The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 22, 1904, Page 14

772E OTHHER FAS GUILLO HTUMAYUN ANCKICAY HERE was 12z of talk Three-Star h, at the N the roadhouse be the three f scatte 1 Whip-Snake Creek i been a clash between f the Three Stars of the Four expected for long i been exchan , slightly wounded. red then, but not until ath on horseback had ff a week later. to act as ar before and dow Huber he latter a girl of » ‘was a house of d was well patron- » was no bar and no e cowboys employed 1ous ranches were a la Huber to be the Jolliest girl ever grounds of the > one to dispute. If fell In love at first 3 »e expected. er, that the girl and that the adora- e entirely un- e jump to the irty or forty cowboys adhouse and offered succession. On the con- f them ever passed a word girl or got more than a They simply loved in ct. Perhaps ten of the lot, In of a r, had opportunities conversation, although only two of em dared to flatter her or speak of love. One was Dave Henderson, credit- smartest of and the a Mexican back to ed with being one of the »-Saxon cowboy as Guillo Humayun, uld trace his ance v r All other on the ranches were spoken of as “‘Greasers.” Guillo was always referred to as Senor. It was a compliment to hi stocratic face, to his daredevil rid and to his well-known courage. He had flattered the Senorita Huber, as he called her. He had looked at her in a languishing wa d had spoken soft words of love, but he had been met by a dignity and a coldness that froze him out. In the end the fleld had to Dave Henderson, and girl's choice had brought to others humiliation and chagrin, it had also been tacitly approved by the majority of the unfortunate Dave was smart; been left while the he was a good fellow; he was on the road to ure an interest in the big “Three tar Guillo alone was chagrined and vengeful, and it soon became patent that he was biding his time to provoke an affray, and to use his g It must be brought about diplomatically. it must in such a way as to present an appearance of fairness, or he would be wiped out by Dave's friends. To this purpose he bent all his mental energies. When the clash finally came “the Senor,” too, had his backing, and when he de- manded a duel on horseback he was announced to be within his rights. Then came a single w ser. Given no attention, it soon became a buz- zing. It was said, even by some of Dave's friends, that he had shown a touch of the white feather in the first encounter, and they doubted if he would do the Three Stars credit on the day of the duel These whispers reached his and he simply replied, “Wait.” com ears &/ ] o N o v 27 Voo ks 7 70 6ROBD They reached the ears -of the girl, and she set forth on her bronco and tried to trace them to their source. Men shook their heads in a dubious W and refused to give her honest answers, and at the end of three days she asked Dave Henderson himself: “You must know what is being said of you in connection with the duel?” He nodded his head. “And what do you mean to do?” “Kill Guillo!” he curtly replied. The words were plain enough, but there was something in the lover’s gen- >— . # ROSE + (Copyright, 1804, by Izola L. For- rester. T was late when Rosemary ar- rived. The other guests were rising and dinner had been an- nounced. She had barely time to toss aside her furs and exchange a few hurried words with Mrs. Creigh- ton There was one thing certain, she de- r a glance at Helen and the rest. had not heard yet and she was glad of an hour's respite. After the scene with Dean last night, foliowed by a solemn one in the morn- ing with her mother, and finally the reproaches and condolences of four younger sisters, each with her indi- viduza! opinion on the fitness of the en- gagement, it was a relief to breathe freely without fear of conversational dissection of her case. “Who is to take me in?” she asked, &t the foot of the stairs, but Helen was already bowing and smiling to another guest as she answered: cided, aft ey “You're always late, dear, arem’t you? No excuse, though, please. Don't you see the Senator looking helpless and alone over there? He's to take me in, and thinks I'm lost.” “But- * Rosemary stopped short, and went upstairs to the dressing- room with a little sudden heartache. ¥For & whole month, one only had had the right and privilege of claiming her, and now, she was free again. She hoped Helen would not give her to any one brilllant or strenuous to-night, who would bother her by trying to make an impression. She didn’t want to be impressed. In a measure, she blamed impressionism for her engage- ment to Dean. He was a royal com- rade, clever and responsive, but not too clever, or too responsive. There was & difference. Looking back on the joyous days of the month, she de- cided that it had been this element of chumship, of mental affinity which had been responsible for the whole thing. As a2 comrade, Dean was splendid, but as a lover in the role of pros- pective husband to be wedded to for lite, she had suddenly discovered that he was exacting, most exacting. Any man who was engaged to a girl and positively forbade any other man falling in love with her was exacting. Moreover, it was foolish, because, really, it was in the abstract a com- pliment to his own good taste. She could not help Jack Stowell telling her that he loved her. Of course he loved her. He had told her so on an average of twice a month for over a year. And he was a dear, good boy- She smiled contentedly at the mir- rored image of herself in the dressing- room, as she paused to tuck in a few refractory hairpins. Who could help ; ¥ i By 1. L. Forrest | . 0 loving her? Even Dean had called her the dearest girl in the world. It was sweef to remember that. Of course, he had behaved intolerably about Jack, but when a man is in love She laughed softly and buried her lips caressingly in the heart of a single long stemmed La France rose that lay lightly on her breast. The last trailing gown was vanish- ing beyond the heavy velvet portieres of the dining-room as she came down stairs. Only one lone figure awaited her coming in the wide hall and she wondered who it could be. Not Jack. Mrs. Creighton did not approve of Jack. In fact, she had once called him a cub. Mild, but irritating—to Jack. The figure turned suddenly, at the sound of her coming. It was Dean himself. Half unconsciously she hesitated, her head lifted a trifle high- er than usual, her lashes drooping ob- stinately over telltale eyes. He was terribly grave and dignified. “I am to have the pleasure of taking you in, Mrs. Creighton said. She evi- dently does not know.” “I had no idea that you would be here.” She spoke-indignantly. It was dlmost impertinent of him, when only Jast night she had told him she never wished to even look at him again. “I could hardly help myself, after accepting the invitation a week ago. We will probably meet in the same places for some time, until the break- ing of the engagement is announced. At present, people consider us indis- pensable to each other’s happiness.” His quiet, courteous sarcasm was maddening under the circumstances. She resolved not to even speak to him again. Old Mr. Rathburn sat .at her other hand and she devoted /her- self to him with earnest fervor. He was interested in a plan for the irri- gation of the great American desert, by means of huge, spinning hose noz- zles to be operated from balloons. “But you'll have to get the water up there before you can get it down,” objected Rosemary, anxiously, for the seventh time. She knew that Dean was smiling amusedly. “Unless you attach it to the clouds.” Mr. Rathburn was silent and she felt withered by a sense of his dis- pleasure, and she hated the theory of irrigation by balloons or any other way. Dean was talking across the table to Eleanor Lee, and she suddenly classed Eleanor with irrigation and other unpleasant topics. Next to Dean was Mrs. Chadwick. Her gray curls were just visible beyond his brown ones. She was congratulating him, Rosemary knew. BShe had been in Europe all summer and had only heard of the betrothal a few days ago. It seemed to Rosemary that she was unnecessarily rapturous and voluble on the subject. “It is the sweetest: time of your life,” she was saying. “The Hetrothal hour when we laugh and love, and let CHAINS « | Cupid bind us in rése chains and drive us at his dear, capricious will, span or tandem: & “It's generally tandem, Mrs. Chad- wick,” said Dean, with merry scorn. “There must be a leader, you know, and Cupid’s la ladies first.” “Ah, but they are only rose chaius, Dean. The grag curls were shaken at him rebukingly. And they break 0 easily. Once married they are rose chains still, but some wise fate has slipped links of steel beneath the petals.” “And if v break them now i Dean paused. “Then there are only scattered roses in the dust, and Cupid weeping, and rosemary—for remembrance. May it never come to you.” She smiled at both young face “Memory is dear, but not when all it brings to mind are the broken rose chains. There was a momentary hush. The sweetly modulated old voice had car- ried to the far ends of the table and all we tening. Rosemary's gaze rested her plate. She dared not meet Dean’s eyes. The hush passed and there was the low, light babel of voices again. She heard him speak- ing to her, and held her breath to listen. “Isn’t she an old darling to say that?" She doesn’t know they are already broken.” He could hardly catch the half whisper. “But are they? Only last night, and no one khows, and it was all a mis- take.” He bent with pleasing eyes toward her. “Rosemary, my Rose- mary.” “For remembrance?” She laughed, a low, tremulous little laugh that was the first sign of surrender. “For life. Roses are sweet, but they need the steel.” She hesitated, her eyes full of ques- tioning doubt. “Jack didn't mean anything,” she said hurriedly. “He didn’t really pro- pose. He knew that I was engaged, of course. He only said that he had always loved me, and after all, he's only a boy. It couldn’t matter in the least, his loving me, when: o “When what?” His tone was full of the old im- perative, proprietary command and she met his glance for one swift, los- ing instant. “When I loved you.” Mrs. Creighton was rising. As he drew back Rosemary's chair he whis- pered: L “Broken rose chains can be re- woven, can’t they, dear? Forgive me.” He caught a fleeting glimpse of her face as she passed on in the wake of Mrs. Chadwick. She was tall and sweet as a young lily in her white lace dinner gown, and he felt a wild, sud- den longing to crush her to his heart before them all and win the word of forgiveness. She was gone and he was unan- swered, but the La France rose lay in his hand, and Rosemary was smil- ing as she, too, accepted Mrs. Chad- wick’s congratulations in the drawing- room. 7%%47 il i 9, Hikil! If ¥/ “/»"”‘ d ! e e Y&, s eral demeanor that sent a chill to the girl's heart. Something—perhaps in- tuition—told her that the man was either a coward at heart, or he was a brave man, who realized his danger and was a bit nervous over jt. “To-morrow forenoon at 10 o’clock,” he said the night before the duel, "I shall ride forth from the cottonwoods over there to meet Guillo as he comes out from behind the bluffs, and I shall 30 my best to kill him. We will not say good-by; I hope to be k€re at this same hour to-morrow night.” e the duel was was satisfled. For the first time s talked about the There was no brag no vaporing, ation. but a quiet, grim determina Only the cowboys were to wltr_\ess the cowboy duel, and they from points atar off. Not a word wa drnDDed‘lu the stage passengers who stopped for breakfast at 8 o'cloc gfter an ali-n At 9. Viola st in the morning, | the doorway at the lean-to, g2 th eyes, nar- rowed to a m slit—out—out across h ot sage brush. Be- the endless stretc hind her ran the cot marked the river’s course, tonwood line W hich and beyond Stars men —the bluffs. 3ut the Three must come from the prairie road. Suddenly Viola started. There was & f the black speck amid the gray tones © sagebrush. The speck grew and elon- gated. Then she realized that the up- per part of the figure swayed uncer- tainly. It was the movement of a cow~ boy sodden drunk In his saddle. Viola's lips set firmly and her cheeks blanched, For the pony beneath the figure was the calico colored broneo of Dave Hender: The bronco cantered unerringly to where the girl stood, and as it stopped the figure of Dave Henderson slid limply from saddle to ground. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips torn where his teeth had shut tight upon them. One arm—the right—hung useless at his side the dull tan of his “chaps” wa tained with crimson. Henderson clutched at his saddle mel and missed it He swung nd in a half circle and caught at doorjamb. “The bunch on the mpeded last night. Alameda arroya Mighty queer— s. And—I— —" he tried r yut failed. Treachery—damned—treach— through the door- 3 set, inert. Alarr arroya! And he has ridden from there to be on time—with like that!” his rose in the Sbme hard and hot girl’'s throat, f iy minute she could not mov 1 not even go to the aid of t she loved. T primevs motherhood was kot with light love of the girl was s 1 by the stronger emotion. She called to her mother, and they carried him into the girl's own room, utes later the widow Huber was working over the injured cowboy. but the were not for ward the g calico pony of Dave > man; Hen a figure that tried to sit 1 and stiff as the bronco’s ow had. The cowboys 1ped on watched the pony the grove, and t urdy bronco invariably ridden dance gingerly from behind the bl s, The two horsemen circled around each the mesa out of gray other with sp tactics—ar th Guillo raised and shot into the air. But cowboys could give vent to the ure on th from the there wa: tumbied ddle, a flaskh the With an gry roar at's orable action on the part of of their own band, the white cowboys tore down the incline, while from the bluff rushed the stream of Mexican re- tainers. The two bands simultaneously stopped short. For the hat pushed back from the figure on the calico pony showed the face of Viola Hu Guillo raised himself on h £ nor Henderson,” he . vas afraid. The senorita would save his honor. I do not fight the duello with women!"” The girl turned upon the men with flashing eyes. “He lies with his last breath! Dave Henderson was shot before he ever reached the dueling ground. Ask him about the midnight assault on Alameda arroya. Without another glance in the direc- tion of the dying man, she sprang into the saddle and the groups parted to let yher pass. _— DAY ;EDREAMS--B)’ A. M. Davies Ogden (Copyright, 1904, by A. M. Davies Og- den.) HE late spring afternoon sun- shine flooded gloriously into the bare old studio, lighting the dreamy, sensitive face of the young man who stood by the piano pouring out his soul in melody. It flung a golden aureole around the head of the girl who, nearly lost in a big arm chair, sat absorbed. “Adelaide, Adelaide,” rang out the notes of Beethoven's passionate love song, and the girl's eyes filled with tears as the music swayed her young, untried nature. And how well Harry Walters looked when he sang! Her thoughts, uncontrolled, wandered back to the day when they had first met, mgny months before. Newly ar- rived in Dresden, she and her father had driven out to Potschapel to inspect the big china factory, but at her fath- er's request for some one to show them about the big German in charge flung up his hands. ‘‘Aber, I spik no Englisch,” he be- gan plaintively. Then, at sight of a passerby, his face brightened. “Ach, Herr Walters,” he cried, and the person addressed turning, came back with lifted cap. “Can I be of any service” he asked in English. Mr. “Toffman looked re- leved. “I want somebody to show me about,” he explained, and the, young man smiled. = “The Herr Direktor and I are old friends,” he responded. “If I can be of any assistance—" The girl's eyes thanked him. ‘When they parted it was with a low bow and a mutual, if unspoken, wish that they might meet again, and a Zew nights later at a court ball, seeing the girl, Walters made haste to be duly presented in form. “If T might be permitted to take you around a bit,” he suggested, “it would be a great pleasure. Oh, may I, real- 1y?” As the girl nodded. “Let’s start to-morrow.” Such was the beginning of their friendship, and as the days drifted into spring there were little excursions up the river to be made, lingerings on the Bruhl Terrase listening to the band in the garden on the other bank; long hours spent in the galleries with pauses before the Sistine Madonna or some other treasure in that wonderful store- house of art. Then, suddenly one day Mr. Hoffman awoke to the fact that his daughter, although but 17, was no longer a child." Realizing that this pro- longed companionship with an earnest young musician might prove dangerous to one, if not to both, he took passage back to America. and to-night he and daughter were to leave for Bremen. This was good by. “Adelaide,” sang the voice, putting into the song all that the singer dared not say, and the girl trembled respon- sively. With a final harmony the mél- ody stopped. Through the door, the accompanist slipped away, Mr. Hoff- man turned to the window. The girl held out both hands. “Good-by,” she murmured. Walters, shaken, leaned forward. “You will not forget?” he begged. And the girl smiled; a slow, loyal smile. “I will not forget.” As the train rolled its way through the night the girl's eyes filled again with tears, the facile tears of youth which turn so quickly to rainbows as hope rosily spans the years, then clasp- ing a little blue ring and a cluster of tomg-me-nou, she fell u.leep. . - The windows of Cliff Towers were brilliant with lights. Strains of music floated out to the watchers in the street. Mrs. Livingstone was ‘“at home,” and Bellevue avenue was crowded with arriving guests and cu- rious spectators. The band on the lawn began to play “Wine, Women and Song,” and the beautiful Miss Hoffman stepped through the long French windows upon the terrace. The shimmer' of moonlight on the water was exquisite. What did it and the music seem to recall. Ah, Dres- den! The girl shivered. How long it was since she had thought of Dres- den! The man beside her started ap- prehensively. “Are you cold? Shall I bring you a wrap?” he asked. She assented. She wished to be rid of him to think for a moment. Dresden! Walter's face, his happy, boyish, half-boastful talk struggled into her thoughts. “Wait un- til T sing in the Metropolitan,” he had laughed. And now? Should he make his de- but there, she would be in her box, tiara crowned. But she would throw him some flowers in memory of the little ring now crushed and broken, with a faded spray of forget-me-nots, far back in a drawer of her desk. For a moment the girl's face showed hard and cynical in the moonlight. There was a stir within the house, the prelude of a song came to her. Then a rich tenor voice broke into the refrain “Adelaide, Adelaide.” A fam- ous tenor was singing and the girl's eyes dimmed. “Adelaide!” A step sounded behind her. She turned to see Renshaw, her lace scarf in his hand. Something in his expression warned the girl that the crisis which she had so long been evading could be postponed no longer, Her decision must be made. He was ypung, rich, good looking, why could she pot care for him? Had she not hoped for this? Tried for this? Was it not expected of her? Her breath quickened and she lifted her head. Well, he should have his answer. The morning was clear, but cold, and on the crowded ferryboat only two people, a man and a woman, dared brave the forward deck. The woman, tall and dressed in black, showed lines of suffering and self reliance in her face and a great sweetness. The man, wrapped in a heavy coat, was hum- ming to himself, “Adsjaide, Adelaide”; he breathed and the woman, with a sudden start, turned. Recognition leaped to both pair of eyes. “Millicent! Is it really you? How I have searched for a trace of .you,™ he cried. “But at your former home, they only said that you had gome.” The girl flushed under his look. “After father died I had to leave New York,” she said simply. <. have been doing typewriting, proof- reading, what I could get. You know 1 am poor.” “You!" cried the man again. “You! Typewriting! And I! Well, I have not made the Metropolitan and prob- ably never will now. Some of the old dreams are lost. But for the rest— what little success I have won has been due to you. Always. it has been the thought of you that has spurred me on. It has always been your eyes. Millicent, do you remember the old days? Can we go back to them? Must all the dreams go? Or have you forgotten?” There was a note of en- treaty in his voice and the girl's color deepened, then she smiled back at him. “One can never go back. But per- haps one can start afresh,” she an- swered quietly. “And I have never forgotten.”