The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 11, 1906, Page 4

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. SN\ (T L S OO OT SO LS SIS N0E L0 This story published today— T'he Parole of Gevil Hay"—is the first of a scries of thrilling stories of Spanish brigandage £ by K. snd Hasketh Pritchard, written upder the title of “The & Chroniclies of Den Q. The b tales recount the lawless ventures of this bandit, whe, however, is mot portrayed in 3 the eolors of the ordinary Spanish outlaw, but as a phil- osopher of mo mean type. One gz omplete story of “Denm Q.'s” adventures and highly exeiting 3 will appear eack The Sumday ‘all until series is finished. expericnees week in the SOGRST TSSOSO 0S0080040%. ishing general was the 2 poised hawk ageries we B. M's Con deep hints of ng neck from er an in- how hustling led offen- r. They tied the party set ard the tower- od that ers vag center of way the spiders of aptive in thelr net could make nothing. In out of the assed saw and rather face of ex- was not 80 the briga character circumstan ha yet s: he evinced ¥ s to where they we howed ng but ndifference A s position ) zale h Gevil-Hay de- took of fatalism. vil servant of health. In the ed him on a nar- unemotionally was woman t woman to heart had through the years slowly and surely de- “Love little, love me esponding lines met e character, and if incapable of a passion 1o me was sorrow, he was not ignorant g of a long renunciation and ng regret. n afternoon a halt . was t prisoner was blindfolded through the scrub: then the sharply in his face I-Hay knew that ‘he trod on ry grass, which in turn changed to surface of bare echoing rock. Pass- ing out of this tunnel he was secured N when found with tied vered osed valley d. bu cut out h of a cave. 1 was they sunshine, with @ drawn over his brows nothing vulture-like but one l¢ iike a gdelicate yellow claw th the cloak about his neck four Gevil-Hay To whom have I the plegsure dress myse! asked the brigar extreme and unexpected polit Gevil-Hay's hands being loos , he fixed his single eyegl and glanced round the glen before he replied Perhaps .you will be good cnou give me some idea of your care 3 we can go into the qucstio of the ransom at the end of it.” resumed Don in courteous manner. as the hed speaking. y answered briefly . in good Spanish, for an Indian civilian is sup- posed knowledge of every th . to start in life equipped with a language under you have retired—well, then, bee d to retire—but with a pen sion? Yes. How much?” he asked “Three hundred pounds a year.' “Ah.”" the brigand hesi while he made a mental calculation. “Your ran- som, senor—" he stopped; he understood how to make a judicious use of suspense— “you are & poor man, you say, and you e Jucky In that T belleve you. I will name but a moderate sum, and after this conversation there will be no more about it. We will omit the subject while you remain my guest.” The soft speech grew softer. ““There is no need to give my po false neme,” answered Gevil-Hay your prisoner. Misfortune introduced us.” Above all things created, a man who defied him was abhorrent to the brigand, but now he saw one who looked him in the eves without either fear or curlosity. Gevii-Hay interested him, but rather as & frog interests an vivisector. “On one thing I pride myself, senor,” bhe said presently. "“When I speak the thing which I say is unalterable. I am about to tell you the amount of your ran- som. I will contrive to send down your message.” “You will have to give me time if you wish to get the ‘money,” sald the other. “I have only my pension, and I must see if they will commute that.” “Your Government will pay,” asserted Don Q suavely. “They will not lose so valuable a servant.” “Do you care for a worn-out coat?’ asked Gevil-Hay with a mirthless laugh. “Besides, I came here in spite of warn- ings that the roads were unsafe; I must bear the conseguences.” Don Q.’s wrinkled eyelids quivered. “Shall we say $20,0007" he asked, as if deferring to his prisoner’s opinion. “You have sald it, ahd that'c the end,” returned Gevil-Hayi “though,” he added, “I don’t think you are very likely to see it. They will commute my pemsiorl on the scale of the probable duration of my life, and that will give no satisfactory average, I am afraid. I hope you may get $15,000. I doubt if you will get more.” “1 trust for your sake I may get $20,000,” replied the Spaniard, “otherwise a disappointment might lead to conse- quences—regrettable consequences.” He shook his head and blinked as he withdrew into the cave. Meanwhile Gevil-Hay wrote out his ap- peal and a request to Ingham, the Consul at the seaport under the mountains, that he would urge the matter forward. Then he sat and drearily watched the evening wind in the pines above the gorge, and wished vainly that he could do anything— anything but watch and walt. In the gloom, when the was 1it out- side the cave, Don Q. returned. He took the sealed letter that Gevil-Hay held ready for dispatch, - “And mow, senor, I regard you as my guest,” sald he; “‘and in all things but one you may me. T assure you 1 will do my best to play the host well and to make your stay among us pleas- e:Chronicles-of* ant to you. I have your parole, senor?’ Gevil-Hay hesitated. The fever had laid its hand upon him, he shivered as he stood In the breeze and the jojnts of his knees were unloosed with a creeping weakness. Not 80 many years ago :h- world seemed at his feet; he had striven hard for his position and had won it—won more than that, He had tasted much of life's sweet- ness and the joy of power and growing success, yet to-day— “Yes,” he ansyered. As the days went on Gevil-Hey found he had a good deal in common with the chief, who proved himself an attentive host. There was something kindred be- tween the two men, and yet Gevil-Hay ‘Was alternately attracted and repelled. - Ylelding to the charm of Don Q.'s fine courtesy, he was led on to. talk of many things, and he talked well, while the chilly, thin-frameq hearer, crouching in his cloak over the fire, listened with in- terest to a later view of the gréat world than lay within his own remembrance. Also the Englishman had been a wanderer In far countries; he was a man who spoke with authority, who understood the craft of ac stration and high affairs, so that he could converse on the level of actual knowledge and exnerienca with ana who i 9 O waro roowzD 20t N THE EYS WITHOUL EIIHER Zrar oF CURIOSITY? held himself to be alzo a ruler and a law- glver to no contemptible portion of man- kind. Teo Gevil-Hay, Don Q. was a study. He watched him as a snake might be watched by an imaginative rabbit. He was always following the livid-lidded eyes, always speculating on the thoughts which worked in that f{ll-balanced brain. For Don Q. was a Spaniard of the Spaniards, having the qualitiés of his race In’ excess. He was quite fearless, proud to distraction, unsurpassed in the kindly courtesy of a nation of aristocrats and cruel beyond belief. As this character developed itself Gevil-Hay,. like many another man who has thought himselt tired of life, clung to his chances of escape as they hourly grew less before his eyes. For one thing was apparent—Don Q.'s pecullarities did not lean to the side of mercy. A couple of days after his arrival in the glen he asked the brigand chief what had been doue with the two young brawlers who had drawn knives upon each other under the terrace. . Don Q. removed his cigarette to answer. “They will anioy you no more, senor, he sald with the anxiety of hospitality; “no_more.” “What? Have you sent thém away to some of your outlying detachments?"’ _asked Gevil-Hay, for he had learned by ‘this time that the robbers were posted at many noints in the mountains Don Q. laughed, & venomous, sibilant laugh. “They are gone—yes, with the other carrion—the vultures alone know where!" The chief was in one of his black moods of intense - and brooding melancholy. They were common with him, but this was the first which Gevil-Hay had seen. It suddenly struck him that some leaven of infanity might lurk behind the flerce, bird-like aspect. No wonder his follow- ers obeved him at the run. His gener- osity and vengeance were out of all pro- portion to tha deserving. “Some day,” said Gevil-Hay abruptly, “they will resent this kind of thing. There are many ways; they might betray you, and then-" + Don Q. gave him a poisonous glance. “I have muade provision for that also; but, no, senor, when I die, it shall be in my own manner and of my own will," and he relapsed sgain into musing. It was then that Gevil-Hay found him- self wishing bis ransom might arrive in full, and wisking it with ferver. In a few minutes Den Q. spoke agaln. “If you own a dog, he may love you; but a pack of wolves are kept In order with the lasl These,” he waved his hand toward the gleaming campfires in the hollow, “‘are wolves. Also many men desire to join us—many more than I care to take. So you perceive, senmor, I can afford to lose a few who offend me."” . B . . . . . So the days wore on, but one evening there was a new development. Gevil-Hay was allowed to wandeér at large about the gien, and on this occa- sion, after an ugly climb, he arrived at the head of a deep and narrow cleft in the higher rocks, along the bottom of which a faint track was visible. As he surveyed it with an involuntary thought of escape, he heard his name mentioned. Of course it was some hidden sentinel, but he was surprised when the man re- peated his call in the same low voice, for Don Q's men were usudlly sullen. “What do you want?” asked Gevil- Hay after a little hesitation. “The thing I say must be forever be- tween us two alone. You can help us; we can help you. That is the reason I speak. No, senor, stay where you are. 1f you promise I will show you my face.” “I_promise nothing.” b “Ah, that ls beca hellrd. you have not at my lord of the you all your Is it not true taking “And you, ltke the rest of us, would do something to save them? Is not that -also so?" “It may be.' “Then do it. It i but a little thing. B . K .and Hesketh Priotchgr S o B - & > and in the doing -zmu: taste sweet. You will not betray me? 2 “As I have not seen you I cannot ut you will not? o. “Then, take it, senor. Here, look wp foward the lentisco.” In the warm gloom of the lentisco shrub somethidg cold and omincus ed from hend to hand, snd Gevil- ay's fingers closed on the butt of & re~ volver. “You mean me to kil him? Re said slowly. e . A laugh was t!;‘o answer, llowed the laugh. ”"Yefi. for you bave opportunity. Them you shall go fres, for we hate him. “And you?' There was another laugh. “A pardon, and the blood money be- en us. Now go.” "Aand it cannot be denied that in the soft southern dusk Charles Gerald Gevil- Hay was borribly tempted. He stood there in the silence and wrestled with the tempfation. Arguments came to him freely. By firing that shot he would be serving bis kind as well as himself. Tormented with thoughts he slid back into the glen and walked acrol the short, hard grass toward the terrace. He passed by the fires round which the men were gambling. Lean columns of smoke rose slowly linto the higher afr, strange cries filled the glen, for the se- questradores played high, and each volce rose and fell with its possessor's luck. He mounted the sloping path to the terrace. Don Q. unsuspecting, was within the cave reading letters beside a cheap lamp. How eas Gevil-Hay stocd outside in the herb-scented dark- ness and watched him. On the one side the prisoner could look forward to a life of comfort at the least; and who could tell what elss the future held? On the other hand, a hideous begzary In smoky, fish-scented lodg- ings, an existence torse than death! And in the night the man’s honor wrest- led with the man's temptations of ex- pediency. Presently he went in. Don Q. scowled at him and threw him an English news- paper. It was 14 days old, and not ome which Gevil-Hay was wont to buy when at home; but in the whirl of his thoughts he fled to it as to a refuge. He was about to open it, holding it at arm’'s length for the purpose, when his glance lit upon a notice in the obituary column. “Hertford.—On March 10, suddenly, at Frane Hall, Franebridge, George Chig- well Aberstone Hertford, eldest son of the late—" He folded the paper with mathematical precision and read two columns of ad- vertisements without seeing a word of what he read. So George Hertford was dead at lastl And Helen—free. Don Q. looked furtively at him under the shadow of his wide hat, and saw that El Palido, as the men called him, was sitting there more white and more statu- esque than ever. By his tense attitude Don Q. knew that some struggle was going on within the Englishman’s mind, and his own face filled with an ominous light as he glanced at one of his letters. “Senor,” he sald aloud, In a changed voice, “news of your ransom has come, Eighteen thousand dollars. - I sald $20,.- Gevil-Hay started slightly, controlled himself and sald unconcernedly: “And so?" “And go, senor, I am prepared to stand by my side of the bargain,” replied the chief with a polsonous politeness. “At the rising of the moon nine-tenths of you shall go free from the head of our glen!™ There was a silence, broken only by the noises in the camp. Free? Gevil-Hay's thoughts were rao- ing through his brain. Yes, free, and— Helen was free! Her husband dead. Then he took in the force of Don Q.'s words; and, rising, stood up and leaned against the rocky wall “Am 1 to be grateful?” he asked frigldly. Don Q. smiled with a suave acquies- cence. ““And because your conversation has in- terested me, semor, you shall have the privilege of choosing which tenth of yourself you will leave behind.” “In fact, not content with making me & beggar, you will take from me all chance of regaining my losses.” Don Q. bowed again and spoke with exceeding gentleness. “If it comes to thgt. I am very muech afraid it comes to that” he sald. “It's a terribly unfortunate, I admit, but I do not see how it can be avoided. But you are a comparatively heavy man, senor: I think I should advise you tp leave & limb behind you. Ome can live without a limb." The brigand’s callousness startled Gevil- Hay, well as he fancied he knew him. And in the breast of the slow-moving, phlegmatic man the temptation arose again with accumulated strength. A logded revolver was under his hand, practical impunity walted upon the deed. and beyond that life—and Helen! What stood between him and all this” Why, a scruple, a scruple that should not held good for a moment ‘against such coun- teracting motives. It occurred to him with much force that the thin, bald- browed, malignant despot opposite would be much more wholesome of contempla- tion were his lps closed forever. But he had passed his word, given his parole. and a man oeeasionally finds his honor an inconvenient possession. Through it all the bandit sat and watched him with blinking eyellds in the lamplight. Don Q.'s sight seemed not very good, but it served to show him what be wanted to see. He had broken down the Indifference of Gevil-Hay. “I should certainly advise you to leave a Hmb,” repeated Don Q. at last. “You villain! You unutterable villain'™" Den Q.'s hand fell to his knife as he sprang to his feet and faced his captive. “The one fact for which I am really sorry at this moment.” went on Gevil- Hay, “is that I should have allowed sueh a thing as you to assoclate with me on equal terms! If I had guessed to what genus you belonged I would never have talked with you or remained near you /(Continued on Page Five)