his glorious beard pointed heaven- ward. He was dreaming of Paris—cool fountains, tulips in bloom, pretty women. Himself—Peterson — driving in the Bois with Cora at his side. Per- fume. Elegance. Beauty. No more of this smiting, metallic sun and tropic languor. No more fat wife in a cotton wrapper. * ' ¢ Every now and then, waking with a start, the incorruptible one heard with a vague uneasiness the murmur of voice Cora and the second officer were standing side by side. watching the spray of fiying fish away from the Liberta’s slicing prow. Funn how like the youngster was * * What had the captain_called him? Why- Kat? Why-Eat? White! Peterson felt again the drowning wave of terror. Cora and the voungster were looking into one another’s eyes: their shoulders touched—— He should have left her at hom danger or no danger, she would have been safer in the garden of Numero 6 than here with that laughing chap who was so damnably like ¢ * * Cora was paying no attention to him. She had found the end of the rainbow in the sandy-haired youngster's ar- dent eye: * % % X FMOWARD night land rose out of the ocean like a heap of fantastic storm clouds. The Liberta turned at right angles and before the last of the twilight had flickered out. poked her nose into the deep harbor of Porto Bio. The town itself was a mere handful of white houses strung like a pearl necklace along the shore. A score of bonfires flared on the beach, and as the anchor of the fruit steamer was let go and she came to rest. 2 strange sound reached the ears of passengers and crew. Even in the hold, where he crouch- ed behind concealing mounds of green bananas, the disreputable cargador heard and wondered. At first it sounded like the dripping of gigantic drops of water from some stupendous tap. Then it was like the barking of dogs or the yelping of a pack of wolves. And fina the medley of noises resolved itself into human voices—the excited chatter of thou- sands of men. Straining his eyes, the sandy-haired youngster made out the moving forms of Cammarillo’s warriors silhoueted against the ruddy glow of the camp fires. And rushing to the closed hatch, if he had been seized by a trans- port of joy, he few ecstatic CAT or listened ‘roops,” this strange terpsichorean Morse code said. “Coming aboard to- night. We are going to lose our pre- cious necks. But I'm with you. Bet- ter a dead royalist than a live na- tionalist.” Having spoken, the second officer hurried back to duty. The passengers were- golng ashore. putting off in a native boat from the Liberta’s side ladder. The sandy-haired youngster caught Cora at the top of the steps and whispered in her ear 'm com- ing back for you. I don't like your pop overmuoch, but I love you. Are you golng to wait for me? The look Miss Peterson gave him coavinced any save & 1 | #nd obeyed with alac the ‘ second of a sieeping nationalist. It was done so quickly that the sec ond officer could not be certain that the stowaway had left the hold. To' the captain’s angry shout from the bridge: “Close the hatches, there!” he. answered cheerfull ve, aye, sir.”" ty. Then he went slowly aft to his own quarters, conscious of the soft pad of bare feet behind him. The cargador slipped into the little cabin ijke a shadow; closing the door and catching White's arm. he whispered: < “Give me some water! Mine's all. gone. It was hot as blazes down. : there. What's up?* ‘That you, Mr. Fairchild>" Me. Where are we?" Off the capo at 3 o'clock. "Who's on the bridge”" “Schmidt and the captain. Have you got that gun?" Yes, sir. T don’t think you'll need to use It: Listen! 1 have a hunch. i They whispered, sitting side by side on the edge of the second officer's berth. The cargador whispered to White, and White whispered back., tense and ardent as two conspirators in a melodrama. Outside, the nationalists squattéd on their heels. sharpening their knives. #nd their wits for the impending fr. Off 1o the south, Magella slept be- neath the velvet-black sky, innocent s a_cradled babe. Diego's army was. . hot-footinz it through the forests Cammarillo. the liberator. bore down .- from the hills. There was nothing to prevent the downfall of the govern-. ment, except time—time the impetu- ous. The hours passed, and the over- laden Liberta, feeling her way.: through the impenetrable darkness; approached the Capo light. passed be- neath if. and turned at right angles - into the wide mouth of the harbor. A sudden babel of voices rose from the » steamer's crowded decks and died away again like a passing flurry of - wind. ~ Thereafter Cammarillo's > na~ tionalists stood motionless and silent, straining their eves toward the faint - lights of the city. 3 * k x % < TTHERE was nothing to_prevent th- - second officer from going to the'’ bridee. He went, followed closely by his shadow-—both of them invisibie in the smothering blackness of that’ mysterious hour which comes just be- fore the dawn. Peterson and Dal Re were watch- ' ing the channel intently. Now and then a bell rang, the steamer trem bleed. stopped, then slid forward’ again, feeling her way between the encrouching reefs ‘We will take her to the customs Dal Re whispered. Peterson answered in a calm wharf,’ “Bene,” voice. Just then both of them became con- - scious of a gentle pressure in the mid dle of their backs. as if a cold finger had been laid upon their spines with ~ nsinuating intentions. They shivered and turned to confront the second of-'" ficed and his disreputable shadow. ' The pressure was relieved and applied - again to the region of their hearts. ' The shadow spoke: “My mname is Fairchild. T mean what I say. You're going to run the Liberta ashore on Sand Island. Mr. White will communicate to the en-,. gine room. If you shout, wriggle, or wink. I'll blow your heads off. Noth- ing easier. The guns of the fortres: of San Martino are trained on Sand” Island, and the royalist forces kmow ' when 1o _expect you. They are only = waiting for a signal from me—a shot, * for instance—to blow you out of the harbor.’ “Preposterous.” Peterson whispered..: The captain, flinging his arms above.,. his head, groaned like a man who has, . had a sudden vision of a sun-baked wall, a squad of soldiers, and the lev- eled ‘barrels of a dozen rifies pointed at his own heart. *“Maledetta!" he said under h breath. “These damned Yankees.® ' The shadow answered, pleasantly: “Maledetta! Carrambos! Likewise b; heck! Listen for your cues, Capt. di Re. And you, Mr. Schmidt, contrel your exuberant nature. New, White, take her in.” The Liberta slid smoothly forward." Straight ahead the diamond-strung ' lights along the esplanade swung'' suddenly to the left. A bell rang, - faint and far awaye Then another. The lights swung to the right as the - Liberta turned. There was no sound T save the cautious rattle of the eager’ nationalists’ artillery and the rippls of water along the steamer's rus sides. The bell rang again, aharply:’ almost triumphantly, and the Liberta, quivering and thrashing like & wound- - ed whale, ran her nose @eep into the' nds of the Isols @i Sabdb: [ 'L